Solo Flight

It was a warm, humid Saturday morning in mid-August.  I was in route to Wehrman Aviation, a small private airport on the outskirts of a rural town in Missouri.  There was a small sign just off the old, beaten up blacktop that read:  “Flying Lessons-Wehrman Aviation.”  I had seen it many times before.  The arrow on the sign pointed down a winding gravel road that disappeared into the woods.  Three curves, two creek crossings, and one cattle gate later, I recall the clearing that opened to a tiny, private airport.  The sheer sight of the planes made my heart pound with anticipation.

Mr. Wehrman had just finished his normal morning chores when I arrived.  He was a retired pilot from the military.  At seventy-seven years old, he possessed an unnatural youthfulness about him.  He stood tall and lanky, about 6’6” and walked with a limp.  Mr. Wehrman had taught young pilots the art of flying in Vietnam and had been an instructor ever since.  With 34,000 flying hours under his belt, his knowledge of flying was unheard of.

He made a career as an instructor/cattle farmer, which seemed to have kept him very busy.  Six older planes lined his narrow grass strip and tall evergreens surrounded the runway.  The windsock at the end seemed to jump out with its bright splash of fluorescent orange.

Instructor Wehrman taught in a unique fashion that I have never forgotten.  When he have his instructions, he expected them to be committed to memory.  His respect wasn’t requested—it was demanded. 

I had flown with him seven times now and he had mentioned that I was about ready for my solo flight.  Surely, he was kidding.  After all, I had less than a dozen hours of flight time.  I wasn’t ready to fly this thing on my own.  What was he thinking?

The planed that I was flying that day was a 1967 blue and gray Cessna complete with hail-induced dents and a partially primered tail section.  Despite the rough exterior and my own personal doubts, my educator reassured me that it was an air-worthy craft.  I guess Instructor Wehrman liked to use the smaller crafts because they were easier to fly than most.  The tiny plane was just big enough for two adults to sit side-by-side.  Claustrophobia set in when I wedged myself into the cockpit.

I can recall instructor Wehrman and me performing our final checks on the plane before taking off.  I had an eerie feeling that he was going to tell me that today was the day.  I remember pleading to myself, “Please, not yet.  Just a few more lessons and I’ll feel more confident about soloing.”

As we fastened ourselves into the small plane, I noticed that Mr. Wehrman had a strange look on his face, one of anticipation coupled with forewarning.  He said, “Let’s go around once together and then you’re ready to go on your own.”  After hearing the words “on your own,” I got this irremovable lump in my throat.  The moment that I had been training for had arrived and I’d never been so unsure of my abilities.

“Are you certain I’m ready?” I asked.

He replied with a calm, laconic remark, “If you weren’t ready, then I wouldn’t sen you.”

“Clear!”  I turned the key and with a puff of smoke, we began to move.

He said over the sound of the engine, “The winds are out of the south so we need to head north to the end of the runway.”

I already knew the information that he was giving me, but I kept my mouth shut and listened.  After all, I wouldn’t have the luxury of his wisdom the next time around.  I was grateful for every word he sent my way at this point.

We taxied to the north end of the runway and did some final checks before takeoff.  I grabbed the mike for my announcement, “Cessna 535482 ready for takeoff.”

“Clear for takeoff.”  I prepared for my favorite part of the flight, the launch.  The throttle in my hand, I mashed the gas and the beast came to life.  As the plane picked up speed, I could feel the force.  It pushed me back in the seat with its strength.  It’s just a little at first, but it built stronger and stronger as we went.  Thirty miles per hour, then forty.  At this point, I started to feel the lift.  As I approached fifty miles per hour, I had learned from the past, that the craft was ready to fly.  I pulled back on the yoke and felt the downforce.  There’s nothing else like it.  We climbed over the trees with little effort.

We leveled off, and my instructor told me to execute a turn at 1200 feet.  At this altitude my ears began to pop and my stomach started to feel a little uneasy.  I made a counter-clockwise turn and flew off to the east.  Mr. Wehrman wanted to run me through a few sequences for review.  I definitely had no problems with this because in a few minutes I knew I’d be alone.  We went through our maneuvers without a hitch.

“Okay Shawn.  It’s time to head back to the runway so I can get out.”

I longed to ignore the dreaded words that I had heard.  I felt sick to my stomach.  All I could think was how I just wasn’t ready for this.  I think he knew how I felt, but he also knew that it was natural to feel this way.  We lined up for the approach.  “Just a little dab will do ya,” a phrase he liked to use if I was over-compensating the yoke.  I eased up on the wheel before executing a perfect landing.

“See, you don’t need me,” he chuckled as he attempted to relax me.  It didn’t help much as I taxied over to the other planes and let him out.

It was time.  I tightened my four-way harness, wiped the sweat from my brow, took a deep breath and taxied for takeoff.  I had a million thoughts going through my head, most of which were negative.  Student Pilot Crashes at Local Airstrip.  Man Dies During Solo Flight.  The thoughts kept coming.  I wondered if this was worth the risk.

I put myself into motion, almost as if I were a robot.  I tried to imitate everything my instructor had done.  I was operating on the energy that only fear could provide.  I taxied to the north end and repeated to myself every step necessary to fly this machine.

“Attention.  Local traffic Cessna 535482 ready for takeoff.”

“Clear for takeoff.”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, took a deep breath, and said a prayer.  I depressed both foot breaks and pushed in the throttle.  The plane lurched forward.  It seemed to have more power, or maybe it was just the fact that the plane was lighter—one less very important person.  I kept my head in the game by focusing on what was in front of me.  Then miles per hour, and then twenty…thirty miles per hour, forty.  As I approached the magical fifty miles per hour mark, I knew the craft was ready to fly.  I could feel it.  I pulled back on the yoke, lifting the small plane off of the ground.  I felt like a baby bird being forced from the nest.  My mind went blank with fear as my instincts took control.

I was actually piloting this craft on my own!  I climbed to 1200 feet and executed my first turn.  As the left wing dropped down, I could see my instructor on the ground.  It was as strange feeling when I looked down and saw the man that had always sat beside me during my flights.  He was a quarter of a mile away, but seeing him standing there took away some of the uneasiness that I had been feeling.

My second turn was coming up.  I needed to get my head together because as soon as I made the bank, I knew I would be ready to begin my landing sequence. This part of the flight would not allow for errors.  At this point, the cockpit felt like a sauna, which made it tough to breathe.  I knew that if I could keep myself together for forty-five seconds longer, that the reward would certainly outweigh the risks.

As I approached the evergreens, I pulled back on the throttle and set my flaps for landing.  When I flipped the switch for the flaps, the machine reacted.  Flaps-check.  Throttle-check.  Nose attitude-check.  I crossed over the trees and began my descent.  I knew that the landing was the most dangerous part of this journey.  Once again I tried not to think about the negative and focus.  I lined my plane up with the runway and shut the throttle down.  I corrected for crosswinds, and reassured myself with a glance at my altimeter as I prepared to land.  I glided down for a perfect touchdown.  Cramming the brakes I rolled slowly over to my instructor.

I don’t think that it was until this moment that it dawned on me that I could actually fly a plane.  As I hailed out with excitement my mentor grinned ear to ear.  I shut the plane off and got out to hear his latest words of wisdom, “I told you that you could do it.”

For the first time in my life, I truly felt like I could accomplish anything.