It’s funny how many hundreds of flights I have no real recollection of. The same mundane, routine flight hours all seem to blend together over the years. Yet some of my earlier flights are still as vivid as if they happened only last week.
Recently I’d been communicating with a Flight Instructor from my home state of Michigan. I was curious if I’d ever flown to his airport, so I went to the archives and pulled out that first worn, tattered logbook and started paging through it. Although I had never flown to his airport near Detroit, I harkened back to one flight that left a lasting impression with me.
LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING
Later this year I begin my 40th year flying small airplanes. It all started at a small FBO at KAZO called Kalamazoo Aviation.
Actual Mooney Cadet I learned to fly in... There I learned basic stick and rudder skills in a Mooney (M10) Cadet; built on the same type certificate as the old Ercoupe (only with rudder pedals, which I rarely used anyway). My first lesson was June 1st, 1974. On July 13th --- 12 lessons, 10.0 hours (the school minimum) and 38 practice landings later --- my instructor got out of the airplane and had me do 3 solo touch and go’s. Nothin’ to it.
Over the next 90-days I flew another dozen times; about 5-hours dual, 5-hours solo, but all local. This is a bit different than the way we do it today. We flew at night, me under the hood and even in some actual IMC in a Warrior. We practiced stall recovery and ground reference maneuvers endlessly. Then, in mid-October we went on a 2.1-hour dual cross-country: Kalamazoo to Lansing to Jackson to Battle Creek and back to Kalamazoo. A long cross-country with 4 stops as our first cross-country (usually the first dual x-c is to one airport 50+ miles away and back home).
IT GETS EVEN BETTER
The next week, after our first and only dual cross-country, my Instructor signed me off for my first solo cross-country --- to airports I had never been to! In fact, I seem to remember that he kind of let me pick where I wanted to go, which is just insane for a 16-year old that was still a month away from getting his Drivers’ License!
Sunday morning, October 20th, 1974 I got to the airplane early to pre-flight and embark on my adventure. This became one of those flights of which I have no real memory. The logbook entry (and the signatures I collected from old fellers at each airport) indicates that I flew to Ionia then to Charlotte, MI then back to Kalamazoo. Made 3 total landings and flew for 1.9 hours. Nothin’ to it.
I was on a roll, so the following Saturday I set out to explore some more. While the memory of some of these flights has faded over the years, I still very much remember the feeling of freedom; “I’m out of the traffic pattern, actually flying to another city, and there’s no Instructor sitting next to me yakking endlessly!” Life was good in my little Mooney. I flew to Holland, then to Benton Harbor and back to Kalamazoo in 2.3 hours; no problems or issues.
NOW THE FUN BEGINS
I was having a great time and seeing a lot; what could possibly go wrong? Two weeks later I got signed off for my next cross-country adventure: Kalamazoo to Big Rapids to Flint and back home - my ‘long’ solo cross country. Weather looked iffy on this one, but still VFR and doable. I set off, a bit later than planned, into the early November winter sky. The first leg to Big Rapids was uneventful;
My own little Bermuda Triangle --- in the heart of Michigan! full stop landing, taxi-back and takeoff to Flint. There I landed, refueled and grabbed a bite to eat (always bring change for the airport vending machines!) And I was off. Right into an ever-darkening wall of clouds. Let’s see, I seem to remember when the clouds were really dark that means they contain water. Oh, that must be what I’m seeing streaming across the windshield. It looked different than in a car as the prop blast and airstream was creating a different effect than just raindrops falling on my plane.
YOU’RE PIC - ACT LIKE IT.
