Airport Stories: The first solo thread

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

After 10 hours instruction or so, the student pilot gets what is known as “solo fever.” I had a bad case of it. I was due, overdue. Weather had been holding me back but today was the day, I could feel it. It had been raining for a few days, so at first I was worried that the weather wouldn’t clear up in time. I got up bright and early and checked the weather forecast - fog clearing, and few clouds at 1000 feet. I looked at the Bankstown weathercam, which showed a bit of fog. OK, so maybe it will have burnt off by the time I get there, which it did, as it turned out. I spoke to my instructor, M. once I got to the flight school who was worried about a forecast 10 knot crosswind later in the morning and warned me that if it picked up the solo was off. Nowadays I probably wouldn’t even notice a 10 know crosswind, but a 15 hour student in a Cessna 152 has palpitations considering it. A crosswind haunts his nightmares. Silly students.

Part of the preflight is to hold your trusty fuel tester under the fuel tank and with a brief upward thrust squirt a small quantity of go-juice in the screwdriver/fuel tester to check for water, bugs, leaves, etc. Whilst checking the port fuel tank my fuel tester broke. What a pain, $10 down the proverbial. Is this an omen?

Having flown XGB before I knew the seat wasn’t adjustable and I’d have some visibility problems due to my inherent lack of altitude so I brought along a seat cushion. What a difference it made. Suddenly I could actually see outside! So that’s what the runway looks like.

First we taxi out and discover that one of the controllers has slept in this morning and is running late for work. This means no circuits. We shut down and wait for a green light. Literally. Eventually the flashing green appears at the tower, we start up again and enter the runway.

The go/no go decision on whether or not to send a student for his first solo is three good landings in a row. Round we go for three quick circuits and no problems - probably my best landings to date. “Ok,” says M., “I’ve got the radio call on this one, make it a full stop.” That was probably the longest sentence I’d yet heard M. utter, he’s a man who rarely wastes words. Most times he looks half asleep, but I gather this is the studied indifference of a hardened flying instructor who’s been scared to death by students more time than he cares to remember.

Now. I thought I’d feel rising panic, fear, worry, terror. Nope. It felt RIGHT. It felt like something I could do. It felt like the first drive of a new sports car or motorcycle. Exciting and filled with promise, but not worrying or nerve racking at all.

“Bankstown tower, X-ray Golf Bravo is ready runway two niner left, first solo, received delta.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo, hold short of runway two niner left.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo, holding short.”

No doubt the tower is warning other traffic to steer well clear of the circuit until this knuckle-headed solo student is up, round and back down again, hopefully in one piece.

“X-ray Golf Bravo, cleared for take-off.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo, clear take off.” Experienced aviators will spot the error in this radio call here.

A bit of power, get right out into the centre of the runway, left brake to straighten up over the piano keys, heels on the floor, check runway heading to compass and DI, smoothly open the throttle and check full power and steady. Engine temp and pressure green. Airspeed indicator rising, hold her straight with rudder. 55 knots indicated, back on the yoke to rotate, balance with some right rudder, hold the nose up and trim, hold 65 knots best rate of climb. Check to the left at the parallel taxiway to double check we’re straight and pick a reference point just to the left of the cowling, a nice radio mast and hold it steady.

Quick breather. 300 feet, flaps up, temp and pressure still ok, quick look over the shoulder to make sure we’re tracking the centreline. As usual I’ve drifted off to the left so I bank gently right and adjust back about 5 degrees. Coming up to 500 feet, airspeed a little high at 70 knots so we’re not climbing as fast as we could but still faster than usual now that 75 odd kilos have been removed.

Check for a reference point, a distinctive cone shaped hill and bank left at 15 degrees until it slides past the nose. True to form I’m late feeding in rudder, so I gently push the left rudder. Too much, the ball slides over the right. Bugger it. Straighten up, centre the ball and look over the left shoulder. There’s the runway, nicely pointed away at a 90 degree angle. Check the speed which is drifting up above 65 knots. Quick turn of the trim wheel to relieve a little back pressure. Look again over the left shoulder and the runway has drifted around, which means I’m turning left. Bank 5 degrees over to the right to correct. Now we’re almost ready for the left turn onto the downwind leg.

Altitude! I’m already over 1000 feet and still climbing. What a difference one person makes. Push the nose over and trim down. Airspeed on it’s way up and now I’m ready to turn. Crank it over left at 30 degrees and back the power off to 2300 RPM. Descending slightly back down from 1100 feet. The reference point is sliding around, a distant cluster of white buildings. There’s a slight crosswind pushing me left to I adjust slightly to the right. Spacing is good.

“X-ray Golf Bravo is downwind for a full stop.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo.”

A little too high but still descending, my spacing is good, wings level. I pump the toe brakes to check there is pressure in them which makes the aircraft pivot for a moment, touch the dash to remind me that the undercarriage is down and locked, push the red mixture control to check the engine is fully rich, reach down to check the fuel lever is horizontal and give my harness a little tug to check I’m still strapped in ok. I sneak a glance at the right hand seat and there’s no bugger there. I can’t help laughing out loud. Height is good now, just under 1000 feet, spacing is good and just passing the runway threshold. I pull the carburettor heat on as I do whenever I pass the threshold, it’s easier to remember that way. Getting ready to come abreast of my base leg reference point, a big blue office block over to my left.

30 degree left turn, pull the power back to 1500 RPM, back pressure to hold my altitude with a little trim to help out. Apply rudder too late and watch the ball swinging everywhere by the middle. Airspeed is down into the white arc so I reach for the first stage of flap. My reference point seems to have swung into view much faster than normal so I quickly level the wings as it appears over the nose. Check the runway to my left which seems a little high, second stage of flap and trim again, pull the nose up to hold 70 knots. I’ve noticed on previous circuits that this crosswind tends to push me past the centreline.

