Ready to Soar: The Excitement of My First TIF (Trial Instructional Flight)
In a recent Facebook post, I reminisced about my dad’s Birdman Rally achievement back in the seventies. My cousin Colin reminded me about all the other things Dad was into:
“Kite making, planning for gold, metal detector prospecting, discreetly constructing handcrafted pistols and crossbows, building model planes and gliders. Then there were other activities like hisTai Chi, where he mastered swords and fan weapons. He was a writer who won prizes for his short stories. He had four-wheel drives, motorbikes, cars, you name it, and he was into it.”
Bill was an aircraft engineer by trade and loved everything to do with flying. I remember his love of birds, in particular, birds of prey. I recall the many times we stopped the car to watch an eagle soaring, or a hawke fluttering silently, frozen in space above its prey. He was obsessed with dragonflies and their incredible aeronautical manoeuvrability.
I remember the first ride on my new motorcycle, just after getting my licence. I was very nervous just riding around the ‘burbs near my home. As I was travelling along praying all would be well, a large dragonfly appeared next to me. I wasn’t near water, or anywhere that dragonflies normally frequent. That dragonfly kept me company, flying right alongside me for a couple of minutes. The anxiety flooding my body faded away, as I felt the presence of my dad. I could hear his voice in my head saying, “I’m with you. You’re safe. Everything is fine.” Then the dragonfly peeled off and I was left feeling calm and confident.
Today, it was with these memories playing through my mind, that I began my first instructional flight in a Cessna 152. My nephew Mark, a pilot for Lindsay Fox, mentioned that the plane I was flying was around fifty years old. Crikey!
I reflected on my experience driving my friend Steve’s MGB Roadster (53 years old) and how hard I had to press on the brake to get the thing to stop, and how on starting it, one had to wait for a good few minutes while it shook, rattled and burbled its way into go mode. I wondered if the Cessna would behave like a vintage car, and the thought didn’t fill me with confidence!
My instructor was a lovely young chap called Artur (without the ‘h’). He took me to the Cessna and pointed out all the various bits and bobs and what their functions were. He was very impressed when I pointed to a section and knew it was the ‘trim’.
Next, we had to get into the plane. Oh, my Lord, it was so tiny! Artur was at least six foot tall, and I couldn’t imagine how he would fit. I had to make like a pretzel to shoehorn my way in. Then, Artur forcefully slammed my door shut. The window was unlatched and flapped rhythmically in the breeze. He looked through the window and said, ‘Don’t worry if the door flies open during the flight, just reach across and pull it shut”. I didn’t quite know what to say to that, but you can imagine what was going on in my head!
I watched in amazement as Artur entered the plane with an even more intricate manoeuvre. We were in! Two sardines in a tin can; talk about up close and personal! Thank heavens I remembered the deodorant that morning.
It was headset on, and apparently, I had to ‘kiss’ the mouthpiece otherwise he wouldn’t be able to hear me. I hoped it had been sanitised from the person prior!
Next it was all the pre-flight checks, and yes, just like the MGB Roadster, we had to wait for six minutes while it shook, rattled, and burbled its way to go mode. As the old girl was warming up, I took in more details; the slightly rusty air vents, the patches of bubbling and peeling paint, the well-worn seat belts, the simple turn latch designed to hold the window closed, and the small plastic hand strap, or ‘door pull’ on the door. I might be reaching for that very soon, I thought, given my door had flighty tendencies.
I gazed at the dashboard, which was a blur of levers, switches, dials, and instruments. Artur pointed at and explained the various elements. I reckoned I’d have to have my nose on the dash to see half of the inscriptions! Hmmm. First problem identified. Stronger glasses would have to be a priority if I was going to take up flying as a hobby!
The propeller whirred, the engine hummed and rattled as we slowly taxied to the runway. Artur was constantly pushing and pulling a couple of knobs in and out, the Throttle (a big silver knob) and the Mixture (a big orange knob). Apparently, the throttle is like the gas pedal in a car, and the mixture fine-tunes the fuel efficiency.
Reaching the runway, we built up speed and suddenly the ground was left behind us. Airborne! Brown paddocks, roof tops, roads and cars shrank in size as we climbed, and French Island appeared before us as we headed over the pale blue sparkling waters. I was reassured by Artur that we had plenty of height so that if anything went awry, we could glide down to land. Good to know! Thanks Artur.
I could hear someone other than Artur talking to us in my headset – it sounded very important - but I could not for the life of me decipher what was being said. I earnestly hoped that Artur could. After the unintelligible conversation ended, Artur pointed ahead at a large white shape on the horizon. “Do you reckon that’s a boat or a plane?”, he asked. I didn’t have an answer. I seriously hoped it wasn’t a flying boat.
We were travelling into the wind on the way out, which was hard going, but on turning back to the airport we had the wind behind us, and then the buffeting began. It was like being on an indecisive roller coaster! As Artur frantically twiddled knobs, my train of thought was along the lines of, he is young, has a family, I’m sure he doesn’t want to die, he’ll do everything in his power to bring us back safely.
Suddenly my peripheral vision caught sight of a bobbing black shape just outside my window. I turned to look, and I swear I saw a dragonfly peel away and fly off into the distance. Not possible, I’m imaging things. Dragonflies can’t fly that high!
Then, there was the runway! But we were at a weird angle. The wind buffeted us this way and that. Seriously, we were not going to make it!!
I had to stop myself from yelling out Mr Fry’s favourite movie lines: ‘Striker, you’re coming in too fast!” and “You’re too low, Ted! You’re too low!”
Artur’s hands moved across the controls as fast as the plane was coming in, and then suddenly, and bumpily the tyres hit the runway. We’d made it! Phew.
How exciting, I loved it! Sort of.
Flying ten thousand feet above the ground, in what feels like an old, weathered tin can is exhilarating and exciting. Unlike being cloistered in a commercial jet, you feel more like a bird as the scenery expands beneath you. It’s like the sense of freedom you experience riding a motorcycle.
Whether I take it up as a hobby, remains to be seen. Stay tuned, I’m going to try flying a chopper next week!
By the way, I just googled, and guess what? A dragonfly can fly up to an altitude of around 12,000 feet with some species being spotted at such heights in mountainous regions like the Himalayas. Who knew?
I had wished my dad was there to share the experience. He would’ve been so happy and proud. Seems like my wish came true.
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