Early one morning, just a few weeks ago, I reached a milestone in my aviating career when I entered the one hundredth hour into my pilot’s logbook.
The first hundred have been full of variety. I have flown in seven different aircraft, with twelve different instructors. I have landed at six different airfields, on surfaces ranging from the ridiculously long, very wide runways at Canberra to the decidedly dubious grass cross strip at Goulburn. I have even flown over Sydney Harbour no less than seven times.
Though I have been lucky thus far and have not had anything go ‘ping’ at an inopportune time, I have had my fair share of dicey moments. There was the time I aborted my second-ever solo takeoff due to an incorrectly set trim wheel. Or the time I almost came unstuck landing on the aforementioned Goulburn grass strip in a gusty crosswind. Getting lost in Canberra airspace was interesting. And who could forget my serious case of the landing ‘yips’ not long after earning my PPL. These are the moments that remind us that, though aeroplanes are not inherently unsafe, they are terribly unforgiving of anyone not giving them the respect that they deserve. These are the moments that we learn from and, hopefully, will never need to experience again.
Other important lessons have been learnt along the way. Finding water in the tanks one morning was a reminder of why a thorough preflight inspection is necessary. Ensuring both ends of the seatbelt are inside the aircraft is a good way to avoid an alarming thumping noise after take-off. And the secret to a good landing, every time, is….. well, I’ll get back to you on that one.
There have been remarkable moments along the way as well. Everyone remembers their first solo, but for me, the first flight I completed entirely without assistance – from preflight to shut down – was even more memorable. Greasing the landing with my first passenger – my mother – will stick in the memory banks for a long time. Spotting a whale just offshore from fifteen hundred feet in a Cessna was pretty special. My favourite flight, however, just happened to be the one during which the logbook ticked over to one hundred hours total time. There is something to be said about flying early in the morning. Preflight by torchlight as the sun is about to peak over the horizon. Ground mist and low cloud in valleys near the Hawkesbury. Beautiful golden sunlight on the city. Pulling off what had to be close to my smoothest landing – ever – was a fitting conclusion.
This is why I fly. For the simple things: walking over to the aircraft on a crisp, clear winter’s morning. Breaking the silence with the sound of a Lycoming firing up for the first flight of the day. Lifting off – indeed, slipping the surly bonds – into a wide blue sky, and going flying for the sheer fun of it. Just you and the aeroplane. There’s nothing quite like it.
My first hundred have been great fun. Tailwheels and aerobatics are next on the list of things to do… flying for the hell of it. To the next hundred!
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No particular reason for this. I just felt like writing it last night...
