Last Tuesday’s flight lesson started out no different than all the previous lessons. I did a preflight check of the Cessna, my flight instructor joined me and we taxied out to the runway. It was a calm morning so the departure and flight were smooth. I flew to Lost Lake and Bull Run Lake, both located near Mt. Hood, taking pictures along the way. My flight instructor had just visited the lake with his wife and pointed out the available activities (boating, camping, etc.) as we performed a steep turn over the lake on our way back to the airfield. It was a perfectly windless, scenic, half-hour morning flight. Upon returning to the airport, I did a few more practice landings concluding with my flight instructor endorsing my pilot logbook and asking me to complete three patterns solo (takeoff, circle around the airfield and land). My response was simply “Oh @#$@ are you serious?” as he stepped out of the airplane.
The first solo flight is an important milestone in flight training and I reached it without a problem. After my first solo landing, my flight instructor congratulated me over the radio with “good job flyboy!” Two patterns later and I was on the ground again having my shirt cut off my back. This tradition dates back to the early days of aviation when student pilots flew in tandem trainers where the instructor would sit behind them. Without radios the flight instructor had to tug on the students shirttail to get his attention before yelling into his ear. Cutting the shirttail off is a symbolic gesture indicating that the instructor has enough confidence in his student to allow him to fly solo, thus the shirttail is no longer needed.
In fact, the removed piece of cloth is a trophy for the instructor who proudly displays it on the wall of the flight school (or FBO in my case). My instructor wrote down the date of my solo, July 28, 2009, our names, and my first words upon landing after the third pattern, “I survived!”.
Since soloing, I’ve moved into a more advanced phase of training. Earlier today I was maneuvering over the Columbia River at 5000 ft performing power on stalls. Essentially, a power on stall is a maneuver where the airplane pitches up to lose enough airspeed to stop flying and instead start falling like a rock. Fortunately, the fall lasts for only a few seconds since the maneuver concludes by recovering from the stall. Still, thats a terrifying few seconds!
