Learning Experiencs

A solo with a twist

Many pilots claim that their first solo was great fun, exhilarating, and had a perfect landing. Yes, my first solo had some fun in it, and yes, there was exhilaration! I have ridden in an avalanche, and exhilaration was not the first emotion that I felt. I think I experienced an "Oh no!" followed by, perhaps, stark terror. So it was with my first solo flight: exhilaration like riding an avalanche.

While I was in the first stage of flying, keeping the airplane level and performing steep turns were difficult. Whenever my instructor and I practiced touch and goes, he was always impressed with how well I seemed to grease them in. However, as I got closer to my solo, I began to concentrate more on the landings, and what had been greasers turned into bouncers. I was forgetting to pick an aim point or not understanding when to round out and when to flare: too much speed, too little speed, not enough rudder. The more I thought about the landings, the worse they became, until two stage check flight instructors suggested more work on the landings before I could solo.

After practicing many, many more landing--at my home base, Jeffco Airport in Denver, Colorado, as well as Vance Brand Airport in Longmont--I finally was able to take my stage check with confidence. The key for me was learning to hold it off as long as possible and try not to land the airplane.

I took a two-week vacation in order to spend more time flying, and used much of the time preparing for the third stage check and dodging weather. After finally passing the stage check I hoped to solo before the New Year began. As luck would have it on New Year Eve's Day my instructor and I went out at 8 a.m., and I completed two perfect touch and goes and one perfect full-stop landing. He got out of the airplane while giving the usual advice of "Don't be so nervous. You'll do fine"; he also ensured that I notified the control tower that I was a student pilot on first solo.

So off I went. I was a bit nervous, but not as much as I thought I would be, mainly because I had expended a lot of nervousness on that stage check.

There were more people flying that day than I had ever seen before. When I got to the run-up area, there were about five airplanes already there and two more queued to leave. I sat at the runup for about 20 minutes, which is unusual for Jeffco. Eventually, I was cleared to hold short of Runway 29 Right and was number three behind a Diamond Eclipse DA20-C1, call sign Katana 240JP. I was flying the same make and model, Katana 245JP.

So here were two Katanas with virtually identical call signs in the same pattern, and 240JP would remain ahead of me. The controllers were emphatic about reminding me and the other Katana pilot of this coincidence.

Finally, I took off, and the airplane screamed off of the runway in about 600 feet. Without my instructor's weight in the right seat, the two-seat Katana was flying like an uncaged raptor. By the time I was a third of the way down the runway, I was already at 500 feet above ground level, at which point the tower requested that I switch radio frequencies. I had watched my instructor make such frequency changes, but this was yet another twist that I hadn't experienced until that moment. So as I was upwind of the runway and climbing fast, I began fiddling with the radios, trying to tune in the new frequency; amazingly I got it right and made the proper calls. The controller told me to fly a left pattern for the parallel runway, 29 Left.

Using all of my flying knowledge, I made a perfect landing on 29 Left. I don't recall feeling elated or exhilarated--or anything else for that matter--simply because I had been too busy controlling the airspeed, performing the crosswind turn, changing the radio, and acknowledging the other Katana on the same frequency.

After I took off for this first touch and go, I began to loosen up and enjoy the flight. My CFI occasionally makes airplane noises when he's flying, partly because the Katana is fairly quiet but also because his love of flying brings out the little boy within. So on the turn to crosswind I was making the same noises while periodically acknowledging to the tower that I had Katana 240JP in sight.

For the second time around the pattern I brought the power down abeam the target point, put in the first notch of flaps, and began descending. Typical pattern speeds for the Katana are 80 kt on downwind, 70 kt on base, and 65 kt on final with the last notch of flaps added during the base leg. I landed again just fine, brought in the first notch of flaps, and proceeded to lift off for my last circuit around the pattern. On the upwind I made the call to the tower requesting a full stop with the expectation that it would be on the main Runway 29 Right. The tower granted the change and as expected I was approved for right base for Runway 29 Right.

I was feeling good about the flight but was keenly aware that I had one more landing to go before I could celebrate. I changed back over to the tower frequency and learned that the wind was four knots at about 360 degrees. One mile out, I kept making sure that I was right on the runway's extended centerline and noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were three or four airplanes waiting for me to land, so I would be their show. I was right on glidepath but just a bit fast flying over the numbers, so I decided to bleed off some of the airspeed since I had plenty of runway on 29 Right, Jeffco's longest and widest runway. I started the roundout a bit high and began slowing the airplane by using only a judicious amount of flare.

This technique was working fine, and the airplane began to settle and started to come down. However, I felt I should keep bleeding off the airspeed, so I held it off just a little bit longer. While in this few seconds of not being down but flared and with the nose high, the airplane began to yaw to the left rather quickly, and that was when exhilaration took hold.

For some reason in that instant I completely forgot all of my training and simply froze up. I remember yelling, "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!" as the airplane finally touched asphalt. The yaw to the left was about 20 degrees left of center, and from my perspective I could have been 90 degrees to the left! The airplane lurched to the right with the entire side load put on the right main gear and then lurched to the left, heading for the grass. Luckily this happened on the main, wider runway, and I finally got my feet to work the rudders and straightened out the Katana. I was petrified that I might wreck the airplane, be reprimanded, and never fly again.

I taxied off of the runway with my knees shaking so violently that I could barely press on the brakes. It seemed to me that the tower controller's voice sounded agitated, but I wasn't concerned with that because I just wanted to get back to the hangar. I tried to switch over to ground but was still so flustered that I programmed in the wrong frequency. After a few minutes I pulled out my check sheet, entered the correct frequency, and taxied back.

My instructor had seen my first two landings, but when he walked back to the hangar, he missed the final landing. I debated whether to tell anyone what had happened, but my conscience got the better of me, so I confessed to him. He consoled me with the advice that landings are hard and I would have many more landings--some would be bad, but I would get better. After some celebratory pictures (and the ritual shirttail cutting) my adrenaline eventually subsided, and I relaxed for a bit and reflected on what had happened.

Clearly, I let the airplane fly me instead of flying the plane, but what else could I have done? When I revealed my error to the stage check instructor, his reply was simple: "Do a go around." "Even at that low altitude?" I asked. "Sure," he said. "After all, if you can control the airplane while you're in the air and not have to worry about the wheels side loading, then do it." (See "Going, Going, Go Around," p. 24.) The other more "obvious" technique I should have employed was to use the rudder.

I learned that I must control the airplane and not let it control me. And if a problem arises, I must not freeze up but instead analyze and solve the problem. I also need to remind myself that each time I prepare to land I can do a go-around if I have to. There is nothing wrong with saying, "This just doesn't feel right, so I am going to go around and give it another shot." Finally, I learned that you fly with your brain, hands, and feet--so use that rudder!

By William F. Snodgrass

"Learning Experiences" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for students and pilots to learn from the experiences of others. It is intended to provoke thought and discussion, acknowledging that actions taken by the authors were not necessarily the best choices under the circumstances. We encourage you to discuss any questions you have about a particular scenario with your flight instructor.