“X-ray Golf Bravo, cleared to land runway left.”

“Clear to land left, X-ray Golf Bravo.”

I look down to see an imaginary centreline, anticipate the turn to final and bank 30 degrees and keep descending. The speeds falling off a little so a bit more throttle and push the nose over a fraction.

I’ve anticipated the turn too much so I reduce the angle of bank to about 15 degrees and line up on the runway. Wings level and full flap. Speed is steady at 65 knots. The runway looks big, fat and a mile long. It used to look tiny, narrow and way too short, now it seems plenty big. The picture is nice, this will be a good approach. 200 feet, heels on the floor, carb heat away, flaps full and check the windsock. The windsock is limp as a wet noodle, so the crosswind is only up high, not down on the ground. Coming in nicely, speed a little low, down to 60 knots but it hardly matters now, I reduce the throttle to idle as the threshold disappears under the nose.

Eyes on the horizon at the end of the runway and ease back on the yoke for the round out, keep the pressure on, we’re almost there, keep the plane flying, the main wheels kiss the runway and we hang a foot or so off the surface, hold it the yoke back and the wheels touch again, keep the nose high and let the nose wheel come down gently. There is only a gentle squeak from the tyres, not the usual squeal and yelp I was getting used to. I could brake hard to turn at the first taxiway but as the runway still looks a little wet in patches from last nights rain I prudently let the plane roll out to meet the next taxiway. I can hear a go around call and I hope my extended roll out hasn’t caused it. Left off the runway and taxi back to where M. is patiently waiting, and probably having kittens. A grin spreads across my face.

“How was that?” M. asks.

“Piece of cake.” I’d rehearsed that line to get exactly the right tone of nonchalance.

Flaps up and switch to ground frequency.

“X-ray Golf Bravo on ground frequency?”

“X-ray Golf Bravo.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo, congratulations on your first solo.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo, thank you sir.”

“X-ray Golf Bravo, the tradition is for your instructor now to buy you breakfast.”

“Is that how it works? I’ll let him know.”

M. muttered something about the controller owing him a beer and I knew I wasn’t getting breakfast shouted.

I wrote that just after my first solo, so please excuse any variations in tense. Any other doper pilots care to share their first solo experiences?

2

7 November 1974. I had 21.6 total hours. I’d flown with 3 different instructors. I was having a hard time with that whole landing thing. Somewhere around 18 hours, my instructor, Dick, had an inspired idea - he suggested I sit on a cushion. I did. It clicked. A few more hours of practice, and he figured I was ready.

I was in the Navy, stationed at NAS North Island, working the midnight shift. I got off work at 7AM, and met my instructor at the flying club shortly thereafter. Our practice field was Brown Field, east of San Diego. It was a clear, calm, lovely morning. We flew over to Brown and I did a couple of practice landings. I wasn’t too impressed with them, but Dick decided it was time.

I taxied to where he could get out and watch me, contacted the tower, and taxied back to the end of the runway - I think it was 27, but I can’t remember for sure - I just know the sun was behind me.

There are two things I remember vividly. First, I refused to look to the right - I didn’t want to see that Dick wasn’t sitting there. Second, as I began my takeoff roll, I remember how the Cessna 150 leapt off the ground. Losing my skinny 150# instructor made a real difference! All the way around the pattern for three landings, I heard his voice in my mind, telling me the things that I knew. My landings weren’t great, but I didn’t jam a strut through the wing and I didn’t jar my fillings loose.

After my third landing, I taxied over to pick him up, and I was smiling so big, it hurt. We took off and headed straight back to the base, where, after we secured the airplain (N10568 - I remember that, too) he proceeded to cut off my shirt tail. It was a uniform shirt - I wish I’d thought to wear something else, but at the time, I was just so happy! It felt so good to see that shirt tail tacked up on the wall.

Shortly thereafter, I made a cushion on which I embroidered the date - 7 Nov 74. I always flew seated on that cushion. I got my instrument ticket on my 21st birthday - Jan 23, 75. My last piloted flight was in 1978. I still have my flight log. I still have the cushion. I wonder if my shirt tail is still and NASNI Flying Club?

3

I have two solo stories to share. Unfortunately, I don’t have the gift for storytelling in comparison to so many other people on this board. But I’ll try giving it a shot.
My first solo in an aircraft ever, was in an Air Cadet glider. A Schwiezer 2-33a to be precise. It was the 22nd of July, a Saturday in the middle of the summer of 2000. I was 16 years old.

Now the cadet program for getting your glider licence is quite different from learning at your average flying club. First, it takes several weeks of ground school to even write the test that determines eligibility for the course. After that it takes interviews and other things before you may be selected to get on to the summer course. I’m a pretty quick learner, so I seemed to do quite well though this process, and I made it on to the course on my first attempt. And getting on this course is a pretty big step for a cadet, it involved getting your wings, which is the most coveted thing a cadet could have. But it wasn’t just the wings, this place had history. Walking though the corridor, you could see the signatures of people who would eventually become some of Canada’s finest pilots, including astronauts. To be able to write your name on the wall there actually meant something, that you have a bright future ahead of you.

So there I was; young, full of piss and vinegar, and was learning to fly on the government’s dime. Life was beautiful.

The course was going great for me. I had a great instructor, fantastic officers and a great group of peers. My instructor was a great petit young asian girl, whom they’d paired me with (I’m a fat kid). She pushed pretty hard, but luckily, I was up to the challenge. She’d taught me how to ‘scam’ flights, basically, if anybody hesitated getting to the aircraft, I was in there like a dirty shirt. I was getting upwards of 7 flights per day in (though these flights averaged about 10 minutes apiece.) I progressed fast, faster than most, and solo approached quickly.

When you’re in a large group of young, agressive wannabe pilots, things can get pretty competitive, and this place was no different. Every year, it’s really competition to see who would be the first solo. In 2000, I won.

