Preflight

What we do as pilots, and how we conduct ourselves both in and out of the cockpit, says a lot to those we know - and those who fly with us - about what we think of our ability to fly.

I was reminded of this a couple of weeks ago, when I was in Atlanta for a seminar on photojournalism. Before I became involved in aviation journalism, I worked as a newspaper photographer and photo editor, and for several years I've helped to run this annual event. Like most labors of love, I find my participation to be personally rewarding, but the work involved is also very tiring.

Talking with photographers in attendance at the December seminar, most are surprised to find an aviation magazine editor from Maryland on the event's staff. When they find out that I used to be a professional photojournalist and still do some photography for AOPA Flight Training and its sister magazine, AOPA Pilot, they understand. The first question is usually an excited, "Oh, are you a pilot?"

Well, yes.

The second question is always, "Did you fly yourself to Atlanta for the seminar?"

Well, no.

"Really? Why not? That would be so cool!"

I could explain how cold temperatures and the accompanying low freezing levels might keep me from safely getting to my destination on schedule. (That certainly would have been the case this year; when I drove to Washington-Dulles International to hop an airliner for Atlanta, there were six inches of snow on the ground and it was still falling. The trip to the airport, which normally takes 45 minutes, required more than two hours.) Or I could go into an explanation of the fact that the 550-nm trip would take me four to five hours in the single-engine airplanes that I fly, and that it's just a little too far to cost-justify flying that far by myself. (Find two or three passengers and share expenses, however, and the cost per person for this trip can be competitive with discount airline tickets.)

But instead, I tell them the truth: I'm too tired at the end of the seminar to safely fly myself home. A string of long days and short nights just doesn't make a safe precursor to solo cross-country flying - or any flying, for that matter. And my fellow photographers respect that explanation.

The seminar also causes me to remember my first-ever flight in a general aviation airplane. I was working for a newspaper in West Palm Beach, Florida, when I was assigned to shoot aerial photos of several sites around the county. The paper hired a pilot with some cutesy nickname that I can no longer recall - although it almost certainly included the moniker crazy - to take me aloft in a Cessna 172 or 182.

I don't remember complaining about the ride - not that I had anything to compare it to. But I do recall that halfway through the flight, I reached up to pull the right side window closed - and the latch was missing. Gone. As in, departed the aircraft. Disappearing fixtures don't exactly instill confidence in neophyte passengers.

The Cessna's elevator trim wheel was located at the bottom of the center console - same place it's always been on the piston single-engine Cessnas that we fly. That didn't keep this pilot from reaching up throughout the flight and batting at an imaginary trim wheel on a pretend overhead console. At some point I must have given him a quizzical glance, because he did sheepishly mumble, "Oh, the trim wheel is up here on the airplane that I usually fly."

When we were done, after about two hours of flying, the controllers instructed us to circle at what must have been pattern altitude, just southwest of the busy international airport. Then, when they could squeeze us into the landing sequence, we received a clearance to land immediately. We dove for the runway, leveled off, and flew, and flew, and flew. I was braced for whatever the landing might be like, but we kept flying happily along in ground effect. The end of the runway approached and still we hadn't touched down; we jogged to the right to follow a taxiway that led to the FBO.

Finally, as the end of the taxiway approached, the pilot pulled the power, flared, and gently touched down. He must have seen my puzzled expression again - I really must work on that poker face - and offered the explanation, "Oh, I always do that. It saves wear on the tires."

An interesting introduction to general aviation, for sure, but frankly not one that left me wanting to start flying lessons. Remember that every time you take somebody up - or even just talk about your flying - you have the opportunity to influence opinions about GA and your approach to piloting. Make the most of it.

Aviation photographer friends from Kansas and North Carolina attended that photojournalism seminar in Atlanta. Guess what? Both of them took the airlines this year, too.