PIC Once Again

No more groveling to ride in the back or right seat to go flying. As of March 18, my private pilots license is once again valid. To celebrate, I took my first couple of solo flights as PIC (Pilot In Command), without an instructor. On each of the two flights this week, the hangar was quiet when I arrived, leaving all the time in the world for thinking and planning. The previous eight weeks of refresher training with Colleen, a very able and demanding South African born Certified Flight Instructor, had no such time for pre-flight contemplation. Exactly as I asked, she drilled me as we went through checklists, drilled me just before entering the active runway, and drilled me in the sky. My processor is definitely slower than it used to be, and I often found myself behind the learning curve and, more importantly, behind the airplane. Not that I performed poorly, but it was not at all reflective of my vast experience.

Okay, so I only had 200 hours of flight time up to the point I left the cockpit in 1993. Not all that much experience. The last couple of years were the end of the Marshall era, when I partnered with my pilot father in law, Jim Marshall, in what was some of the best, most fun flying I've ever done. Stick and rudder stuff in a 1949 Aeronca Champ 7DC on floats and ski's. Everywhere there was a runway, each one different. No radios, very little airspace regulation, no sophisticated navigation equipment. All dead reckoning, and not very far above the ground.

Starting in February this year, we went back to the beginning with what seemed like more constraints, regulations, and complexity than I ever remembered. Perhaps it was just my time away, or my deep comfort with leaving complexity behind in my retirement from working life that made it feel that way. In over ten hours of ground school we went over all Federal Aviation Regulations (FAR's 61 and 91 - a book in itself), dissected the different types and conditions of airspace, examined in detail weather briefing resources and interpretation, airport operations, aircraft and navigation systems, and much more. Almost ten hours of dual instruction in the cockpit included lots of take-offs and landings, of course, and practice in emergency procedures, control maneuvers, radio communications, and instrument flying. Bonnie began to recognize the days I had been with Colleen by the length of nap I took in the afternoon.

At no time during these subsequent solo flights did I feel behind the curve. The routines started to feel routine, with many of the important processes starting to feel automatic. That's important because my  RAM needs to be available for thinking about what's next and contingencies, not about what I need to be doing at that moment. That needs to be instinctive.

Fleming Field at South St. Paul, home to the flying club I joined, has proven to be great training ground. Because it's so close to highly restrictive airspace - both St. Paul Holman field and MSP International airport - and nestled in a populated area, with fairly heavy traffic of its own, without a control tower, you can't be daydreaming or lallygagging. Altitudes and patterns need to be tightly managed, with constant rubber-necking to see and hear what's going on around you. Flying at Fleming made my visit to Osceola and New Richmond airports seem tranquil. Moderate but perpendicular crosswinds gave me some challenge in the landings, but helped my confidence as I kept the airplane on the centerline. The only issue I found in those flights was one caused by my habit of drinking lots of water during our routine fitness visits to the YMCA first thing in the morning. My landing and stop at the local flight office in New Richmond was a great relief, as you can see in my face in the picture to the right.

I look forward to the next several months as I work on my proficiency to prepare for further adventures in gliders, planned for later in the summer. Others in the club also belong to a glider club in Stanton, MN, so connections have been made. There was even some talk about using my taildragger experience as a tow plane pilot. Retirement is full of possibilities...