The Avian Fluke

In fading twilight, Der Instruktor began teaching me pre-flight procedures.

I like pre-flighting. You look over the airplane, make sure that nuts and bolts and cotter pins are in their proper places. You make sure that ailerons and flaps move. That things whistle, ring and hum when they’re supposed to. You do this to spot potential things that could be a major problem in the air.

We lost the last of our daylight right about the time we were ready to start the motor - which didn’t, by the way. After a couple cranks the battery gave in. No worries, though, there was another plane we could use. Turned out to be a nicer one, too - a newer Cessna 152 II.

My God, what a gorgeous night. Dallas is finally starting to cool off in the evenings, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We only had about 45 minutes to fly at this point because the runway is closing at 9pm every night for some construction. Smooth full throttle, a little right rudder, a little pitch up and off we go….

Night flying is better than day flying. Especially on a clear night. Below my gear, a brilliant red, white and gold carpet threaded with halogens, arc sodiums, mercury vapors and plain’ old soft whites and a God’s eye view of it all. The lights get denser at the horizon to an eternal solid yellow-gold line, and the deep greens and blues of stars circle above and around you while you waltz with fireflies.

Night flying is smoother, too. I’m used to getting bumped around in little planes, but we felt as solid as a heavy airliner. Der Instruktor started teaching me the finer points of attitude flying - that is, seeing and feeling what the airplane is doing by looking out the window. Noticing, when level, where the horizon visually touches the dash, and how much sky shows between the wingtip and the ground. Then he had me placing it at different altitudes, trimming it out.

I have a new appreciation for proper trimming. Like a golf swing, deft flying is a matter of subtlety. Trimming makes it possible.

We brought it in and shut it down, Der Instruktor handling the perfectly greased landing.

But my head was still above us, in the lights, circling around, finding that elusive reference to the horizon only looking at the instruments to verify what I thought I saw.

I re-flew it in my head that night as I fell asleep. Trying to remember the power settings, the inches I would pull the yoke, and feeling the pressure alleviate as I worked the trim wheel. Looking out the window and realizing that the volume on the entire world got turned down for a while - just me, and the plane and my mentor.

I think that’s how you know you belong somewhere. When the focus is effortless, when the moment is all-consuming, you’re exactly where the cosmos wants you to be.