It started Friday morning. I knew I was close to solo, but two or three other people were close too. Our mornings that week were spent in ground school classes, and all morning there was electricity in the air. It was said that another guy in the other group (we were divided in to two) was as close to solo as I was, and they were flying in the morning. But by lunch, word had reached us that he hadn’t managed to solo, and wasn’t scheduled to fly again until Monday. I was ecstatic. Friday afternoon I flew with a senior instructor, just as a presolo checkout. We landed and he said I was ready, but the weather wasn’t. A stiff crosswind had blown in, and it was decided that no students should be soloing in that weather. Disappointed, I finished off the day, crewing for everyone else.

That afternoon, I’d been nothing but excitement and couragous. That night, the fear set in. I’d done the stupid thing of think about my situation. I was 16 years old, with less than 5 hours of flying. I didn’t even have my drivers licence yet… and they expected me to fly a plane???

I didn’t sleep much that night.

The next morning, the nervousness was still there, but it subsided as our groundschool class progressed. We had lunch and headed out to the field. The first flights went up and my instructor came to talk to me. Was I still ready? Yes. Did I want to solo today? Hell yes.

When the glider I was supposed to go up in had landed, it was pushed back in to place on the runway (landings were made on the grass beside the runway, while takeoffs were done on the runway itself, two towplanes, four gliders, a towplane and two gliders per side of the runway). I hopped in. I hear the launch control officer informing the tow pilot that it was my first solo… and that it was the first for the course.

Ok… Here we go. Don’t screw this up. Straps done up. Canopy closed - Locked. Inspect tow rope, tell them to attach it. Thumbs up - Wingman picks up my right wing. Stick out my index finger, the Bellanca Scout towplane moves foreward slowly, taking up the slack in the rope. When that’s out, I put up a third finger, the middle one, which informs the tow pilot to hit the throttle. He guns it, and soon, I’m in the air, lifting off quicker than usual.

Up we go.

When you’re following a Bellanca Scout as a towplane, you want to keep it’s horizontal stabilizer in the middle of the “X” that is formed by the towplane’s struts and landing gear. I did it. And I did it well. Singing loudly to myself the whole way up. We pass 500 feet and keep going. This flight is supposed to go to 1500 feet, where I’ll release the rope and start practicing turns… and well, whatever I’m not too excited or scared to do. 1000 feet comes and goes, and we keep going up. At 1300 feet, I prepare for the towplane to level out and give me the signal to release. He doesn’t level off… Or give me the signal. I guess he has something special in store for me. We keep going up. 1700 feet, 2000 feet Up we go.

He levels it off at 2300’, and waves his wings, the signal for me to release. I pull the big red knob on the dashboard, and I’m all alone. It quiets down as I slow from the tow speed to the best glide for this aircraft; 50 miles per hour.

It’s a beautiful day. Wind is not too strong, and it’s early afternoon and there’s some light, puffy cumulus clouds forming. I pick the closest one and circle it twice. Once I’m below it’s base I fly under it. I do a few more turns and decide that I should head back towards the airport. I enter the glider circuit, and looking down, I can see the vans and truck lined on the centre line of the runway, with plenty of little white dots surrounding them (the dots being my fellow students, all wearing white shirts and hats), with a glider and a towplane taking off on my side of the runway.

I turn base, then final. Everything’s perfect. Slowly, the ground comes up to greet me, and I hold it off, just a bit, and the wheel kisses the ground. I throw spoilers all the way open, which also engages the wheel’s brake. I pitch forward on the skid, and we coast to a stop. Right beside the vans (launch point), exactly where I should be.

It was the best landing I’d ever done it a glider (and probably will ever do in one). And I was one of the few that ended up even close to the launch point. I get out, help the crew push the glider out off the grass, and watch as my intstructor picks up one of the big jerrycans of water (quite a feat for someone her size) and opens it and begins pouring it on me.

Life is good.

During the debriefing, my instructor asks me as to what my ‘solo song’ was. The ‘solo song’ is kind of a tradition at this place, as everyone who goes up sings something different and personal to them. Some sang classics like Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” Quite a few sang “Higher” by Creed… Ugh… What did I sing? The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated”. (Just get me to the airport and put me on a plane. Hurry hurry hurry, before I go insane). I think I made the right choice.

So that was it. I’d made it. I finished the course, got my wings and went home.
My power solo isn’t as storied. Actually, it’s quite boring in comparison.

A few years later, I started college. I was taking aviation at one of the top schools in the province. We were flying Cessna 172s. I hadn’t flown in years, as I ran out of money soon after getting my glider licence, and couldn’t afford to fly. Air Cadets had decided that despite my top marks on the candidate tests, I wasn’t fit to earn my power licence through them (I was not a “good” cadet… Leading a small revolt against your superiors will usually change the way the officers see you.)

So there I was; a bit older, a little wiser, and a whole lot more pessimistic. Life had changed a lot since my carefree glider days. I was a thousand miles from home, living in a dorm and drinking a lot. Alone. Despite that, life agreed with me there.

I wasn’t the first solo this time. I wasn’t even the fifth. There were plenty of people there who already had their private licence. Most of the ones who had their licence were old acquaintances from cadets, who had ended up getting their power wings. The course was fast paced. But I mostly kept up. And eventually, I reached solo time.

I’ve always been blessed with great instructors. My instructor at the college was great. His sense of humour was a great match for mine and we got a long quite well. We’d worked through my odd flying tendencies and when it was time to solo, we did a couple circuits and he got out. With a “Hey y’all watch this” I was off.

The phrase “hey y’all watch this” has a history in aviation. It’s generally well known as the last thing a pilot says on the ground or over the radio before he turns his airplane in to a big flaming ball of aluminium foil. I use the phrase as a preparation for when I’m about to do something stupid. I see it as a short form of “Yes, what I’m about to do could kill me, but I’ve weighed my options and made my choice.” It’s a phrase that many have heard me mutter under my breath before I make a tough decision. It seems that my mistakes are usually more public than most peoples, so I think it suits me well.

