Reflections on a long-awaited first solo - Part 2 of 5 of 'The Student Experience'
Long before ever beginning flight training, I'd wondered how one felt on that first flight alone. Surely no other sensation could come close to the immense satisfaction and pride procured by safely bringing an airplane home. I'd spoken to pilots and read many accounts of first solos. With resounding unanimity, they agreed that it was a memory not soon forgotten. And as I tried to imagine the incredible rush of bringing the aircraft back from that first solo, I wondered, also, whether I would ever muster the courage to do it myself.
I knew I had to learn to fly. Since childhood, I had been obsessed with aviation and lived with an eye constantly turned toward the sky. But passion alone would not be sufficient to make me do it.
Three weeks into my training, my flight instructor began speaking of that first solo. It flattered me at first that Tyler might consider me almost ready, but when the prospect of flying alone began to set in, so did butterflies in my stomach. I loved flying, but the idea of being left to my own devices in an airplane brought equal amounts of fear and excitement. I looked forward to that milestone, I truly did. But it also terrified me.
What if I lost the engine on takeoff? Or what would happen if I missed an important radio call? How about avoiding traffic?
As the day neared, I'd wrap up my daily study sessions content with the feeling that I had learned a lot and would go to bed with my head filled with thoughts of flying. I'd review procedures or simply reminisce about a recent flight and most often look forward to all that I could do with my private pilot certificate.
I'd also keep myself awake, thinking of that inevitable first flight alone; I might have dreamed of it on several occasions.
Then the day finally came.
As I got into my car, a knot gripped my stomach. There was no certainty that today would be the turning point of my flight training, but I had a hunch that it might. The 40-minute drive to Hanscom Field was excruciating. Nervously tapping the steering wheel to Wings' song Jet, I kept scanning the sky, trying to evaluate the winds and wondering if the weather would hold.
"We're going to do a couple of touch and goes," Tyler told me in a completely detached tone of voice. For him, of course, this was just another day at work. For me, however, it held the potential to be either a very good one or a total disaster.
After two decent landings, I heard the words I'd been expecting for awhile.
"OK, take me back to the ramp."
The knot from my stomach was now safely lodged in my throat, and I wondered if I'd be able to talk to ground and tower.
I handed Tyler my logbook and medical, which he signed. He secured his safety belt on the right seat, grinned, and asked if I was ready.
"Do you think I'm ready?" I asked.
With a reassuring word, he closed his door and waved me off.
After a deep breath and a quick review of the next few steps, I called ground control. "Hanscom Ground, Cessna One-Two-Niner-Four-Four is at the west ramp with Bravo." My muscles relaxed. The tension had vanished. Hey, I'd done this 90 times before without a problem; surely I could do it three more times!
Now almost completely at ease and excited, I taxied to Hanscom's Runway 29. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun bathed the horizon in a thick golden hue, which seemed to coat everything around me on the field. As I taxied parallel to the runway, still about a quarter-mile from the threshold, I watched a Hawker jet gracefully come in, its shiny fuselage reflecting the soft light from the dying sun.
The image was awe-inspiring and embodied everything that is beautiful about flight. This technological marvel glided in like a magnificent bird and effortlessly touched down. It was just what I needed to see.
I loved landings, and the next three would be the most significant and memorable of my life.
I signed off my take-off request to the control tower with "student pilot" for the very first time and was cleared to go.
Lined up with the centerline, I paused for a second to make last-minute checks and take one final deep breath before setting the wheels of this moment in motion.
Full throttle...eyes all the way down the runway...a little right rudder...oil pressure good... airspeed alive...40 kt...50...55...60...this is it... I was finally off.
The airplane lifted gently, and as the wheels left the pavement I was now fully committed to my first flight alone. There was no turning back, and I watched in awe as the ground receded below me. It felt like the first flight of my life.
Oddly enough I felt no fear. None whatsoever. I took in the evening's light, which shone brightly through the cockpit, splashing everything with a golden hue, and smiled in complete delight. I watched a lonely group of puffy pink clouds off the right wing, which only slightly veiled Boston's skyline behind.
At the midfield point, all looked good, and I prepared for my first landing alone. The pattern was clear, and I was number one with no traffic: the perfect situation. But it all changed when a Citation reported on a long final. "Can you make a short ap-proach?" the controller asked me.
"Sure," I replied without hesitation. Only then did the fact I'd only practiced one short approach before cross my mind. But the thought failed to rattle me. After all I had altitude, a running engine, and plenty of runway just off the left wing.
On a very short final, I lined up with the centerline, found myself spot on the glide path, and checked the airspeed. The needle lay smack on 65 kt as I prepared for the flare. I battled my tendency to look at the runway immediately ahead and instead focused far down the pavement. Power to idle...level off a few feet over the runway...speed drops...airplane sinks. I flare. Stall horn blares for just a second, and the mains kiss the ground.
And there it was. My first solo landing.
I was ecstatic, and I stretched my neck as I left the runway to see the Citation land with plenty of space between us.
I felt as if I was walking on air. I'd done it! And I'd handled the radio and ATC instructions well -- two things that had terrified me. Somehow my skills were better when I didn't have my instructor as a crutch to lean on.
As I taxied back to the runway for round two, I realized that I had it to do all over again, but I knew it wouldn't be as special as this very first landing. I felt some regret that the moment had passed so quickly, but I savored every second of it.
The sun was slowly dipping over the horizon, and the next two takeoffs and landings went off without a hitch.
The next day brought some clouds and heavy midday traffic at Hanscom. Tyler came up with me for two touch and goes, during which I seemed completely unable to utter a single word correctly on the radio and had to be reminded by the controller to turn on the transponder.
After dropping Tyler off at the ramp, I taxied back to Runway 11 and waited patiently, number five behind larger airplanes, for my second solo session. Like the previous day, I felt little fear, and whatever apprehension I may have had was centered on dealing with the heavy activity at the field rather than flying the airplane.
Abeam the numbers, I radioed the tower and was asked to extend on downwind for a number of jets on long finals. I complied, but soon found myself about eight miles out and feeling nervous about venturing so far alone.
Finally, the controller asked me to make a shallow 360 to avoid flying too far afield and follow a King Air to land, which I did.
On the next circuit, the tower asked me to land on Runway 11 and hold short of the intersecting runway, something I knew I could do but declined because I didn't want to take a chance. This prompted my first solo go-around, which made for an exciting second solo.
Days later, I flew solo for the first time to the practice area, a measly 15 miles away. But this first flight away from the nest was special, for I tasted the infinite freedom of flying. I descended to about 1,000 feet over the Wachuset Reservoir and inscribed random circles over the water, the islands, and several fields in the area. I watched as the clouds above painted dark patches on the bright green of the grass below.
As the houses and lawns rushed below, I was utterly unable to wipe a childish grin from my face. Here I was, alone at the controls of an airplane having fun, enjoying the liberties afforded to those lucky enough to leave the earth for a bit and commune with the ether.
A profound feeling of joy burnt deep in my stomach: I'd conquered flying alone. I was almost a pilot. And I was loving every precious second of it.
Mark Wilkinson was a Boston journalist when he learned to fly in 2004. He enjoyed flying so much that he decided to pursue a flying career.
Want to know more?
Additional resources especially for student pilots at the solo flight stage of their training can be found at AOPA Flight Training Online.
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