Get extra lift from AOPA. Start your free membership trial today! Click here

Learning Experiences

Close Friends

A Student Pilot Overcomes First-Solo Challenges
Every pilot remembers his or her first solo flight. It is permanently etched in the memory and will always seem like it happened only yesterday. For many it boosts our self-esteem that is summed up by the words, "I'm a pilot."

The first solo flight is the culmination of hours of work. It's not unlike our first trip alone in the family car once we've gotten our driver's license. But we've had to learn so much more than that to be able to fly a plane alone. We always suspect it's coming. There are tests to take, medical certificates to get, and little hints dropped by the instructor that warn us to be prepared.

In my case the weather refused to cooperate for so long that I started to sour. I think I was getting worse instead of better. My instructor would say things like, "Where'd you learn to do that like that? Do you want to kick me out of this plane or not? Isn't that the whole point?" I was sure he was going to solo me the first chance he got. I was ready.

Then it happened. I expected the same idyllic scene that I had read others describe so many times. It would be a calm day, perfect weather, almost no wind, bright sunshine at a nearly deserted rural airport. The other pilots around would cheer me on, packing the airplane full of their encouragement and support. Which only goes to show you how disappointing expectations can be.

My singularly sterling experience was tarnished by a collection of pilots who have no respect for one another, regulations, or the privilege we share called flight. The flight was so harrowing that my instructor asked me to write about it. I was forced to call upon every shred of learning I had gleaned so far simply to survive. Beyond that I had to use tactics that I had only read about in the popular flight magazines but had never discussed with my CFI.

The best way to illustrate what I'm talking about is to simply tell the story and see if you agree. It all started with, "I have to use the bathroom. Can we make this a full stop?"

We were alone in the pattern. The weather was perfect. A little scattered cloud cover above 4,000 feet highlighted by ribbons of sun, punctuated by patches of uncharacteristic blue in the winter sky over western Washington.

On the way to Bremerton, a nontowered airport to the west across Elliott Bay from Seattle, we had worked on precision maneuvers, stalls, and spins. Shooting some touch and goes had been a welcome relief. This was my third landing, and I felt pretty good. No pressure, a few minor distractions, and absolutely no traffic.

Sumps drained and ready to go, George asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. "No," I said. "We should get going. I want to hit Tacoma before heading back."

George asked me to wait while he made a couple of phone calls. When he came back he smiled and asked, "So, are you ready to fly?"

"Sure."

"Then go ahead," he said with an elfish twinkle in his eye.

My mind fogged, and my stomach felt like Fear and Anxiety had invited all their acid-belching buddies to an old-fashioned hoedown.

"Am I ready?"

"Sure you're ready," he said walking to the Piper J-3 Cub.

I had to tell myself to breathe. "How do you know?" I asked, instinctively grasping for an escape.

"I've soloed every one of my students at the same time. When they were ready."

"But how can you be sure?" I was becoming irrational. I didn't know what I expected him to say.

"You gave me three good landings, with distractions. The weather's gorgeous. There's nobody up there. You can do it." By now we were at the airplane. As he talked, giving me final reminders, I glanced over the plane in reflex preflight mode. Adrenaline was strong in my veins.

George tried to get me to focus as I resigned myself to my fate. My only hope for getting through this was the knowledge that the little Cub would take care of me. In my mind I was frantically making checklists of my checklists.

George was saying, "Once around. Do as many go-arounds as you need until you're sure, but once you land, no touch and goes. Bring it back here."

I was nodding understanding as I numbly climbed in, cinched up the seat belt, and clicked on the intercom. I wouldn't need it. I was alone, but it was on one of my preflight checklists. I flipped on the radio, shaking with anticipation and anxiety.

"You're sure you're sure?" I asked, trying not to sound like I was pleading for him to change his mind.

George nodded and asked, "What's the first thing you do?" His broad smile met my blank stare, and he added, "All right, I'll start her for you." He was enjoying this.

I taxied away to what I was sure would be my demise. So far I had abandoned almost everything I knew about flying. In a haze I told myself that I had better start looking around. Pay attention. My salvation lay in process; the details; checklists.

A V-tail Bonanza slid by toward the hold-short line. A large twin something-or-other was performing a runup. The V-tail entered the runway and was off. The twin moved to the hold-short line. I gave it a wide berth and waited.

Check. Double check. Make all the traffic. Who's on the radio? Do I see them all? The twin rolled. I waited for traffic to clear. The minutes ticked by. There was a guy on base. Another on left downwind. Where had all this traffic come from? Somebody called in on a long IFR downwind approach. A couple of these guys were staying in the pattern, doing touch and goes.

Finally a break. An airplane came in, hesitated, and began a slow takeoff roll. Anxious not to clog the pattern I announced my intention and pulled onto Runway 19. Only then did I realize I hadn't waited to see the other guy rotate. He was invisible over the nose of the Cub. I waited 10 more seconds to allow him to clear, then advanced the throttle.

A little forward pressure on the stick and the tail floated free. The empty runway stretched before me. The other guy was off the ground. Lucky for me he hadn't stalled in my blind spot. I won't do that again. As advertised the Cub was raring to go. We were flying. Pattern altitude was easy to achieve by the time I was ready to turn crosswind. My first solo flight! The realization of a dream! Forty-six years old and I was feeling more like 16! I wanted to jump up and down, but my six-foot-four-inch frame doesn't have lots of room for gymnastics in a Cub.