I call the tower, tell them it’s my first solo, and they clear me for takeoff from the taxiway intersection (it’s a 6000’ runway, and going from the taxiway meant there was still over 4000’ left, so it’s not a big deal. Standard procedure, actually.)

Throttling up, the plane takes off and I go up. Again, I make use of my favourite Ramones song (as I will any time I solo a new type of aircraft ever again) and fly a circuit. It’s a right hand circuit, and I turn base over the McDonalds, where everyone else always does it. I turn final. Perfect alignment… Not so much vertically. I have to adjust the throttle the whole way down. It’s not pretty in any use of the word. I bounce the landing and go a few meters past my exit (the taxiway I took off from). The tower thankfully lets me turn around and make my way off the runway.

When I make it back to the apron, I shut the engine and electronics down. My instructor walks out to me and tells me to give him anything I don’t want to get wet.

As I walk back to the building, 8 of my friends/classmates make their way towards me. Each carrying a bucket of water. I stop and they surround me. The first bucket is thrown… It’s freezing… not to mention it’s -5 degrees out. As I turn away from the icy water, the friend I turn towards lets loose, and this continues until all 8 buckets are empty. I suppose I was lucky though. Some people got alternating hot and cold buckets.

We debrief and I catch a ride back to residence with a friend to get changed, and go to classs that afternoon.

Unfortunately, that story didn’t end too well, as at the end of the next semester, I was booted out of the program for not achieving the ‘academic standard’ (I got 66.6%, when I needed 70%. I was told my mark suited my personality.
So those are my solos so far. With any luck by March, I’ll put up a new “Airport Stories” detailing my first solo in a hot air balloon.

Wow… That was and probably will be my longest post ever on the 'Dope.

4

And apparently myself and FairyChatMom have the same birthday 01/23… Just noticed.

5

Guys who start in gliders are always better pilots than I am. Too cool to do it so early an age too.

Well done.

6

I have an exciting first solo story but today I’d rather talk about my first ride with my Mom.

I was very lucky to grow up with airplanes in my family. My Dad had a Funk with an inverted - converted Model -B Ford car engine. Was partners in several others and then got a Cessna-140, which is the one I remember the most from the early years.

I was always pretty tall so as I grew I would have to slouch down with my knees up high to keep my feet clear of the rudder peddles and I had to try to keep my knees from the control wheel. So I was very used to not seeing over the nose very well.

My Mom was taking lessons at this time ( 1957 maybe ) and just as she was nearing her check ride my Dad came up with one of the new Cessna 172’s. She was pissed because it set her back a bit. She finally got her check ride in and passed just fine. The next weekend we went to the airport where I for the first time saw our new plane.

Wow ! It sure seemed big to me. Huge windows and so much room. My Dad said I should be the first to go with Mom for my first ride in it and with my Mom as pilot. What fun…

Was great, it looked like I could see the ground right in front of me as that model was a tricycle gear with a slopped down nose, quite a change from the usual planes of the day. I also could sit up straight, side the seat back and forth and adjust it’s height. What a change.

So off we went and I was just a bit apprehensive as I had only flown with my Dad for all these years and this was my Mommy driving…

All was well until we started down final. We had about ½ a fuel load and my Mom was a small woman and I was a kid. That airplane did not want to come down. Well, Mom knew what a flap handle was for and she was not afraid to use it. Down came the barn doors and the airplane felt to me as if it had come to a complete stop. Huh Oh !!!

She pushed the nose over to maintain the proper approach speed and to me it looked like we were going straight down. I grabbed the side of my seat and worked real hard to not say anything… But I was sure getting worried and wondering if I had done something so bad that she was going to take us both out for the shame of it. I mean I was looking at the ground come at me through all the huge windscreen and I thought I was doomed.

Dad had drummed into us kids to not bother the pilot during a landing and I was really trying but I could not help myself. When we passed the point that in my experience said we were going to die, I yelled at my Mom, “Pull it out !!!” Of course being taught by good people including my Dad, she just barley glanced at me to be sure I was not grabbing for the controls and went ahead and held the nose down as we were not ready to flair just yet. At about 3 feet, she flared out and we were still a few feet high so she had to kinda wiggle us down before we stalled so as to not drop it too much and look bad.

(I would come to love those barn door flaps Cessna made in later years and they would save my ass many the time, but I can still see that ground coming up to meet that day. )

Rode with my Mother many times after that, she was already a part of the 99"s ( women aviation group ) and we always had a good time. This story is not part of the family traditions and tales for the time we get together and relive those early years.

Many years later when I was introduced to helicopters and guys would pull and unannounced auto-rotation, I would just yawn, they could not hold a candle to what my Mom did to me that day…

( Never try to scare new people to flying even inadvertently, always explain in advance what is going to happen, why and try to make it a good day for them. Take old pelicans like myself out to try and scare, we may have a few tricks up our sleeve’s too. )

7

My first solo was at Dunedin Airport, New Zealand, on the 30th of February 1997. The aircraft was a Cessna one fifty two called “Foxtrot Gulf Charlie.” To protect the innocent I shall call my Instructor “T”, nah, I’ll call him Jim, that sounds more realistic.

My training had gone ok, even though I could only afford to log one 0.7 hour flight each week, I still progressed at a reasonable pace and after a certain number of dual instruction hours, he reckoned I was about ready to solo.

I should say, at this point, that Dunedin has (or had) a class D tower with ONE controller and one frequency, there is no radar, no ground or clearance delivery, just the tower. There were few aircraft operating in and out of the place. If you stopped and listened you’d hear birds chirping rather than aeroplanes roaring.

Well, I’m ready to solo then.

