A cross-country lesson
I let out a big breath and push in the throttle. Here we go! I take my feet off the brakes, and the Cessna 172 starts slowly down the runway. Soon the lines are whizzing by. I apply a little right rudder to keep the nosewheel on the centerline. Soon the nose is light. At 40 knots, as the nose of the airplane gets even lighter I use a little aft pressure on the yoke. I pull back with my left hand ever so slightly until the nose is just above the ground. All this time I have my right hand on the throttle, ready to pull the power out at any time in case something goes wrong. When it reaches 65 kt the airplane will practically fly itself off the runway. Even though it's airborne, I still lower the nose slightly to gain airspeed. At 80 knots I climb out, and I'm off!
Since this is my first real cross-country without my instructor, I'm a bit nervous. I've decided to fly from Sanford, Maine, to Fryeburg, to Portland, and back to Sanford. If everything goes as planned it should be a two-hour flight. It should be relatively straightforward; I've flown a similar route. However, I have only 40 hours of flight time right now, with two or three of them as solo time--and most of that was within sight of the airport. This is different. It's me up there doing it all by myself.
The thing that scares me about this trip is that I'm flying over mountains. The air over mountains tends to be choppy and somewhat unpredictable. Even though I listened to a weather briefing long before getting in the car to drive to the airport, and it said the winds were from the north at six knots, I am prepared for different weather.
At 500 feet I advise my intentions, "Sanford traffic, Seven-Three-Four-Quebec-Zulu departing the area to the northwest, Sanford." I raise the airplane's right wing slightly to look for other aircraft in that direction and then turn right. At this point I'm a few hundred feet over the trees. I'm careful to control the bank and not let it get too steep. As I roll out on course and continue to climb, I know I can do this by myself without my instructor in the seat beside me. If I can't, then I shouldn't be flying.
When I leave the pattern I check the time. It's noon; if all goes well my ETA at Fryeburg should be 12:25 p.m. I've written everything down for my flight: radio frequencies for all three airports, field elevations, traffic patterns, runway lengths, VORs, nautical miles from one airport to the next, true course, magnetic course, departure time, and even some information from airports that I will be near while flying. I had asked flight service for a standard briefing this morning and calculated wind velocity and direction. I have a sectional chart with me for navigation.
Flying toward Fryeburg, I find myself drifting toward the left. The wind at 2,500 feet is a little rough; it seems like more than the six knots predicted, but not unmanageable. I compensate for the wind by flying a couple degrees farther to the east. However, when I do this my magnetic heading is about 05 degrees and I don't recognize anything on the ground. As I check the clock 15 minutes into my flight, I'm still 10 minutes out from Fryeburg, and I can't see the airport.
I'm getting nervous about my heading. A lot of "What ifs?" are popping into my head and I'm starting to mistrust the instruments. I know deep down that the instruments are right. There is nothing wrong with the airplane except my inexperience. For some reason I keep veering the airplane to the left, maintaining a heading of about 343 degrees. It's a natural reaction. I don't recognize the area. I know I'm supposed to see a certain mountain off to my right, but which one? Where am I? I don't know.
At this point I think, OK--find an airport down there and land the plane! Then you can ask someone where the heck you are! I'm starting to panic, and talking to myself isn't helping things.
My anxiety level is starting to rise. I look at my heading--343 degrees. OK, I should be six or seven minutes from the airport. I could fly around here until I run out of fuel and nobody would know. Deep inside I hear a little voice telling me, "Trust the instruments." I turn back to my original heading of 05 degrees and tell myself that I must trust the instruments, especially since I have only flown this route once before. I pick up the chart and look at it. I see lakes and ponds on it. Which one is which?
When I look out the window, I realize that the lake, which should have been about four miles off to my left, is directly underneath the airplane. Wow! If I had continued on the wrong heading for the next six or seven minutes I might have flown right by the airport without knowing it until I'd been a few minutes past my destination. Then I would have been a good 10 miles to the northwest of the airport trying to figure out the infamous, "Now what?" Lucky for me the little voice kept insisting that I trust the instruments and turn back to the heading I had calculated.
After what seems like a long time, I fly over the top of a mountain. At last, I recognize the area. The land between the mountains spreads out into swamps, fields, and an airport. Finally, the Fryeburg airport!
By Sophie Strout
"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.
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