Just
Like Charles I am sitting at the end of the runway about to take the third flight
of the day in the glider with my instructor, Rick. Before the tow plane moves
into position, he asks me to open the canopy so he can jump out and fix the tangled
yaw string that looks fine to me. What do I know? I am just a student and he is
the veteran flight instructor. After exiting the glider, he informs me he is not
getting back in; he is giving me my wings and sending me aloft on my first solo
flight.
It might be worth becoming a flight instructor just to watch
the look on a student’s face when told for the first time they are going
solo. I feel my face melting into a semi-dumbstruck posture and can only answer
him by weakly saying "All right."
Waggling the rudder to
signal the tow pilot I am ready, I feel myself take a deep breath. I don’t
exhale until the glider has left the ground and suddenly realise I'm committed
to making this flight. I follow the tow plane to 2000ft above the airport and
hesitate while reaching for release knob. For some inexplicable reason, I think
the tug pilot can land the glider for me if I do not release. I breath through
my nose and feel every molecule of air pass my nostrils and slightly dry my nasal
passages. A great effort is needed to completely fill my lungs; I can feel
my ribs halting the expansion of my chest cavity. When my body will no longer
accept any more air, I reach foreword and pull the release knob and exhale with
the force of a sneeze. I am free and only believing in myself as having the skill
Rick says I have to pilot the plane; will I safely return to the Earth? Somehow
everything seems new
I fly the
landing pattern as I have done many times before and nothing appears any different,
but somehow everything seems new. The sound of the air moving around the glider,
the squeak of the hinges on the rudder and the low rumbling created by opening
the dive brakes, each noise having a different tone than I recall hearing on earlier
flights. As the landing wheel makes contact with the ground I recognise the oil
canning of the wings; a sound that only terrestrial contact will impart on to
the glider. The sound of oil canning wings reminds me to exhale.
The
final 10ft of the landing roll out seem to last a lifetime. When the landing wheel
stops turning I again inhale deeply, this time I breath to relax. My exhale is
made through pursed lips with my eyes wide and several side to side sweeps of
my head. I cannot believe I just flew the glider all by myself. Opening
the canopy and releasing my safety harness, the only noise in the cockpit is the
sound of blood thumping through my veins and my heart using my ribs as the note
bars of a glockenspiel. The tune is the wonderful music composed by the adrenaline
rush of a tension filled task successfully completed.
Leaping out
of the seat, I turn and look at the glider with one wing resting on the grass.
The ship appears proud after participating in one of the most exciting moments
in a human beings life. I step up to the cockpit and pat the nose of the glider
affectionately to give thanks for carrying me safely through my flight.
Securing
the glider for ground transport I am unaware of the crowd moving towards me until
Emma, the daughter of a club mate, calls my name and congratulates me. Looking
up I watc |