When the day came, I went out and did the usual preflight stuff, check the fuel and oil, wiggle the wiggly bits, waggle the waggly bits, look at the tail to check it’s still there, reach into the cowling and remove the starling’s nest that had appeared over night, touch the exhaust to see if it’s hot, etc.

Jim came over when he saw I was ready and we oozed ourselves into the little cockpit. We were both largish chaps, I’m moderately broad and he is broad and tall. Once inside we took up the usual instructor/student positions when both the instructor and the student are too big for the plane. Me sitting in the left seat, hands on controls, and him in the right with his arm casually draped across the back of my seat.

I went through the before-start checks and started the engine. Then came the after start checks, followed by some quiet time as I waited for the engine to warm up enough. With the oil temperature and pressure in the green, I gave ZK-FGC, or “The Beast” as she was affectionately known, some power and we taxied out to the apron.

*“Dunedin Tower, Foxtrot Gulf Charlie, 2 POB, request taxi via the loop for circuits.”

“Foxtrot Gulf Charlie, taxi via the loop, report ready.”

“Via the loop, Foxtrot Gulf Charlie.”*

The “loop” is a short taxiway that comes off the apron to join the main taxiway just prior to the runway, it allows outbound aircraft to pass inbound aircraft, and was also where we did our engine runs prior to flight.

We trundled on up around the loop and I pointed The Beast into wind, had a look around to clear the area, held the column back, and brought the RPMs up to 1700. Check the “Tees and Pees” are still in the green, then carb heat out, look for RPM drop, carb heat in, ignition to right mag, observe RPM drop, ignition to both, ignition to left mag, observe RPM drop, compare the two drops, ignition back to both, check suction, run the flaps and check the load meter, reduce power to idle, observe RPMs and note that engine continues to run, RPMs back to 1000.

Everything seems to be in order. Time for the pre take-off checks, or “drills of vital action” as they were sometimes called.

We didn’t use checklists. Rather we had standard checks that we did and we had little mnemonics as reminders. The pre take-off one was, “Too Many Fat Flying Iinstructors Have Crash Landings” and stood for:

Trims, set for take-off,
Mixture, rich,
Friction (throttle), tight,
Flaps, set for take-off,
Instruments and Ignition, checked,
Harnesses and Hatches secure,
Controls, full and free in the correct sense,
Lookout (supposed to be a lookout for people and obstacles prior to moving, I thought of it as “lookout, here I come!”

That must have been one of the better mnemonics because I can still remember it, I couldn’t remember the pre-start and after-start ones which is why I didn’t go into all this boring detail at that part of the story. Another good one, for remembering whether to add or subtract magnetic variation, is “Can Ducks Make Vertical Turns” or the less mature, “True Virgins Make Dull Company.”

Right then, I’m ready!

*“Foxtrot Gulf Charlie, ready.”

“Foxtrot Gulf Charlie, cleared to take-off.”

“Cleared to take-off, Foxtrot Gulf Charlie.”*

We taxied out of the loop, past the holding point and onto the runway. It was standard procedure to just take-off from the intersection, so I lined up, asked Jim if he was all set, and opened the throttle.

cabdude gave a nice description of taking off in a C152 (complete with the over-the-shoulder-check-my-tracking bit), so I won’t repeat it. Needless to say, we took off, and everything was A.O.K…

Now, I feel that I should make an admission here. I actually can’t remember much of my first solo at all. I know that it happened. I know it happened in Dunedin and it definitely happened in a C152 called FGC or “The Beast”. I’m pretty sure we used runway 21 and not 03 that day. I think it was a really nice day. And I seem to recall the controller congratulating me after landing. It obviously didn’t happen on the 30th of February. I am embarrassed to say that without my logbook, I can’t even be sure of what year it was. So, I am essentially making this up. Making it up from bits and pieces of memories. Little bits of known events. I was competent on the radio so I know what I would have said, and we always did runups at the “loop”. Unfortunately I can’t remember any of the actual flying or my feelings while I was flying, either during the initial dual circuits or the subsequent solo, I suspect I was just concentrating, that’s what I normally do at times like that. I am unsure whether we did some circuit emergencies such as an engine failure after take-off, we might have. Don’t take this to mean that it was not an important event in my life, it was, I just have a poor memory for the detail of past events which is probably a really good reason to write a diary or something.

Anyway, to fill in this space where memories should reside, but don’t, I’ll make it up a bit more and flesh it out by inserting an event that actually did happen, but it happened several years later, and at a different airport. Lets pretend it happened during my dual circuits with instructor Jim.

OK, so we take-off and after a possible practice engine failure we continue to climb out and turn right (it’s a right circuit on runway 21 due to the terrain to the left.) Turning right again onto downwind I do the BUMPF checks as previously described by cabdude and call the tower.

*“Foxtrot Gulf Charlie, downwind, 21, touch and go.”

“Foxtrot Gulf Charlie, runway 21, cleared touch and go.”

“Cleared touch and go, 21, Foxtrot Gulf Charlie”*

Around we come, on to base, then finals for a landing, on the ground, flaps up, power up, up we go. As we are taking off this time, there is some static on the radio, the sound you get when someone presses the mic button to talk but doesn’t talk. It is also, apparently, the sound you get when you are trying to land an R22 helicopter onto a very small trailer in turbulent conditions, and you’re not doing very well, and you’re nervous and tense, and you are unconsciously holding the transmit button down with one of your white knuckled fingers. This is what subsequently came over the radio:

"(breathing)…come on come on come on…(heavy breathing)…get on there ya bitch…(heavier breathing)]…yabitchyabitchyabitchyabitch* damnit!…(breathing breathing breathing)…ok calm down, have another go, you can do it… do it do it doit, you caaaaan dooo iiiiit come ooooon…(breathing)…AhhFUCKIT!** faaaaarkit… come oooooonn…*"

We had to leave it there, amusing as it was, the guy was blocking the tower frequency and this is not a good thing. Luckily we could hear the tower when they transmitted, probably because their transmitter was a lot more powerful. Often when there are two transmissions at once, all you hear is an annoyingly loud squeel. So we heard the tower when they told us to go to another frequency, which we did.

