I was surprised when I went to fill out my flight log—I hadn’t flown in four weeks. It was the first day we’d had good weather >in almost a month. Not just good weather, gorgeous weather. >High 70s; low humidity; three- to five-knot winds; cloudless skies.
I’d reserved Two-Six-Sierra a week earlier, and was now enjoying the preflight in the warm sunshine. During the start and runup, I listened to the radio chatter. There were lots of airplanes taking off and landing, many just doing pattern work, a helicopter from across the field doing practice, another one heading out to a nearby hospital—busy for a nontowered airport. Another pilot was practicing IFR approaches. When guys are flying IFR practice, they’re flying head-on into the path of departing aircraft.
Eventually it was my turn to cross the hold-short line for Runway 24. The wind was now variable at nine knots, and the windsock was showing a left-quartering headwind as I applied power. During the takeoff roll, the wind direction changed suddenly to straight down the runway, and my Cessna 172SP virtually leapt off of the ground, and then the wind changed again and I had to keep the airplane in ground effect until I got it up to desired speed for the climbout.
After spending time in the pattern, I was flying the downwind leg for Runway 24 and was just abeam the 500-foot stripes; I reduced power to 1,600 rpm and was reaching over to give it 10 degrees of flaps when, all of a sudden, straight out of a nightmare, an airplane was bearing down on me from my 11 o’clock, just a few feet above pattern altitude. My immediate reaction was to push the nose down and give him a little more room to pass.
My dodge worked, but I found myself 800 feet agl with the power down, lots of turbulence, copious adrenaline coursing through my veins, and now the word “traffic” in my headset. I know the traffic display's refresh rate on that G1000 is not instantaneous—another reason my CFI tells me to look out the window. I went into automatic mode (“First, fly the airplane!”). I gave it more power as I climbed halfway back up to pattern altitude, radioed my position, and flew an extended downwind. I carefully scanned the skies as I turned base and then final.
Another pilot watching me from the hold short line decided he had time to launch—and did. He got off the ground in plenty of time, and he was far more useful to watch than the windsock—I saw him yaw hard left as his wheels came off the ground, and no sooner had he established positive control than he yawed hard right. The wind was now up to 13 knots and had changed from a left- to a right-quartering headwind. I crossed the threshold at 40 feet agl, doing a light dance on the rudder pedals, and managed to grease my landing, despite having forgotten to trim for speed.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, although not without its moments. As I approached the practice area, however, I found another airplane that seemed to want to play tag. He didn’t get too close, but he did match me turn for turn, keeping between 200 and 400 feet above my flight level. Being in a high-wing Cessna, I couldn’t see him (other than catching an occasional glimpse) so I did watch the traffic display on the MFD. It seems this guy wanted to play games, and I just wasn’t in the mood. Sensing that I was approaching the aviation equivalent of road rage, I decided to head back to the airport. I flew that leg with my “wingman” 200 feet above me and less than a mile away for almost the entire distance.
I’m reexamining all of my actions in the air, and making peace with them. I’m second-guessing my choices and my reactions. I’m learning—all of the time. I’m learning to be careful up there.
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