"Fat to Fittie"

We all have them and I’m not talking about the ones at night, I’m referring to dreams we have of achieving a goal. When I was a teenager, mine was to fly, not as a passenger, but a pilot, I did this aged 26 when finally allowed to go solo, after spending a few months at Sherburn Aero club. Normally you could fly on your own after only 10 hours, but the weather has to be perfect, sadly for me this never seemed to be, so I got to do lots of advanced moves. When the day finally came and my instructor radioed the tower, he was told the runway was changing to the shorter one, that student pilots weren’t allowed to go solo on. Knowing I had a bit of experience, he argued my case and was finally given permission and told to take me round a few times first. It did feel a bit strange as I’d got used to all the landmarks, which were now in a different position, there was also the added obstacle of flying over a wood mine on final approach, whose thermals could send you well of course.

I’m not going to bore you with the principles of flying, but basically in the air, you use your feet to keep the aeroplane straight as they control the rudder at the back, height is then achieved by applying power, which was in the form of a choke like stick operated with your right hand, you also turn a little trim wheel with your left hand that helps control the plane as you change it’s course. When flying in good conditions, you don’t have to do too much but in bad weather or flying over a wood mine, this can all change. The first thing that hit me as the instructor got out, was how light the aircraft had become and how quick it took off, I was up in the air before I knew it and realised, there was no going back. The circuit went well, busy with my checks and radioing the tower kept me occupied, I had about 30 seconds to myself on base leg to take in the view, before I turned to land, that’s when it all went wrong.

I can’t explain how much those thermals threw me around without the added weight of the instructor, I spent the next few minutes applying power, taking it off, straightening up, sweating, my hand on the power throttle, my feet, pressing, depressing the pedals, finally, the numbers on the ground disappeared under the nose, I flared up and the plane thankfully landed, as it did, I was so relieved, I let out a breath and my right hand pushed the throttle in, because I was on the ground, my feet were no longer in control and the plane spun to the left, straight through a cornfield. It was Sunday morning, as everyone was drinking their coffee in the clubhouse and the fire engine rushed out to my assistance, thankfully it wasn’t necessary, the only damage was to the front air grill, which was full of corn and my pride. The club were very understanding and put it down to a taxiing accident, though I had to do another 3 hours with an instructor before they let me go solo again.

Unfortunately life changes forced me to stop flying after 33 and a half hours, three and a half of which were solo, I don’t regret that I never got my pilot license because I actually did what I set out to achieve and that’s fly. I didn’t give myself too many stipulations when I banked my dream, I didn’t say “I want to be a pilot” or “I’m going to fly jets” not because I didn’t think I’d be able to do those thing’s but because they didn’t really matter, all I ever wanted to do was have the experience of flying a plane by myself and I did it. Some people are too hard on themselves, getting angry that they haven’t done something they said they would, it’s never too late to make a start and if the fact that you aimed to high is the reason you haven’t, maybe just lower your goal a bit, sometimes all you need is just a taste of something to feel the experience. I will fly again though as a trip in a Spitfire is on my bucket list, getting my hips sorted and losing weight have to happen first, but I’m convinced I’ll get there, maybe I should have used that as my title for this blog, Fat to Fighter pilot has a nice ring to it.