To begin, I really must apologize for the huge amount of time that has elapsed since my previous post. Several factors have contributed to this, ranging from school work (I actually had three tests in one day at one point), to my flight training, to me really not knowing yet how I am going to use this blog. But, if you will bear with me, we can take a ride together, and figure it out along the way.

In my last post, I talked about the unbelievable amount of flight cancellations I experienced due to weather. I am sad to report that nothing has changed in this department. While the low ceiling and rain issue has gone away, yet another new issue has arisen. Wind. Indeed, in Central Florida these days, you might have a totally clear day–not a cloud in the sky–but with wind gusting to over 20 knots…definitely not ideal flying weather. Landing those little Cessna’s in wind that strong sure makes for a bumpy ride.

After my solo, my training progressed to cross countries. For those of my readers who are not keen in the language of aviation, a cross country does not refer to flying to California and back. No, in a Cessna I am sure that would be an agonizing experience…especially for someone who has to go to the bathroom as much as myself! Instead, a cross country refers to a flight that is a straight-line distance from the departure airport of 50 nautical miles or greater. Since most people, with their Private Pilot licenses, usually do such flights with them, the end of the flight training is made up of getting used to such trips.

At the Embry-Riddle flight department, no less attention is given to cross countries than is given to anything else. In order to do a solo cross country, not only must the weather be ideal, but you must fill out extensive paperwork, including detailed airport diagrams, weather information, route, flight plans, and more. All in all, this takes over one and a half hours to complete. Your instructor must also endorse your logbook, meaning that you must get a hold of him or her before you go–a hassle in and of itself.

Embry-Riddle also assigns pilots “PQ Cards.” These are 3 digit numbers essentially, ranging from 111 through 332, with every combination in between. The numbers refer to the maximum headwind component, crosswind component, and minimum visibility that can be present for a pilot to fly. My current number is 222, pretty much right in the middle.

The Flight Supervisor, from their little viewpoint up on top of the flight building, must approve your final paperwork as well as the weather. Then, they clear you to get an aircraft and go.

On March 1st, everything was finally in line to let me go. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky except for a few at high altitudes, and the winds were calm. I had planned a flight to the Jacksonville International Airport, a relatively busy airport commercially but not one that I could not handle.

My departure from Daytona was smooth. I climbed to 7,500 feet and proceeded on my filed course (direct MATEO, direct CINEP, direct KJAX).

Eventually, a call came over the radio from Daytona Approach:

“Skyhawk 446 echo-romeo, contact Jacksonville Approach now, 118.0.”
“Over to Jax Approach, Skyhawk 6 echo-romeo, goodday.”

I dialed in the new frequency into the Primary Flight Display, and clicked the push to talk button.

“Good afternoon, Jacksonville Approach, Student Pilot Skyhawk 446 echo-romeo, checking in, 7,500.”
“Skyhawk 446 echo-romeo, Jax Approach, roger. Can you accept direct DINNS intersection?”

This call was somewhat cool to me as a pilot in real life. In my time on VATSIM (a network online using Flight Simulator where virtual air traffic controllers direct flights in a real world sense), this was common–to save time and congestion, clearing an aircraft direct to a waypoint somewhere on the final approach course to the destination airport’s active runway. Never in real life had I been given this instruction, though, but I knew just how to do it, so I responded:

“That’s affirmative, 6 echo-romeo, direct DINNS.”
“Skyhawk 6 echo-romeo, thanks. Advise when you have information Quebec at Jacksonville International.”

The controller was prompting me to listen to the ATIS (Automatic Terminal Information System) broadcast that each airport has. It gives information such as weather and notices to pilots. You are required to listen to it before takeoff and landing, and must call up the controller with the corresponding letter (in this case Q or Quebec) that is active.

I listened to the weather information, reported I had listened, and informed the controller I would be doing a full stop landing at the Airport.

At about this time I started to get a little bored, so I managed to snap a picture of myself, it is to the left.

About 10 minutes later,  it was time to begin descending into Jacksonville. I went through the checklist–enrichening the mixture, turning on the landing lights, and other basic items such as this–and started down. About another 10 minutes later, I could see downtown Jacksonville and the airport in sight in the distance.

Again, I was given a frequency change, this time to another Jacksonville controller working the radar closer to the airport. It was now that I realized this would be a fun landing. Immediately after switching frequencies, I heard a Delta jet, a United jet, a Comair jet, a Southwest jet, and a US Airways jet, and an AirTran jet all on the frequency, being vectored to land before and after me. I was given instructions to enter the traffic pattern on a right base, essentially 90 degrees off the runway to the right. In training, I was told usually at this time to follow traffic on final approach (meaning lined up with the runway)–usually a Cessna or some other small trainer airplane. This time, the call was different:

“Skyhawk 446 echo-romeo, traffic you will be following is turning left base to final, a JetBlue A320, report the traffic in sight.”

Looking straight ahead, I saw a sleek, white airplane, lit up like a Christmas tree, turning final, the sun reflecting off of its white paint like a mirror. It was a beautiful sight for an aviation lover.

