It’s amazing how many things can vary between flights, especially when you allow a few weeks to separate logbook entries.
Having completed my minimum two hours of solo circuits it was finally time to move on to learning new skills such as steep turns and recovering from spiral dives.
But there’s nothing like Christmas to ground a pilot for a while and it wasn’t until January 11, some 42 days since my last flight, that I rocked up to Lethbridge with headset in hand.
I saw a guy drag his Jabiru out of a hanger, do one circuit, and push it back in again. Normally I’d think why bother, but now it made perfect sense.
After months in the pattern perfecting what had become routine, I was faced with change overload.
The airfield was a construction zone with a new bitumen runway and hardstands under excavation. The aircraft were parked a few hundred metres away in the middle of the airfield, as though ready to scramble, and temporary grass runways were in operation.
On top of that my usual ride, VH-CAL, was in maintenance, with another Cessna 172 brought in from a nearby flying school to fill the void. Although almost identical they had subtle differences to their checklists, which were enough to eject me from the shattered remnants of my comfort zone.
Add the fact that I’d been on annual leave and had just returned to work that week; it was a lot for my brain to process. That’s when it dawned on me – while I had studied the chapter on steep turns was I going to remember everything else I had learned up till now?
At least the take-off was reassuring.
The ring-in Skyhawk, with its fuel tanks brimming, climbed gently needing little trim or rudder. However, we weren’t up there for a straight and level cruise and soon got down to business. After some instruction I negotiated a few steep turns, which were petty good despite the inevitable (for me) onset of airsickness, which cut the lesson a little short. Feeling queasy I managed, thanks to some practice in my car, to get my inbound and overhead radio calls out in a way that made sense. Approaching the airfield my normal visual queues were redundant thanks to the changes to the airfield layout and the surrounding countryside’s transformation from green to the golden plains that give the region its name.
As I started turning base I had to pass the controls to my instructor to examine the inside of a sick bag. I was disappointed because I wanted to see how my landing would be after a month and bit.
That said I reckon I would have made a dog’s breakfast out of it.
Before handing over to Jeremy I realised I hadn’t extended the flaps, and I can’t remember checking my altitude and taking into account the airfield’s 820ft elevation – though, to be fair, I was fighting a battle to ensure my morning coffee wouldn’t end up over the control panel (I promise to have a proper breakfast next time).
I had been preoccupied with the fear of getting airsick from doing steep turns and this, coupled with all the other changes that confronted me, meant I struggled with the basics.
This is where a good instructor, like Jeremy, comes in. One who understands that you’re not flying every day and that you have another life with its own challenges that will affect your ability to take everything in and keep it there (in this case I mean my brain, not my belly). I didn’t need a lecture but I know I need to do better, hence my belated New Year resolution to enforce my own recency checks.
There will always be changes and new challenges, but it’s better to face them gradually than in one big hit. I’m sure experience will be the best remedy, but I can understand why private pilots are required to have at least three take-offs and landings every 90 days to be allowed to carry passengers.
Flying isn’t at all like riding a bike. After my lesson I saw a guy drag his Jabiru out of a hanger, do one circuit, and push it back in again. Normally I’d think why bother, but now it made perfect sense.