On with the rest of the circuits then. I did at least three with Jim before he told me to do a “stop and go”. I landed and stopped on the runway. Jim got out, gave me a pat on the shoulder and said, “It’ll fly a lot better without me in it, have fun!” Then he sauntered off the runway and across the grass to the flying school where he could listen on the radio as well as watch my circuit.

I did the take-off checks again and headed off down the runway. The Beast was a lot more willing without the lard-arsed instructor next to me, that’s for sure. It positively leaped into the air, almost as if it enjoyed being freed of 100 kilos of human flesh. Up, up, and away!

This might be a good time to link to this thread, and say that this is what would have been going through my head on that first solo flight,

There’s no sensation to compare with this,
Suspended animation, a state of bliss,
Can’t keep my mind from the circling sky,
Tongue tied and twisted just an earth bound misfit, I

The flight went well. The landing, if I remember correctly (and it must be quite clear now that I probably don’t), was ok. As I taxied in I said “thank you” to the controller’s congratulations, my voice quivering with nervous tension.

I can only hope that the hapless R22 pilot eventually got his helicopter on to the trailer, and that he’s not still out there, cursing, and swearing, and muttering obscenities under his breath.

8

It was a sunny, warm summer morning in the Mojave Desert in 1984. My instructor and I just did some pattern work instead of heading out to the practice area. We were doing stop-and-goes instead of touch-and-goes, and after one of them he directed me toward the ramp. He told me to stop, but to keep the engine running. He got out of dad’s Cessna 172, and I thought he was going to go chat with someone while I taxied the aircraft back to the FBO and parked it.

Instead he said, ‘Just take it around the pattern a few times.’ (Cut to a Bob Stevens cartoon: 'Me? SOLO? TODAY? :eek: ) He shut the door and I got on the radio. ‘Fox Tower, Cessna 5-7-3, taxi for take-off.’ I taxied back to the run-up area and dutifully re-checked my controls. I pirouetted on the left main to get a 360° view of any traffic and then pulled up to the line, angling the aircraft so that I had a good view of the final. ‘Cessna 5-7-3, ready for take-off.’ ‘Cessna 5-7-3, cleared for take-off.’ I pushed the throttle forward and lined up on the runway, accellerating smoothly to 60 mph. (This being a 1970 aircraft, the ASI was marked in MPH.) I pulled back the yoke to rotate.

Oh, boy! :slight_smile: This thing really climbs when you remove about 200 pounds of ballast! I reached over to touch the right seat to make sure he was really gone. Up I flew to the pattern altitude and I rolled into my right crosswind. Pulling the throttle back to 80 indicated, I rolled right onto downwind. ‘Cessna 5-7-3, downwind for touch-and-go.’ ‘Cessna 5-7-3, cleared for touch-and-go.’ I watched the 6,000-foot runway roll by until I was 45° from the approach end. Twenty degrees flaps, trim down, reduce throttle, right turn to base. Throttle to idle, 40° flaps, trim down, turn to final.

There’s nothing like an old-school Cessna with 40° flaps. Big ol’ barn doors, those flaps are. 70 indicated on short final. Pulling back the yoke to flare. Wheels over the approach end. Haul it back. Man, that yoke gets heavy! Stall warning horn blares. Good. I stop flying as the mains hit the big painted ‘24’ on the runway. Hold that nose up! Flaps up! Hold, hold, hold… the nose gear touches down. Throttle pushed smoothly forward. There’s my 60. Rotate.

My instructor said ‘go round a “few” times.’ What’s a ‘few’? Three? I could have gone round and round for an hour! But he said ‘a few’. Better to follow orders. I made three circuits.

I landed and taxied over to Barnes Aviation, which was owned and operated by Shou-ling Barnes, daughter-in-law of the famed Florence ‘Pancho’ Barnes. Bill had died in a P-51 crash about five years earlier. I tied down the aircraft and headed into the FBO where my instructor was waiting for me.

And my log book was endorsed.

It was one of the happiest days of my life.

9

Trailer? I wonder why? We just put the wheels on and pushed them.

R-22s are sweet!. Very nimble and maneuverable. I’ve got to get into the air again.

10

I gotta learn to fly before I get to be too old to do it.

I gotta, I gotta…

11

Late 1943 at one of the auxilliary fields (maybe at the world olive capital, Lindsay, CA) supporting the Rankin Aeronautical Academy at Tulare, CA.

We shot a few landings and then the instructor, L. J. Robin (what a name for a flying instructor) climbed out of the front seat of the Stearman PT-17 and said to take it around the pattern a few times.

I had about 15 or 16 hours which was about average time for soloing.

I was happy but I don’t recall that it was a super elation experience. I was just one of many, all of whom were soloing at about the same time. For a short time I was one of the “in” group who were pilots as opposed to just students, but that didn’t last more than a week.

12

It was just last summer for me. Last weekend I passed the checkride, too, and now hold an official Temporary Airman’s Certificate with all the rights and privileges appertaining thereto. The ride was ridiculously easy after my training regimen, but this thread is about solos, not checkrides.

Mine was long overdue for medical reasons – I got an official diagnosis of Type 2 diabetes right after getting my combination student pilot ticket / 3rd class medical last February. That put me on medication, and the short version is that I had my medical pulled for about 4 months while that stabilized. It’s entirely under control now, and I weigh about 40 pounds less than I did a year ago, so it’s all good. But meanwhile, without a good medical I couldn’t be Pilot In Command and therefore couldn’t solo. It wasn’t at all certain I’d get it back, either, so the new Sport Pilot rule was starting to look pretty good. The FBO at my local airport (which is a different story) doesn’t have an LSA yet, though. But I digress there, too.

