The BBC has been airing a new TV series that follows the work of Ben Robinson, who surely has one of the best flying jobs in the world. As an aerial archaeologist, Robinson uses his trusty Cessna 172 to survey the historic landscapes of Britain, his eye trained to spot tiny differences in ground conditions caused by buried features.
In one episode of the show he became intrigued by what looked (to me) like a few scratchy chalk marks in a plowed field. But when a team of ground archaeologists dug the site, they proved that humans had been living at Stonehenge 3,000 years longer than anyone thought. Good eye, Ben!
Watching The Flying Archaeologist brought back memories of learning to fly in Scotland where my home airfield, Cumbernauld, was situated next to the ruins of the Antonine Wall. Built in the second century A.D. on the orders of Antoninus Pius, the wall’s original purpose was to keep the marauding Scots out of the Roman Empire.
Today the wall has a use that no one could possibly have imagined 1,800 years ago—as a handy reference point for airplane pilots. The ruins run parallel to Runway 8/26 and are perfectly placed to help space a downwind leg.
Cumbernauld will always hold a special place in my heart as the location of my first solo flight, on November 28, 1998, in a Piper Cub registered G-BWEZ. “Solo” is a solitary word, but in an aviation context it describes a common bond shared by every pilot that has ever lived. It ranks among the most special experiences not just in my flying career, but in my whole life. For example, I have a much more vivid memory of my first solo than of my first kiss!
For some strange reason, as soon as the Cub’s wheels left the ground, I burst loudly into song. Perhaps it was a way to release nervous tension, or compensate for the absence of my instructor’s reassuring voice. Whatever the reason, I serenaded myself the whole way round that first solo circuit. In the merriment afterwards I kept quiet about the singing; it didn’t seem quite in line with the macho pilot image.
There is an excellent tradition in America of cutting off the student’s shirt tail after solo. The Scots are far too stingy to waste a good shirt, so our celebration consisted of warm McEwan’s beer drunk from an inscribed silver tankard. Research tells us that celebrating milestones and building community bonds are critical parts of keeping students engaged in aviation. This certainly worked for me. That silver tankard, presented by friends in the Popular Flying Association, was a big deal at the time, and I proudly display it on my office shelf to this day.
Along with several AOPA colleagues I recently attended the annual banquet of Able Flight, an organization that provides flight training to people with disabilities. It is inspirational stuff, and we were there to announce the AOPA Foundation’s support of a full Able Flight scholarship for each of the next three years.
One young man helped by the organization was brought up to the stage and introduced as “Pavarotti,” after the famous Italian opera singer. Various people in the audience laughed, and I realized it was some kind of in-joke.
We chatted later, and I learned he is a budding young architect named Jorge Urrea. A childhood auto accident in his native Colombia left him paraplegic and with no hope of achieving his dream to become a pilot. That was until he moved to the United States and learned about Able Flight’s training program in a Sky Arrow LSA fitted with hand rudder controls. After 14 years in a wheelchair, Urrea became a certificated pilot in 2008.
I asked what the nickname was all about and he said, “They call me Pavarotti because I sang all the way through my first solo.” Cue a moment of instant bonding!
Able Flight videotaped his flight and uploaded it to YouTube called, “Pilot Sings on First Solo.” I must say that Urrea is a much better singer than I ever was, and his smooth first landing beats my bumpy effort in the Cub. One of my slight regrets is that I never got a video or even a photo of my first solo. Although the memory is vivid, it would be nice to have something to show others. With several thousand viewers of his YouTube video, Jorge Urrea does not have this problem!