This is one of the first instances I am able to look back at and say that I truly acted like a Pilot In Command. The wall o’ clouds was right off my nose and getting ever lower. Visibility was still pretty good, but the ceilings were ever lowering. I looked for an out. (There was no GPS in these days; thus no ‘Nearest’ or ‘Direct-To’ buttons to mash). My trusty VFR Sectional Chart indicated Lansing Regional Airport should be just ahead off my right wing. I dialed in ATIS; I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I think my response to hearing the ceiling was something like “Yikes”. I called tower and requested landing at Lansing. I figured out somehow where the runway was that the kind gentleman in the tower was clearing me for and somehow got into the traffic pattern without creating a spectacle of myself and safely got the plane on the ground.
I taxied to the FBO, tied it down and checked in at the desk. Now, for you younger readers, here’s a real trip back in time. Next door to the FBO was a building we used to call a “Flight Service Station”. You could actually walk right in and the nice folks would pull down these giant weather charts that were printed on some kind of huge machine like they used to print blueprints on. The kind man in the shirt and tie (on a weekend no less) took the time to explain what was going on with the weather; something about lake effect and temperature inversions and haze and fog… all I heard was: “you won’t be getting back to Kalamazoo this afternoon”. He commended me on making the decision to land and park the plane.
There was a Holiday Inn a couple miles from the airport that someone from the FBO ran me over to. I checked in, went to my room and called Kalamazoo Aviation to share the great story of my incredible piloting and decision-making in diverting to Lansing and waiting out the weather overnight.
“Are you kidding me? We need that plane back here for three flights tomorrow!” OK, so they didn’t share my enthusiasm for the choices I had made. They dispatched my instructor and another instructor in a Warrior to come out and get me. I went to the hotel front desk and told them my adventure had changed once again and I needed a ride back to the airport.
Within the hour my Instructor and I departed into an ever-lowering ceiling in the VFR-only rated Mooney. I sat in the co-pilot’s seat; he handed me the sectional and said, “You watch for TV Towers.”
Look at all those tall towers! I remember from my ground school that the double-pointy towers on the chart were the really tall ones. As we skated along I-69 at 300 to 500’ AGL I learned about what they call ‘scud-running’. Barely able to see the cars below, I was charged with looking for towers; some of which were higher than the airplane. Even at my tender, naïve age of 16, that didn’t seem like a very good idea to me, but if my Instructor was doing it, it must be OK, right?
It was a long hour back to KAZO where the weather was only slightly better but still marginal VFR as the sun began to set. Get-there-it is --- on behalf of the FBO, not the pilot --- trumped logical, solid decision-making in this case. I learned to always give myself an out if the weather began to change for the worse, and also to not knowingly put myself into situations that I wish I weren’t in.
IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED
Since I hadn’t technically completed my ‘long’ 100-mile three-leg cross-country, I flew a third solo cross-country a week later to
Last stop of my last solo cross-country as a Student Pilot.
Recently I’d been communicating with a Flight Instructor from my home state of Michigan. I was curious if I’d ever flown to his airport, so I went to the archives and pulled out that first worn, tattered logbook and started paging through it. Although I had never flown to his airport near Detroit, I harkened back to one flight that left a lasting impression with me.
LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING
Later this year I begin my 40th year flying small airplanes. It all started at a small FBO at KAZO called Kalamazoo Aviation.
Over the next 90-days I flew another dozen times; about 5-hours dual, 5-hours solo, but all local. This is a bit different than the way we do it today. We flew at night, me under the hood and even in some actual IMC in a Warrior. We practiced stall recovery and ground reference maneuvers endlessly. Then, in mid-October we went on a 2.1-hour dual cross-country: Kalamazoo to Lansing to Jackson to Battle Creek and back to Kalamazoo. A long cross-country with 4 stops as our first cross-country (usually the first dual x-c is to one airport 50+ miles away and back home).
IT GETS EVEN BETTER
The next week, after our first and only dual cross-country, my Instructor signed me off for my first solo cross-country --- to airports I had never been to! In fact, I seem to remember that he kind of let me pick where I wanted to go, which is just insane for a 16-year old that was still a month away from getting his Drivers’ License!
