Notes from above ground: In which a reporter flies a plane and ...

Tag : Casting Wheel

People are attracted to flying for different reasons. Some arefree-spirited romantics who like the idea of soaring above ground,the world at their feet and the freedom to go wherever their heartleads them. Others are pragmatics who like the technical side ofthings, the instruments inside the plane measuring speed and powerthat can guide a pilot through a tunnel of black clouds and bringhim safely out the other end.
I am right-brained romantic. I failed my drivers test the firsttime. I can barely operate a microwave oven. Will my free spiritalone be enough to guide me when I get 1,500 feet above groundduring my first flight lesson? Definitely not. Luckily the planeI’m about to take off in is equipped with two steering wheelsand two sets of rudders (pedals) and my instructor, John Singleton,will be filling in for the left side of my brain, correcting anymistakes I should make.
(See the flight on video: Check this story on Friday afternoon towatch a video taken during the reporter’s flight.)
We prepare for takeoff at the Beverly Flight Center. The sky, aftertwo days of thunderstorms, is clear of clouds, washed clean likedenim. Our plane is as sweet and compact as a Mini Cooper, a redand white four-seater with a dashboard full of tiny gauges anddials, the sight of which makes my heart jump. What do they allmean? Does this thing come with a remote control?
My instructor assures me the first lesson is just for getting afeel for steering the plane. For unlearning the habits of drivingon the ground and becoming used to the feeling of moving like abird, up and down, through a new three-dimensional world.
Sitting inside the plane’s tiny cabin feels a lot likesitting inside a racecar game in an arcade minus the slot fortokens. We communicate through a headset equipped with a microphonethat also allows us to talk to ground control.
The controls are relatively simple to learn. A turn of the steeringwheel accompanied by a push of the left rudder steers the planewestward, and vice versa. Unlike in a car, the steering wheel is ona bar that moves front and back; pushing it in makes the plane soarupward, pulling it brings it down. Speed is controlled by athrottle (or clutch) moved forward and back.
We taxi down the runway at about 69 mph and within moments, atSingleton’s command, I push the throttle forward and we liftoff. It’s that easy.
Once up in the air we use the horizon line to steady us, and wehead westward, toward Salem. On the way Singleton chats easily likea tour guide, pointing out the scenery below us. We pass SalemHarbor, a scattering of sailboats spread out on its smooth surfacelike pins in a cushion. Soaring over Pickering Wharf, theFriendship and lighthouse are like children’s toys left onthe beach.
I am torn between admiring the view and giving in to mybody’s panic-stricken cues. As much as I want to relax, I amhyper aware of my situation: unsure of where to rest my hands andfeet for fear of sending the plane veering off in the wrongdirection. My face is hot, my palms cold. I am experiencing myfirst case of sky sickness.
But Singleton is pointing out the cliffs at Magnolia and the oceanbelow us is alive with ripples. We open up tiny vents at our feetand fresh air fills the plane. I wish the plane had a button tomake the top come down so we could fly convertible style like aWorld War II pilot, but Singleton points out they stopped makingthese planes during 1950s.
At 1,000 feet we are at the ideal height, far enough away that theworld is softened to abstraction like a hazy watercolor painting,but close enough that we can still observe tiny earthlings goingabout their day-to-day business. In Gloucester a fisherman castshis line out into Harbor Cove, and we see boats in an Italianfestival racing across the water.
If we looked hard enough we could even see schools of fish movingin the waters below like dark clouds drifting on the wind. Pilotsoften work with local fishermen, flying overhead and directing themwhere to find fish. They also help officials assess storm damage byflying over the coast, something Singleton did when houses alongthe coast were ravaged by the Blizzard of 1978.
We begin to wind our way back to Beverly just as the sun isbeginning to set, casting the sky in brilliant orange and purple.Singleton turns over the controls to me — telling me to fixmy eyes on a reservoir beside the airport — a tiny splash ofwhite in the distance — and steer in that direction. I pushthe wheel in and the plane’s nose drops: We are homewardbound.
As we bump and roll onto the runway, I wonder: will I rememberanything I learned? As Singleton pointed out, planes make the worstclassrooms; they are bumpy, noisy and distracting. Learning in suchan environment is a challenge.
One thing I know will stick with me is the feeling of steeringthrough the fading daylight with nothing but air above or below me;Of being nowhere in particular, and everywhere all at once,coasting freely over the world. This is surely the closestI’ll come to experiencing what it is to be a free spirit.