I’d wanted to do it for a long time, almost did it in high school, but the cost and the time and other life’s priorities always got in the way. With better eyesight, and the possibility of a career doing it, maybe I’d have decided differently. But that’s a very familiar story. In my case, another pilot at work coaxed me into visiting his FBO’s open house, and after considering the financial implications along with the mental health implications along with my wife, I did it.

Anyway, my instructor is also a coworker who moonlights as an instructor, along with her husband, at the FBO, and admits she enjoys it more. We have both been learning this business, since she just got her instructor’s ticket and I’m the first primary student she’s taken on. Cockpit conversations have been a little weird at times, since we both speak techie aerospace-engineerese. That’s fine if you’re working on programming an autopilot, but pretty much useless for learning how to judge a flare. Since she was new to instructing, she got a little overanxious and so did I – we’ve talked about “instructor anxiety”, and it’s real and nobody’s fault, actually

I should mention that by “local airport” I mean one 75 miles from home, but near where I work – the idea was that it’s something to do after work, before coming home, and the prices are a lot lower there than anywhere else I’ve seen. It’s still only $78/hr, wet, for an IFR C172N, $35 for an instructor, vs. $105/50 and up elsewhere.

Oh, hell, the airport is Sanford, Maine, SFM for those of ya – it’s right inside the big white circle in the northeast corner of the New York sectional, showing the expansion of the TFR whenever Dubya is visiting Poppy. Other times, the prohibited zone over Kennebunkport is small and easy to avoid, but there’ve been stories about people who’ve tried it. SFM is pretty darn busy in the summer and on weekends, with a lot of bizjet traffic into a major resort area, but is still untowered. Dealing with traffic there by yourself can get a little weird, and those of you who only know towered fields are just soft, darnit, soft – try lining up a C172 between a couple of jets, a Waco biplane, and an ultralight when the wind is variable and everyone is picking a different runway sometime. But it’s Class E all around, and that’s a big help for someone who lives inside Class B like I do. It doesn’t help in the winter, though, with sunsets around 4 PM in Maine.

So, I was just about ready to do it, after some after-work time and some weekends, when I got the agonizing cease-and-desist order from FAA Medical. After some serious replanning talks with Sue, we agreed to keep going with the post-solo curriculum, on a slowed pace, while waiting out the reissuance. When that came, I’d be as ready to solo as any student in history. With a more intensive schedule, I could almost be ready for the frickin’ checkride on the same day.

So, a few weeks after sending in a bunch of paperwork to FAA Medical, it happened – I got a reissued medical. Right away I reserved my favorite plane, 734QZ, for the next Saturday and made plans to bring the family and an old shirt along. I’m almost sorry I didn’t get the casual “I’m getting out now” routine, but I’m over it. A couple of patterns with Sue just to show her I hadn’t forgotten what to do, and to make sure the wind was light and the jets were elsewhere, and then she asked to taxi back.

Oooh, that was nice. Everything right according to plan, right down the checklists (you really don’t use them in NZ? They’re required in the US. Different subject), the plugs on the left mag had fouled on taxi (again) so I had to clear it at the runup (again), but it cleared, and I made the call, “Sanford traffic, Skyhawk 734 Quebec Zulu, taking runway 25 for departure, closed traffic”. I’ve been completely comfortable with radio and nav work all along, so I even had the calm pilot’s voice down cold, even with the wife and kids there to watch. Slide the throttle in, step on the right pedal, ease it off at 55KT, set climb attitude and VY (hey, it really jumps without the ballast in the right seat!), turn crosswind at 500AGL, call downwind turn, 2000 RPM (that airspeed is high, too, 1900 works better) with carb heat on, abeam the numbers back off to 1500 and drop 20 degrees flaps, call base and turn, watch the airspeed, call final and turn, yep, it’s lined up fine, hold that attitude, okay, level off and let her down slowly, SQUEAK SQUEAK (nice!), hold it back, light braking, flaps up, carb heat in, do it two more times, call “Full stop” the last one and taxi back, still calm. The shirttail is on the wall in the hangar now, along with a number of others who did it this year.

The 3 best landings I’d ever made were on my first solo. They always deteriorated after than when flying with Sue again, until the time she suggested she fly from the left seat instead and just let me watch. She then bounced it worse than I ever had, most likely from too much time in her Bonanza and not any recently in a Skyhawk, but still, I was sitting there watching her closely and she admitted that was the difference. We both learned to relax from that, her enough to approve me for the checkride, and the rest is, or will soon be, history.

I’m takin’ the missus along for a hundred dollar hamburger this weekend. The first of many times, I hope. It’s almost a shame that the best airport food in the area is at SFM itself – it always feel funny to be leaving a place to eat when a bunch of people are flying there to eat, but having an excuse to go flying is the point.

13

Great stories. I’m around 13 hours into my instruction, so I’m hopeful that I will have one to add within the next month or two. Weather permitting, that is… another reason to hope for a mild Wisconsin winter.

14

My instructor had inhaled a lot of exhaust gasses over the years, so I often had to read between the lines to figure out what his vague instructions were. Being a new kid deciphering crusty old airman lingo like “Ride the bubble, son. Ha Ha! That nailed it, feel that slip? Do ya, hah! Now push that oiled broad in…easy…easy…CRAB! CRAB!”

Well, I was doing a routine taxi back to the FBO, when my instructor said, “Hold on, park her over by the tower, I wanna go talk to Dave.” So I taxied up near the tower, and he hopped out and said “Meet me back here, take her around the pattern a few, wind sucks today don’t it?”

He scribbled an endorsement on my flight card, and dashed off into the door of the control tower. I was solo!

