Pilots

I trusted Michéle Thonney immediately. You see, I had to. I was the writer she was to fly during the Northern Lights Aerobatic Team's morning practice session at the EAA's Oshkosh fly-in convention last year. Our steed: Northern Lights number three, an Extra 300S, basically a Lycoming AEIO-540 strapped to some aluminum tubing and a set of knife-thin wings that look as though they crave high speeds. The team was performing again that afternoon, so I trusted they'd take good care of me.

And they did. Getting off the runway during Oshkosh was as challenging as you might expect. While waiting 45 minutes to take off, Thonney explained that her introduction to aviation occurred when she and her parents took a helicopter to the top of her native Swiss Alps and were dropped off to ski their way home. "I was 10 at the time, and I can remember it being a spectacular day. The pilot said to me, 'This cockpit is the best office in the world.' That was a defining moment for me," she continued.

In Switzerland, learning to fly was a costly endeavor, so Thonney decided that she'd become an air traffic controller. "As part of your ATC training over there the government teaches you to fly at the private pilot level. I thought that perhaps I'd go on to become a rescue helicopter pilot."

Her parents hadn't envisioned that career for their petite blonde daughter. But she was incorrigible and persistent. "When I turned 17, they capitulated and offered me flying lessons. I didn't argue," said Thonney.

At about this point in the conversation, we were cleared for takeoff. We took off in a surge of raw power that threw me backwards against the seat rail, and then we climbed effortlessly away from the crowds below.

As we slowed into loose formation with the other four airplanes, I watched Thonney pick a spot on her lead's fuselage and then precisely maneuver the Extra to keep a wing tip in the same relative position to the spot. "I just choose the spot and stick my wingtip there. Then I concentrate on keeping it there," Thonney tells me. "I have to trust my teammates implicitly. I have no attention to divert to worrying over what [team members] Henri or André might do. That trust is fragile, though. It takes forever to build and but a moment to shatter," she said.

At that moment we began a smooth group formation loop. I watched off my right side. Our wing never came "unstuck" from its position on the lead's fuselage; it may as well have been super-glued there.

"Want to go upside down?" Thonney queried. I nodded, and instantaneously (the Extra's roll rate being better than 360 degrees per second) we were flying inverted. I looked left. Our wing was still glued to the spot. Wow.

"How'd you learn to do that?" I had to ask.

"I began aerobatics after getting into some trouble in a Piper Tomahawk — it frightened me," she replied. "I was training in Stuart, Florida, then. Some friends suggested I take an emergency maneuvers training course, and I'm glad I did. After that I went back to Switzerland and took an aerobatics course from Eric Mueller. That's when I fell in love with the Pitts," she said, demonstrating a four-point roll at the same time. "It's now my second-favorite airplane, after the Extra." We pulled straight up, and up, and up, finally kicking hard left rudder for a hammerhead, falling straight away at the ground.

She pulled out with barely 2 Gs on the meter. "So, did Mueller teach you to fly this smoothly?" I asked.

Thonney grinned. "He liked the way I flew. We bought a Pitts and started a flight school with it in Stuart. Mueller taught me how to stay alive when teaching students aerobatics. But he died only three months later," she sighed. "It was disappointing. I kept on, though, and started taking lessons in formation flying first from Capt. Bob Raskey, a retired F-16 pilot. He showed me the basics and taught me the discipline needed to work with other airplanes in confined airspace.

"I really like formation flying, which is part of the reason I joined the Northern Lights. I got the job after helping [team leader] André Lortie ferry one of the new aircraft from the factory. Right after takeoff, the engine quit from a fuel problem. He was up front. He threw up his hands and said to me, 'your airplane.' So I put us back on the runway safely. That night he telephoned me and told me, 'We like the way you handle emergencies. I'm sure we can teach you the rest. Will you join us?' Of course, I said 'yes.'"

It's time to head back to the airport now, so we break formation and turn away. My head spins like a swivel rocker, looking for traffic at the busy field. Only too soon, we're down.

After four years on the road, the four other guys have become like family to Thonney, which is a good thing. She was home in Florida only 16 days in 1996 and 42 days in 1997. It doesn't seem to bother her. "When you work like this, traveling all the time, you make lots of friends. I enjoy my time off, though," she says. She'll often leave the world behind by piling into a four-wheel-drive vehicle and traipsing off into the woods for a few days of camping and wildlife spotting.

And what does the future hold? More of the same, Thonney hopes.