Pilotage

Aviation journalist Mark R. Twombly writes from Southern Florida.

Funny thing about the right-front seat in a four- or six-place light aircraft: Depending on whose seat is in that seat, it's considered either the second best in the house, or the first of the worst. The difference in perspective is the result of how much, or little, a passenger likes flying in such a small aircraft compared to the universal aviation experience — the airlines.

I won't mention any names, but Susie is just not a fan. For her, the destination is all of the fun; there simply is no joy in getting there. My wife will fly if it's the only sensible way to get to where she wants to be (the Bahamas come to mind), but rarely does she sit up front.

One notable exception was a nine-hour flight we made from Maryland to Florida in our airplane at the time, a Cessna 172. We made the trip in one long day, and she sat right-front the entire time. In fact, she handled the controls for most of the flight while I enjoyed the view. It was the only way she could keep her mind off the fact that she would be in the air for nine hours. I admired her pluck.

Most of the time when we fly she lies down across the rear seats and loses herself in a book and an iPod. If it's just the two of us aboard, my junk rides copilot.

She claims it's not her pilot that makes her uncomfortable; it's just a problem she has with flying in anything, whether Boeing big or Skyhawk little.

Why is it that some people dislike flying, while others relish it? It's a difficult question for us pilots because we're obviously the biggest of fans. We're incapable of truly understanding a mindset that regards flying the same way a former U.S. president viewed the consumption of broccoli — an activity to avoid at all costs, unless a loved one forces it on you.

You can't look at a group of people and say for sure which ones would enjoy the sensation of flying in a little airplane, and which ones definitely would not. There is no one physical profile that applies to flying enthusiasts. You have to look elsewhere for hints of a personality that may be drawn to flying. A fascination for machinery, a love of performance, a thirst for personal challenges — these are pretty good indicators that a person might enjoy taking the controls of a light airplane.

My friend Steve seems to be of that mind. He's competitive, he enjoys singles tennis, and he drives a Porsche. Good enough for me. I offered to take him flying, and he reminded me often of my promise until I made good on it.

I had to go to Fort Lauderdale one Saturday afternoon for a quick meeting, then return. I would be alone, so I invited Steve. He declined, saying that he planned to spend the day with his girlfriend, Jorge.

Then he called back to say he had changed his mind. Actually, Jorge changed his mind. A flight attendant, she told him he was nuts to turn down such an offer. A few minutes later Steve called again to ask if Jorge could come along, too. Heck, yes — the more enthusiasts, the better.

I finished the preflight, then hemmed and hawed. Boarding can be a bit awkward when more than two go flying. Who sits up front if everyone wants to? Steve defused the issue by chivalrously volunteering to sit in back.

Flying across Florida's 110-mile-wide waistline on a steamy summer afternoon can be a dicey proposition. Typically, a bumper crop of thermal-induced, air-mass thunderstorms bloom and block. They were blooming that day but, fortunately, they were shooting up both sides of our southeasterly route to Fort Lauderdale.

The graying, billowing clouds provided dramatic visual content for our flight. We could see the tops burbling and boiling like giant cauldrons of dirty dry ice. Jorge loved it. Although she flies for a living, she doesn't have any opportunity to just sit and marvel at a nearly 360-degree view of incredible cloud skyscrapers floating close by.

Steve had thoughts of changing the seat assignments for the flight back, but he didn't stand a chance. It was clear that Jorge had staked a claim on the copilot's job.

A dark, gray wall of water was closing in from the west when we took off from Fort Lauderdale's 9L, turned north, and flew along the beach. Just past Boca Raton I was able to turn back west and make an end run around the weather. The sky was alive with a swirling mix of hot, rising, moisture-laden air, but as on the first leg, our way was mostly clear.

I offered Jorge the controls, and guided her through the basics. "Pull back, the houses get smaller...." She did well, applying focused concentration on holding altitude and aiming for the point on the horizon that corresponded with the correct heading. We skirmished with a few clouds, slipping through narrow clefts in the white walls, and she giggled.

Before landing we detoured to flight-see our respective homes. Steve immediately picked out his, but it took a few moments for Jorge to make sense of this new low-and-slow, circling perspective and get her bearings. "That's your place, just over the wing tip," Steve said helpfully. "See, there's the car in the driveway." Then she spotted it, and squealed with delight.

These were new views of the world for Steve and Jorge, made possible only by light airplane. We'll have to do it again. After all, Steve is due his turn up front.