I taxied out to hold and did my runup check. Got clearance, and shot off down the runway. The 152 sprang into the air now that we were a good 250 lbs lighter. I did two touch and go’s, and finalized with a short & soft field approach and landing because I was feeling cocky and felt that the sustained wheelie of a soft-field landing was appropriately symbolic.

I taxied back to the tower to wait for my instructor and idled the plane waiting. Waiting. Waiting. After what must have been 20 minutes, frustrated I called the tower for “taxi back to FBO”.

Waiting back in the FBO office was my instructor with a big grin on his face. "What took ya so long, son? "

15

It’s not a requirement for a small aircraft like a C152. Some flying schools used them, others didn’t. Our instructors view was that these are very simple aircraft and a checklist wasn’t warranted.

Johnny L.A., I have no idea why the dude was trying to land on the trailer.

16

I think the gremlins do this to a lot of folks going solo. 180 degree wind swap. I should have seen it coming…

Anywho, as I have said before, I grew up around airplanes and had help the controls a lot a s a kid. My folks did not pay for the boys to do anything, we got to get jobs… Good plan in the long run although I was not all that thrilled at the time. So I had no formal instruction until I was at Ft Lewis Washington and went out and started learning with an FBO that had Aeronca 7AC ‘Champ’. I was confused a lot by North being off over towards Idaho someplace it was my first encounter with heel brakes. I got in two lessons and then learned what ‘The Far East’ meant.

Lots of military stuff and boot leg helicopter stuff and Special Forces stuff and then I left the service and rode my motorcycle home.

About a year later, my finances got better and I went for my PVT ticket. Turned out I got a great instructor, Wayne M and got on with the program. Turns out I am not a natural pilot, I’m a mechanical pilot. “Feel that?” asks Wayne. "What are you talking about?, says I.

“Don’t move it so much as change the pressure on it.”, Wayne suggested. "Huh?? " says I, “I need to move the controls… right?”

Get the picture.

It was seeming that all the student at the Riverside Airport in Tulsa ( Now J K L Jones Airport ) were soloing at about 3 hours or so and I was at 10 hours and had my instructor tearing my his hair. Then he got a brilliant idea. He said I could not wear my cowboy boots in the airplane anymore, … Ta da … What a difference. My feet were not really made of lead. ( I never wore anything besides socks or moccasins in an airplane again until I took off on my first ever fly for hire flight many years later.) I got the next 350 hours without shoes after that day.

So, I was not doomed after all. Also, Wayne’s hair was saved. I was impatient, Wayne was impatient and my money was running out. ( Not a good time to be making important decisions. ) I had not crashed lately. He did the “Stop and let me out.” Drill and I was free to go. We did this right in front of the tower so my call as a first solo was not a surprise to anyone. We had been working with a South wind for weeks and I taxied on down to the North end, did my run up and was off. So far so good. Was climbing like a homesick angel as I had heard was the case. Waggled my wings at Wayne standing down beside the runway and climbed on out. Turned cross wind and then downwind about the time I got to the river. Downtown was great to see by myself from an airplane. I was about midfield and was looking down at Wayne when I saw him start running real hard toward the tower.

51 Uniform made a quick bump and jump with a swing of the nose towards the West. The tower came through the cabin speaker with a call that went like this, "Cessna 4151 Uniform, there has been a sudden wind shift with a fast dry front that just came through. Sorry we did not know it was coming and the current wind is now about 340 degrees gusting to 25 Kts. You may continue on your pattern to runway 17 but be advised again of the wind or you may change runways to 35 if you wish. ( They knew as well as Wayne did that we had been working with South winds for weeks and this might throw me off too much. Since there was plenty of runway, if I got down at a reasonable point, even with the tail wind, I had a good chance to get stopped and if I didn’t, there was a lot of grass out there off the end of 17.)

I remembered all the hanger flying, family yakking, airport stories and my more than plentiful time with an instructor and decided I could handle the change in runways ok. So I stayed at pattern altitude and just turned a cross wind leg instead of a base and crossed over to the West side of the field. I was now in left traffic for runway 35. I squirmed around a bit, wiggled the rudder some to make my knees stop shaking, ( only worked about half ) and kept on coming.

It was getting a bit bouncy compared to earlier in the day but nothing that flying a lot in Oklahoma would be a reason to not fly. It worked so well, that I decided to not stop. Wayne had said I could do three and so I cleaned her up and went off again. Wayne had come from the tower and apparently had thought I would stop. He had a disgusted look about him as he stood there with his hands on his hips as I sailed away.

The tower treaded me in a matter of fact way and I completed my three crashes and dashes and taxied back in with a , “Well Done 51 Uniform.” For the tower. ( They would laugh at my antics for several years as I was in and out of there many times providing much amusement for all and sundry in various aircraft. )

Wayne went on and got me all the way to my PVT. ticket and we had some real fun times and I also got a lot more ass chewing and many lessons on how to be a pilot before I left him. But those are other stories.

17

Similarities - Man, does this thing climb without all that extra ballast on board.

Differences - the journey from downwind to flare, showing there is more that one way to skin a cat.

18

The US FAA’s published Practical Test Standards call them mandatory. Failure to use a checklist means failing the checkride. So, US schools require them during training, too. You certainly can forget something even in a 152 or 172. I have, anyway.

19

St_Ides, what’s this “Air Cadet” program you described? Will the Canadian government pay for your lessons if you commit to join the Forces later, or something like that?

20

Certainly.

I personally find checklists to be most useful when you have someone else to read it for you. I don’t much like them when I’m flying an approach, single pilot, in a busy environment, with no ATC. I’d much rather be flying and looking outside. I have seen some single pilot aircraft that have the checklists on a cockpit display, great idea, I wish I had access to something like that during my single pilot IFR days.

Of course, someone who forgets to put the gear down has probably forgotten to do the whole landing check in which case he’s not going to remember to read the checklist either.