As I leveled into the crosswind leg a blur roared past. The guy on the long IFR downwind approach had arrived! Breathe. Everything is OK. Seconds ago I was on top of the world, and now I was almost frozen with fear. Could I handle this? It suddenly sunk in how desperately alone I was. "Bremerton traffic, Cub Three-Zero-Six-One-Six, left downwind for one-niner, Bremerton," somehow escaped me. I stared forward into the empty cockpit.

A voice in the headset caught my attention. It was abrupt yet friendly. "Hey, George, you got a guy flying who doesn't know what he's doing." I was stung. That was brutal. I wanted to shout, "Hey, it's my first solo flight, you jerk. Give me a break!" but I held my peace.

There was traffic landing, traffic on base, and I honestly didn't know where the IFR guy went. The initial shock passing, I began to relax and get comfortable. I was already halfway there. This was going to be easy. I could do this. Space it out. Follow everybody around. The last one is down. I tried to sound at ease. "Bremerton traffic, Cub Three-Zero-Six-One-Six on base." Oh, nice. Nothing like half a radio call to gain the respect of the rest of these guys. Gentle pressures, early and often, before they are needed. Lay off the stick. The gentle hum of the idling Continental let me listen to the Cub. I had the airspeed without looking. I could hear the signature rattle that rumbled at 75 miles per hour and disappeared at 65. I was at 70 mph. I turned onto short final. I had to try again, "Bremerton traffic, Cub Three-Zero-Six-One-Six on final for one-niner." Damn! I wish I could remember to say "Bremerton" at the end of the call.

One of the planes was entering the crosswind; the other was just rotating. There's a Cessna on the numbers! Where did he come from? Did I look at the taxiway? Had he been waiting? I'll never know.

I waited, watching my airspeed. I waited some more. Taking a moment to feel the airplane, I had good control. Don't panic. Will he move? Five hundred feet became four hundred, then three. My altitude slipped away. It was a beautiful approach. George will be impressed with a perfect spot landing on the numbers if this guy moves. He didn't. The radio was silent.

"Cub Three-Zero-Six-One-Six going around." What kind of radio call was that? Then I realized that I had trapped myself. I hadn't heard any calls from this guy. Was his radio on? Had he heard me? What if he took off into my belly? George and I had never talked about this situation.

I slid off to the west into the upwind paralleling the runway and told as much to my radio. "Bremerton, Three-Zero-Six-One-Six paralleling the runway in the upwind." I could see the Cessna down there beginning its roll. He was quick. This was a left-hand pattern so I prepared to lag long enough to let him slide into the pattern ahead of me. As he reached my altitude near the end of the runway he turned right across my nose.

I couldn't recall ever being with George when things like this were happening. Maybe he just makes it look easy. I rejoined the fray on the crosswind leg wondering if I was towing a banner declaring my first solo status.

Once on the downwind again I began to relax. It seemed familiar territory. What else could happen? I took comfort in the checklist. Pull carb heat; ease back the throttle; hold altitude; check distance from the runway. One guy on base. One on short final. One on long final. I could get in before him. He was miles away. A little gun-shy, I announced my position abeam midfield. Carefully I stated for the record, "Bremerton traffic, Cub Three-Zero-Six-One-Six abeam midfield on left downwind for one-niner, Bremerton." I did it! I made a good radio call. A movement in my peripheral vision startled me. A dark-blue Stinson with a white wing shot into the downwind from the forty-five observing strict radio silence. He turned out of the forty-five into the downwind and rolled his wings through level as he immediately banked into the base leg.

In self-defense I extended my downwind passage, inventing a whole new lexicon to describe some of the pilots in my immediate airspace. Then I heard George's voice in my headset. "Hey, Kevin, are you having fun yet?"

I responded with something about a hornet's nest and he laughed, so I knew anyone with a radio had heard my clumsy, imperfect, yet informative radio work.

By now Mr. Long Final was on short final as he glided by my position. I delicately turned base and then final. I knew no one was at this end of the county. They were all having fun back at the airport. I informed anyone listening that I was now on a lonnnnng final. I took the next few minutes on my mini-cross-country to try to relax. Scanning the skies like an eagle I called out my position again on short final. I arrived just in time to take advantage of a lull in the action, so I set up to land.

Let's just say my perfect spot landing had been wasted on the first circuit. Putting her down should have been routine, but my nerves were frayed. I alternated between breathing and sweating. The approach was two stripes beyond the numbers. As it developed I wondered what would have been wrong if I had parked the Cub on that other guy's wings. The landing was turning out to be a symphony of crabbing, correcting with a demonstration of oscillation punctuated by at least one premature flare. It made my radio work look good. I managed to salvage a pretty respectable touchdown, though. I hurried to scoot off onto the taxiway and give the plane back to George.

My historic, never-to-be-forgotten hop around the proverbial cabbage patch had taken 10 minutes at the hold-short line followed by 25 minutes of playing dodge 'ems with a bunch of guys who give rush hour on Interstate 5 its reputation. As for being alone on my first solo? I never felt so close to so many guys in my entire life. Thanks for the memories, fellas.

Related Articles