A glide approach to runway 06. 60 knots on the dot, extended centreline passing 500 feet under and one inch to the right. Gentle back-pressure, full flare, the weak blare of the stall-warner, a gentle vibration and…a greaser, to round out a perfect sequence of three gorgeous landings. Vacated and complete, shutdown checks, canopy off, harnesses off.. John looks at me, grins widely, shakes my hand and says “It was a pleasure flying with you sir, you are ready for your skills test. You are a GOOD pilot and you will pass.” I am shocked, both by the statement, and its implication-that my training is over.
Famous last words, these. My skills test is tomorrow; but the three line long taf suggests not so soon. 73 flying hours. Seven aeroplanes-4 Katanas, 2 PA28s and a C152 at some point, landaways at 16 airfields, 5 instructors. 7 tests. 3 kneeboards. Over 300 takeoffs and landings and many more go-arounds. Best thing I ever did in my life and there’s nothing I’m looking forward to quite as much as that cheap little chit of CAA paper that lets me get my wings and soar ! Whenever I want to, wherever I want to.
My most memorable moments:
My first month: The highlight of course, was my introduction to the stunning petit DV20 Katana, with whom I fell in love at first sight. I started training in February. Pilots have this large respect/ hate relationship with weather, and my first four visits to Denham were spent twiddling my thumbs, so even before I learnt to fly I learnt to respect/ hate the weather.
My first solo: Two months on, a billion circuits later, John jumped out after vacating the runway, shook my hand and said, like thousands of instructors had thousands of heart-stopping moments before him, “you’re ready !” Good old Yankee Mike, for the first time 100 kg lighter, lifted off at dare I say 50 kts with just a tap of the stick, and climbed as I’d never seen her climb! Once in the air, butterflies in the stomach turned to dust and were digested, the sandpit marking my turn to downwind beckoned me home, and the landing was a non-event ! Beer with John and Deepa washed down a genuinely landmark event !
My disastrous solo consolidation: My smugness last a week. As with 100s of pilots before me, my solo circuit consolidations brought to light the fragility of flying skills, as far removed from bicycles as can be. 7 landing attempts of which two were bounces, two were balloons, one was an almost wing impacting the runway, and 1 was a go around just because what I thought was a Denham approach in reality was better lined up with Northolt 1.5 nm away… Mental note to self, do not fly on Saturday mornings, a McKinsey week does not result in an alert pilot’s mind frame.
Ireland: A hot august morning, 4 creaky club PA28’s, 8 students and 4 instructors lifted off from Denham to Haverfordwest in Wales. A gruff Brize ATC controller (they’re never happy for some reason), a joyride over Swansea and Cardiff for the kicks led to a long (really long) straight-in final into H’west . Next up was a scary sea crossing till a P&O ferry that seemed heading in the same direction gave us some hope we would see land and not head off to South America. Into Cork and an overnighter bender with ‘80s rock and a quickly coalescing group, in places enough to get thrown out of a pub. Next day, the best flight of my life so far, hugging the western coast of Ireland on our way to Galway and Inishmaan, swooping to 500 ft to take a closer look when required. Loads of walking and drinking in Inishmaan, marooned for 2 days in a pub that pretty much held the whole town of 150 people!
Lost over Stapleford: A stunning September morning, with my last 1 hr of solo nav to get out of the way to be ready for my QXC. Stapleford and Bradwell Bay, to the East, seemed like a fun trip so I turned on a 100 heading at Bovingdon, passed Elstree, Potters Bar and then saw the reservoirs, took my eye off the DI confident that I knew exactly where I was. Five minutes later, as Stapleford radio advised me to join overhead, I was peering down towards the North Weald runway wondering why the runway was all tarmac and 20 instead of 22? Things reached a head when circling over the general area, trying to go ground to map but also avoid other planes in traffic that was more like M40 on a Monday morning; Stapleford traffic was advised to look out for “a Katana slightly uncertain of position”, an understatement I will someday kiss that man’s hand for. Just as I was beginning to wonder whether I would ever find this blasted airfield, a helpful if sardonic voice flowed across the radio, advising me to look under my left wingtip, where indeed runway 22, half grass and half tarmac lay still waiting for me set my bum down ! The most embarrassing moment in my life? Without a doubt.
My qualifying cross-country: Five and a half months of planning a the same silly trip Denham Wellesbourne Leicester, over 50 times such that I knew that route by heart. Looking down at the ground I could almost see touch and feel the CAA map. (tbc)
