here are routine flights and then there are flights you never forget. The former might be trip after trip around the pattern, while the latter is usually because of the destination, the weather, the company, or the airplane. But sometimes it’s because the experience speaks to the essence of flying and why
it’s so wonderful.
Like all pilots, I’ve been lucky enough to memorialize a few of these in my logbook and a few more that unfortunately live only in my faulty memory. Thankfully I still remember some from early after I started flying, one of which snapped back to me the other day as I was reading William Dubois’ story
“Playing in the Dark,” which begins
on page 36.
I was working line service at the FBO in Gainesville, Florida, where I was going to school. It was a great job that allowed me to see scores of cool airplanes and meet a number of wonderful, generous pilots. One based customer had a cherry-red and white Cessna 170. (You thought I was kidding about the faulty memory. I have no idea what his name was.) Tailwheel airplanes hold a special appeal. Apart from their obvious nod to aviation history, they are, as a category, better looking as well. Put a 170 next to a 172 and decide for yourself.
Apart from being pilots and both owning the same unusual classic car, he and I had little in common. Funny thing though, flying is usually enough, and he asked me to fly along to an AOPA Air Safety Institute seminar in Ocala. I have no idea what the seminar was about, and don’t remember the flight down. But the flight back remains special to me decades later. It was night, with clear skies and smooth air. Thanks to barren Paynes Prairie that lies between Ocala and Gainesville, the 30-minute trip was also very dark.
That put us in an antique airplane with few interior lights flying over an undeveloped landscape on a night with clear skies and little moonlight. It sounds unsettling, but the lack of
distractions was a gift.
On nights like this when the air is still, you can’t easily discern speed, and the only thing to concentrate on is the drone of the engine and the stars above you, there’s a strong sense of floating in space. We savored the experience by saying nothing, one of the few times in life where that seemed like the perfect response.
Flying experiences like these make the whole thing truly worth it. It’s worth the effort, the money, the frustrations, and the setbacks. They are flight training’s endgame.
As you’ll read in Dubois’ story, night flying is not without its risks and challenges. Some of those are detailed in the story, and some you’ll experience first-hand in training. As much fun as it is to experience the challenges and unique character of night flying in training, it only gets better from there.
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here are routine flights and then there are flights you never forget. The former might be trip after trip around the pattern, while the latter is usually because of the destination, the weather, the company, or the airplane. But sometimes it’s because the experience speaks to the essence of flying and why
it’s so wonderful.
Like all pilots, I’ve been lucky enough to memorialize a few of these in my logbook and a few more that unfortunately live only in my faulty memory. Thankfully I still remember some from early after I started flying, one of which snapped back to me the other day as I was reading William Dubois’ story
“Playing in the Dark,” which begins
on page 36.
I was working line service at the FBO in Gainesville, Florida, where I was going to school. It was a great job that allowed me to see scores of cool airplanes and meet a number of wonderful, generous pilots. One based customer had a cherry-red and white Cessna 170. (You thought I was kidding about the faulty memory. I have no idea what his name was.) Tailwheel airplanes hold a special appeal. Apart from their obvious nod to aviation history, they are, as a category, better looking as well. Put a 170 next to a 172 and decide for yourself.
Apart from being pilots and both owning the same unusual classic car, he and I had little in common. Funny thing though, flying is usually enough, and he asked me to fly along to an AOPA Air Safety Institute seminar in Ocala. I have no idea what the seminar was about, and don’t remember the flight down. But the flight back remains special to me decades later. It was night, with clear skies and smooth air. Thanks to barren Paynes Prairie that lies between Ocala and Gainesville, the 30-minute trip was also very dark.
That put us in an antique airplane with few interior lights flying over an undeveloped landscape on a night with clear skies and little moonlight. It sounds unsettling, but the lack of
distractions was a gift.
On nights like this when the air is still, you can’t easily discern speed, and the only thing to concentrate on is the drone of the engine and the stars above you, there’s a strong sense of floating in space. We savored the experience by saying nothing, one of the few times in life where that seemed like the perfect response.
Flying experiences like these make the whole thing truly worth it. It’s worth the effort, the money, the frustrations, and the setbacks. They are flight training’s endgame.
As you’ll read in Dubois’ story, night flying is not without its risks and challenges. Some of those are detailed in the story, and some you’ll experience first-hand in training. As much fun as it is to experience the challenges and unique character of night flying in training, it only gets better from there.