The Avian Fluke

I went into today’s flight knowing that I was going to make that airplane my bitch. After last time, with the bad flying and the bad feelings that went with it afterward, I knew today was going to be different.

We had around a 13-knot wind 20 degrees off the runway gusting to 24 at times. I got it up in the air, ugly, but roughly on track. We departed for the practice area. Rehashed some steep turns, which weren’t too bad - I fluctuated 60-80 feet on all of them, but my rollout was bad and I ended up either overshooting or undershooting the intended heading. Not too bad though.

Did some slips, which were bizarre, but fun. In a slip, you stomp on the rudder to one side and bank the wings the opposite direction…you do this, among other things, to lose altitude quickly without changing your airspeed. Trying to turn while in a full slip is equally bizarre - everything you know, inherently, is bass-ackwards when you’re trying to do this.

We did some simulated engine failures…

“Okay. Where are you going to land”

“That field over there looks good…”

“Think you can make it?”

I think for a minute, looking at my descent rate…”Dammit. No…where can I go?”

“How about that field over there?”

“Um…ok.”

“Let me show you.”

Dr. CFI puts the plane in a tight series of s-turns and banks to line up at what would have been our emergency landing field. We actually get down to about 300 feet when I say, “Uh…boss…you’re making me nervous here…”

“Yeah. Me too.” He adds full power and we climb out.

It was the pattern work where I triumphed. Because he whipped out the suction cup and covered the airspeed indicator.

I did my best flying today because of that. When you don’t have an airspeed indicator, you are forced to fly the attitude of the airplane by visual reference. And I nailed it, every time, within 5 knots.

My pattern work was decent. Not great, but decent. I’m not correcting enough for wind, and there was a radio call which sounded (to me) like I had traffic coming in on final right as I was turning to base leg which completely threw me off. Dr. CFI ignored it, because it was for an airport somewhere in Oklahoma, but it threw me all the same.

He demos a landing which we turn into a touch-and-go. Talks me through another which we never land, do a go-around instead. Then he says, “Okay. I’m not going to say anything. It’s your airplane. Take us around and land it.”

My turns were passable. I chopped power and trimmed the right attitude on downwind, corrected okay for the wind, but came in a little hot. During the flare, I bounced it, kept the nose up, and got it down without side-loading the gear too badly. Dr. CFI calls for full power and we go around again.

I flew a tighter pattern this time, didn’t correct very well for the wind on the downwind leg. That took me extra time to fix, so when I was setting up for the approach, I ended up on an extended downwind.

Dr. CFI says nothing.

I turn to base, and looking out the window, realize I’m too far away. I add power to arrest the descent and fly level a bit until I get closer to the runway, drop the power again and into full flaps.

Dr. CFI says nothing.

I get a gust which throws me a bit, but I correct quickly, keep a slight crab into the wind and let it drift right into the center line of the runway. My speed is actually a little slower than I’d like, but I’ve carried enough altitude to the runway threshold that it’s not a problem. The numbers slide under the cowling and I start to look down the runway, and level out.

Then I pull the nose up and chop the power. We set down ugly…no bounce, off-center, nose comes down with a little more authority than I’d like, but it’s down.

“Okay. A little right rudder otherwise we’re in the boonies.”

Right rudder applied, I get back to centerline and start slowing down. I make the taxiway, make the turn and stop.

“I just landed this thing, didn’t I?”

“Yep. You did.”

I don’t say much as I taxi to the fuel pump, add 7.9 gallons, and then push the plane back into it’s tie-down slot. We finish up, Dr. CFI signs the logbook, and we go over what we did today. He says I’m making great progress, and truthfully, I felt like I did very well today. My confidence is up.

As we’re leaving, I look over at him. “Hey Doc,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“I landed that thing tonight.”

He grins. I can tell he’s proud of me. “Yeah, you did.”

He gets in his car and leaves, and I stay behind, watching the sun set. I can’t remember if I put the gust locks on the plane or not, so I go back to it, double-check (I did put them on) and then stand there on the patio and smoke a cigarette while a Cirrus SR-22 makes a beautiful landing, taxis in, and ties up for the night. I want to run over to the guy and rave…”I landed tonight! I did it! I brought it down!” but I know he’d freak and never offer me a ride in the Cirrus, which I’d like some day.

I don’t fear the wind anymore, and I don’t fear turbulence. I did think, tonight, of the CFI and pilots who were killed yesterday en route to Abilene. I didn’t know them, but know people who did. And I wondered, for a moment, if my number may come up some day while I’m flying. God, I hope so - because when I go, it better damned well be while doing something I love. Dying at the DMV or while shopping would just be embarassing.

I felt like a real pilot tonight. I have so far to go and so much to learn. But tonight, I brought her down.

I did it.

And I will never, ever forget it.