I spent almost four years serving our country in the U.S. Air Force rarely leaving the terra firma. I was tethered to a desk in the travel finance department.
After my discharge I decided to learn how to fly. Isn’t that a kick? Someone said I couldn’t do it, so I proved them wrong.
I signed up for flight lessons at the local airport after a brief flight in a small prop plane of my brother’s brother-in-law. I had been hooked. The sky and clouds appealed to my inner sense of flying above it all.
My lessons began with my instructor, a former Air Force pilot, in a Cessna 150. He said I was a natural. They said I could get my training for a private pilot license for a mere $600.
After passing a physical and flying the required instructor ride-along hours I was allowed to solo. It was awesome! I in the left seat of a small plane and nothing but the sky . . . . flying like a bird. The feeling is awsome and the vision is definitely birds-eye.
I loved to plan my flights, read aerial charts, check the weather and file a flight plan. I did have the FAA looking for me on one occasion. I had an ETA that had been miscalculated, whoops! The instructor was with me and we had flown to a controlled field and had a lunch. At least then I knew that the FAA was taking their job seriously.
I signed up for flight lessons at the local airport after a brief flight in a small prop plane of my brother’s brother-in-law. I had been hooked. The sky and clouds appealed to my inner sense of flying above it all.
My lessons began with my instructor, a former Air Force pilot, in a Cessna 150. He said I was a natural. They said I could get my training for a private pilot license for a mere $600.
After passing a physical and flying the required instructor ride-along hours I was allowed to solo. It was awesome! I in the left seat of a small plane and nothing but the sky . . . . flying like a bird. The feeling is awsome and the vision is definitely birds-eye.
I loved to plan my flights, read aerial charts, check the weather and file a flight plan. I did have the FAA looking for me on one occasion. I had an ETA that had been miscalculated, whoops! The instructor was with me and we had flown to a controlled field and had a lunch. At least then I knew that the FAA was taking their job seriously.
My first instructor committed suicide. Not because of my flying, but he was a retired military man who nipped a bit much liquor. (I wondered what was in his thermos he took on each flight.) He was suffering from poor health and depression.
My replacement instructor was also a retired military pilot. He was younger and a bit more intense but I seemed to meet his expectations readily. There were tight turns, steep banks, spins, and stalls. I also had to fly under the hood, meaning using the instruments only to fly straight and level. That is challenging. Of course take-offs and landings were a part of each lesson. I did cross country trips, short field landings and many other necessary maneuvers to prepare for my check test flight.
I took the written exam and passed. Ground school was fairly easy. After just about 80 hours of flying I was able to take my check ride. It was on my birthday in October and towards the evening. I plotted out the course to a destination I had never been to and successfully passed my flight test. We returned to home base just after dusk without having to complete one leg of the trip. He knew I would be a good pilot.
Shortly afterwards I purchased my own airplane. It was a 1947 Stinson Station Wagon. This was a tail dragger that I had to have a couple of lessons in before taking possession. It was a four place that had awesome climbing ability with a 165 horsepower Franklin engine. It was N907D, red with white trim.
I based the plane as a tie-down at a small crop duster field (now closed) near my residence. The runway was an unlighted field with black macadam surface. The approach was over a golf course with tall cypress trees and power lines. At the end of this short runway were power lines also and a walnut orchard across the road.
I usually took day flights after work in the summer. However, one evening I decided to fly just as dusk was settling in. The plane had a dead battery. I asked for an assist prop pull-through from a fellow flyer. He obliged and I was soon in the air. I flew over the city and watched as lights began to come on. After a time I figured my battery would be recharged enough so I headed back to the field and set up for my final approach. As I cut power over the golf course my instrument panel went black. I had no way to assess my airspeed for approach so I had to abort or land by the seat of my pants. I decided immediately to put down and take the latter option. No landing light on the plane, no lights on the field. It was dark. I didn’t get panicky until after I taxied to my tie down. I thank God for one dark but safe landing and promised not to do that again.
Another adventurous situation occurred when I landed on a small grass strip and took off. The undercarriage of my fuselage had ripped (it was a fabric covered airframe). I landed at another field that I had moved the plane to and exited the aircraft to discover the damage. Fabric was hanging loose for several feet under the belly of the plane. I was heartsick.
My brother-in-law and I took a couple of rolls of duct tape and proceeded to patch the hole. We layered it so the air flow wouldn’t tear it. It worked, for shortly afterwards I took the plane back to the other airport and sold it to another pilot who was also an aircraft mechanic. I took a loss but got out from under the cost of owning my own airplane.
I gave $4000 for the plane, sold it for $2500 and now if restored it would be worth over $40,000. Oh well!
My replacement instructor was also a retired military pilot. He was younger and a bit more intense but I seemed to meet his expectations readily. There were tight turns, steep banks, spins, and stalls. I also had to fly under the hood, meaning using the instruments only to fly straight and level. That is challenging. Of course take-offs and landings were a part of each lesson. I did cross country trips, short field landings and many other necessary maneuvers to prepare for my check test flight.
I took the written exam and passed. Ground school was fairly easy. After just about 80 hours of flying I was able to take my check ride. It was on my birthday in October and towards the evening. I plotted out the course to a destination I had never been to and successfully passed my flight test. We returned to home base just after dusk without having to complete one leg of the trip. He knew I would be a good pilot.
Shortly afterwards I purchased my own airplane. It was a 1947 Stinson Station Wagon. This was a tail dragger that I had to have a couple of lessons in before taking possession. It was a four place that had awesome climbing ability with a 165 horsepower Franklin engine. It was N907D, red with white trim.
I based the plane as a tie-down at a small crop duster field (now closed) near my residence. The runway was an unlighted field with black macadam surface. The approach was over a golf course with tall cypress trees and power lines. At the end of this short runway were power lines also and a walnut orchard across the road.
I usually took day flights after work in the summer. However, one evening I decided to fly just as dusk was settling in. The plane had a dead battery. I asked for an assist prop pull-through from a fellow flyer. He obliged and I was soon in the air. I flew over the city and watched as lights began to come on. After a time I figured my battery would be recharged enough so I headed back to the field and set up for my final approach. As I cut power over the golf course my instrument panel went black. I had no way to assess my airspeed for approach so I had to abort or land by the seat of my pants. I decided immediately to put down and take the latter option. No landing light on the plane, no lights on the field. It was dark. I didn’t get panicky until after I taxied to my tie down. I thank God for one dark but safe landing and promised not to do that again.
Another adventurous situation occurred when I landed on a small grass strip and took off. The undercarriage of my fuselage had ripped (it was a fabric covered airframe). I landed at another field that I had moved the plane to and exited the aircraft to discover the damage. Fabric was hanging loose for several feet under the belly of the plane. I was heartsick.
My brother-in-law and I took a couple of rolls of duct tape and proceeded to patch the hole. We layered it so the air flow wouldn’t tear it. It worked, for shortly afterwards I took the plane back to the other airport and sold it to another pilot who was also an aircraft mechanic. I took a loss but got out from under the cost of owning my own airplane.
I gave $4000 for the plane, sold it for $2500 and now if restored it would be worth over $40,000. Oh well!
My piloting days are over. My vision is declining along with my reaction time. I best leave flying up to the young and more experienced. I miss it some days more than others when I look up in the sky at other aircraft droning through the air.
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