After I turned final, I was told that an AirTran 737 would be departing prior to my arrival, and that I was cleared to land on runway 7. On final approach, I could see the large 737 rotate down the runway. I was able to record a video of the landing by propping my handheld digital camera between the instrument panel and the windscreen.

The landing was smooth. I attempted to stay high to avoid the wake turbulence from the larger planes that had landed and taken off in front of me, and was successful for the most part, experiencing nominal turbulence. I cleared the runway and taxiied over to the Sheltair FBO for a well-earned break before heading back to Daytona a half hour later.

This was a good flight that really introduced me to real flying. I was pleased with my flying ability and the training I had both received in real life and in flying online that really allowed the flight to happen. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

Soar on,

JPG

Well, I have had this blog here for a while, primarily holding the domain for my webhosting server. However, being the ‘aerogeek’ that I am, I decided what better way was there to start my blog about aviation than with the story of my first solo?

The first plane I'd ever fly alone.

The story should begin with a bit of a flashback. According to my training syllabus, I was scheduled to take the pre-solo stage check (with a designated examiner) the week before I was to come home for Thanksgiving in November. To my dismay, however, the weather in the Central Florida area was horrible for that week (and what I would soon discover to be weeks more). Needless to say with the low ceilings and visibility, I never got to take that stage check before Thanksgiving.

Miraculously, when I returned to Daytona after Thanksgiving, there was one day of great flying weather. I was nervous, but I passed the ‘checkride.’ I was cleared to solo.

The weather, however, clearly was not, as the same conditions that existed before Thanksgiving continued through the holiday and through the two weeks that I was back before going home for Christmas vacation. I got my solo cancelled six times, one of which consisted of me actually flying out to an airport to solo just at VFR minimums, but the wind becoming too great during the three practice landings I needed to do with my instructor before the moment of truth could come. The three of us in the plane—my instructor, myself, and my friend James who had been with me all through the cancellations as my official photographer—were all disappointed: I would not be able to solo before Christmas.

The first plane I'd ever fly alone.

The same weather, according to my friends in the area, occurred for at least 75% of the vacation prior to transitioning to the record cold that entered the Southeast at the end of December/beginning of January.

Approaching runway 27 with my instructor before the solo.

My friends standing on Taxiway B, waiting for me to go.

I returned back to Daytona Beach on Monday, January 11^th. The weather was great, absolutely clear skies and no wind, and was forecast in the aviation weather reports to be that way for the unforeseeable future. Quite a change from before. While it was very cold, I was good to solo.

My instructor and I decided on 28J – Palatka/Larkin Field, a private airfield about 25 minutes to the north of Daytona by air. It is uncontrolled and quiet, and a good place to go for a first solo.

Since classes did not start until the next day, January 13, I had a whole crew of friends come out with me. One of them flew in the plane with my instructor and I to Palatka, while three others drove out in a car. All five people—my instructor Jonathon and friends Eric, Mark, James, and Jeff—were permitted by Airport Ops to stand right out on the side of Taxiway Bravo, the main taxiway that runs parallel to that day’s active runway, 27.

After the landings with my instructor (which were quite good) and some paperwork, I was good to go.

From that minute on, the feelings that I experienced were unlike anything else in the world. I stepped into the plane and began my checklists. Engine started, I began to roll into the taxi. From right then, the difference in handling in the aircraft was unreal. It was completely different than flying with another person in the plane. Barely any effort was required to keep the airplane on the centerline, and the aircraft seemed almost weightless.

Getting ready to go!

My hands sweating on the control column, I finished all of the before takeoff checklists, and made my first radio call.

My first taxi alone, heading down B to 27.

“Palatka traffic, Student Pilot Skyhawk four-four-three echo-romeo, taking runway 27 for departure to remain in the pattern, Palatka.”

With those words, my right hand gripped the throttle and pushed it forward. With my left hand I had to keep the plane on the ground; it wanted to rotate almost instantly. Building up speed to 55 knots, I became airborne, the first time alone, ever.

My first solo takeoff.

I wish I could describe via writing how it feels to fly an airplane alone. Perhaps it is the mental fact that you have accrued the knowledge and ability to do such a thing alone. Perhaps it is the physical feeling of being alone, or perhaps it is something else, however, looking to your right and seeing no one sitting there is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

I performed my three full-stop taxi backs, meaning I would, each time, exit the runway and taxi back to the hold short point, with ease. The landings were among the best I’ve ever accomplished. Parked back at the FBO, I pull the mixture and the engine shakes to a stop. I did it. I have soloed.

I can only imagine the look on my face as I opened the door to my instructor and friends running over to the plane. It was one of the most emotional things I’ve experienced in my life.

My first solo landing.

My instructor and I in the classic solo picture.

I am extremely grateful for this opportunity. It, I truly believe, is something that everyone should be able to do at least once in their life.

Thank you to my family for their support, both financial and emotional, my friends, and my instructor for making all of this happen.

Soar on,

JPG