Sunday morning, October 20th, 1974 I got to the airplane early to pre-flight and embark on my adventure. This became one of those flights of which I have no real memory. The logbook entry (and the signatures I collected from old fellers at each airport) indicates that I flew to Ionia then to Charlotte, MI then back to Kalamazoo. Made 3 total landings and flew for 1.9 hours. Nothin’ to it.
I was on a roll, so the following Saturday I set out to explore some more. While the memory of some of these flights has faded over the years, I still very much remember the feeling of freedom; “I’m out of the traffic pattern, actually flying to another city, and there’s no Instructor sitting next to me yakking endlessly!” Life was good in my little Mooney. I flew to Holland, then to Benton Harbor and back to Kalamazoo in 2.3 hours; no problems or issues.
NOW THE FUN BEGINS
I was having a great time and seeing a lot; what could possibly go wrong? Two weeks later I got signed off for my next cross-country adventure: Kalamazoo to Big Rapids to Flint and back home - my ‘long’ solo cross country. Weather looked iffy on this one, but still VFR and doable. I set off, a bit later than planned, into the early November winter sky. The first leg to Big Rapids was uneventful;
YOU’RE PIC - ACT LIKE IT.
This is one of the first instances I am able to look back at and say that I truly acted like a Pilot In Command. The wall o’ clouds was right off my nose and getting ever lower. Visibility was still pretty good, but the ceilings were ever lowering. I looked for an out. (There was no GPS in these days; thus no ‘Nearest’ or ‘Direct-To’ buttons to mash). My trusty VFR Sectional Chart indicated Lansing Regional Airport should be just ahead off my right wing. I dialed in ATIS; I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I think my response to hearing the ceiling was something like “Yikes”. I called tower and requested landing at Lansing. I figured out somehow where the runway was that the kind gentleman in the tower was clearing me for and somehow got into the traffic pattern without creating a spectacle of myself and safely got the plane on the ground.
I taxied to the FBO, tied it down and checked in at the desk. Now, for you younger readers, here’s a real trip back in time. Next door to the FBO was a building we used to call a “Flight Service Station”. You could actually walk right in and the nice folks would pull down these giant weather charts that were printed on some kind of huge machine like they used to print blueprints on. The kind man in the shirt and tie (on a weekend no less) took the time to explain what was going on with the weather; something about lake effect and temperature inversions and haze and fog… all I heard was: “you won’t be getting back to Kalamazoo this afternoon”. He commended me on making the decision to land and park the plane.
There was a Holiday Inn a couple miles from the airport that someone from the FBO ran me over to. I checked in, went to my room and called Kalamazoo Aviation to share the great story of my incredible piloting and decision-making in diverting to Lansing and waiting out the weather overnight.
“Are you kidding me? We need that plane back here for three flights tomorrow!” OK, so they didn’t share my enthusiasm for the choices I had made. They dispatched my instructor and another instructor in a Warrior to come out and get me. I went to the hotel front desk and told them my adventure had changed once again and I needed a ride back to the airport.
Within the hour my Instructor and I departed into an ever-lowering ceiling in the VFR-only rated Mooney. I sat in the co-pilot’s seat; he handed me the sectional and said, “You watch for TV Towers.”
It was a long hour back to KAZO where the weather was only slightly better but still marginal VFR as the sun began to set. Get-there-it is --- on behalf of the FBO, not the pilot --- trumped logical, solid decision-making in this case. I learned to always give myself an out if the weather began to change for the worse, and also to not knowingly put myself into situations that I wish I weren’t in.
IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED
Since I hadn’t technically completed my ‘long’ 100-mile three-leg cross-country, I flew a third solo cross-country a week later to
Muskegon and Alma, and then returned to the scene of the crime the weekend before Thanksgiving in 1974 and flew the Big Rapids - Flint - Kalamazoo trip in its entirety once and for all. That was to be my last cross-country trip before I got my Private Pilot license.
© 2013 Garry Wing
