THERE I WUZ! : A Child's First Solo

(OK, well, it's my boy Tim in this pic, but you get the idea!)


JUDGEMENT DAY HATH COME!

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“Only instinct flew the plane; my brain took a vacation.”
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A 17-year old boy and his plane...

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth...*

Here I sat within grasp of my ultimate dream—to solo. From childhood I had longed for this day. But until now, I had never once thought of the risk.

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings...

The tarmac, hot from the Arizona sun, squished under my feet as I cautiously approached the airplane: old Six Niner Tango, the faithful Cessna 152 that endured my skidding turns, tolerated my botched stalls and bounced merrily back from my pancaked landings. Now this docile, forgiving plane seemed to mutate into a hideous, sinister behemoth, a flying dragon ready to consume any pompous pilot who challenged her.

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds...

Mentally unsheathing my broadsword, I performed the preflight inspection.

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I suppressed a sudden urge to join the "There I Wuz!" pilots in the airport lounge.  But I knew I couldn't rub elbows with their ranks until I actually had “been there."

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I went up with my instructor, John P.*, for three touch and goes. Just my luck:  flawless—or, as flawless as a teenage student pilot with a whopping ten hours under his belt can muster.

and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of ...

We taxied in and stopped at the base of the control tower, engine idling. 

"Well Eric," John shouted above the din of the Lycoming piston engine, "you're ripe 'n ready. Feel lucky?"

I suppressed a sudden urge to join the "There I Wuz!" crowd of pilot types in the airport lounge.  But I knew I couldn't rub elbows with their ranks until I actually had “been there."

“Yes," I squeaked.

wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence...

John signed off my logbook with the notation, “Endorsed for solo flight,”** then hopped out.  Squinting against the prop blast, he slapped the door closed, gave me the pilots’ age-old "thumbs up" sign then scurried off.

Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

I held the mike to my lips.

"L-Litchfield Ground, um, Cessna Six Niner Tango ready to taxi."

"Cessna Six Niner Tango, Litchfield Ground, taxi to runway three," came the reply, a hint of amusement in the controller's voice.

I felt his binoculars trained on me. I imagined him calling his ATC buddies up from the break room to witness my airshow.

It was a long, slow taxi to the end of the runway. Plenty of time to stew in thought and wallow in self-doubt.  I could still turn back!  Save my hide if not my face.

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace...

Perhaps it was the brave fool that lives inside all of us that persuaded me to go on. I guess the whole concept of the hero is to tackle one's fears at full charge and destroy them. But I wasn't doing this for the glory. I was doing it for me. Oh, to slip the surly bonds of earth!  To free the shackles that enslave us from birth, that few escape! I could imagine those shackles around my ankles right now, jingling like Christmas bells as I shook.

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I called “Ready for takeoff.”

Ready, hell!  I could barely move!  It was all I could do to breathe.

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I taxied up to the hold line and called, “Ready for takeoff.”

Ready, hell!  I could barely move!  It was all I could do to breathe.

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew...

"Cessna Six Niner Tango, left-closed traffic approved, cleared for takeoff."

I clicked the mike button twice in reply, taxied into position . . . and hit the throttle.

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod...

It's a funny feeling that comes when you know you're committed to something, like diving off the high board into freezing water or walking onto stage on cue, a thousand people watching.  It's sort of a morbid feeling of foolishness. Your mind panics at the critical moment and screams, My God, what am I doing? How stupid could I be? Followed quickly by, Too late! I hope there is life after death!

The high untrespassed sanctity of space...

That’s what I felt as I rotated. My brain overloaded in a confused mass of emotion—then short-circuited. The instant the wheels left the ground my mind went blank. The universe sailed silently by.  Only instinct flew the plane; my brain took a vacation.

Put out my hand...

I had met my dream.

and touched the face of God.

It seems a paradox that one must first drown in fear before reaching that personal nirvana. As the Steve Miller song goes, "You've got to go through hell before you get to heaven."

Ask any pilot what flying is like.  He'll smile wistfully, look off to the horizon with gleaming eyes and spout garbled poetry about freedom, beauty, and life. You've heard it all before but can't understand. That is because it is truly indescribable; it has to be experienced.

That day, I experienced. That day, I earned my seat at the "There I Wuz!" table.

That day, I slipped the surly bonds of earth and touched the face of God...

...Even if my first solo landing was a three-bouncer.

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* “High Flight,”  John Gillespie  Magee, Jr.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

—Wiki on J.G.M.Jr.
—Incredible story about J.G.M. Jr. and his epic poem
—Cool video with the poem

High Flight

John Gillespie  Magee, Jr.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings...

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth...

Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — 

wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace...

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

**John is now a senior captain at Southwest Airlines.

***My first flying job—typical in this biz—was also as a flight instructor.  Over six years, I endorsed dozens of fledgeling pilots to solo, many of whom continued on to receive their Private Pilot certificates, and more.  Several are now full-fledged airline pilots.

Trivial addendum:  the first thing I ever actually flew was a hang glider at age 15...I'm so glad MY kids weren't fool enough to want to do that at that age!!!

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An "older, wiser" (age 25!) Cap'nAux flying the Alaska bush...
but that's another story—and novel!
(My video trailer to "The Last Bush Pilots" premiering SOON!)

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 Posting 10/17 at 11:00Phx (18:00z):

A FUTURE PILOT INTERVIEWS CAP'N AUX

"...the job itself is awesome, but If you want a STEADY, SECURE career, trying acting in Hollywood!  This biz ain’t for the fainthearted!"

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 Posting 10/24 at 11:00Phx (18:00z):

SPECIAL MORBID HALLOWEEN EDITION!

THE DARWIN AWARDS—AVIATION STYLE!

". . . along a lonely stretch of Arizona highway, a moron strapped a military JATO (Jet-Assisted TakeOff) rocket to his car, and lit it off . . ."

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