A little solo poem
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A little solo poem
I wrote a little poem after my recent solo experience -
Solo Flight
The day is just right for companion-less flight,
winds are calm with no clouds in the sky,
the critical gear has received the “all clear” –
now she’s fueled and deemed ready-to-fly.
The mixture’s full-rich, I confirm that the pitch
will adjust as I move the controls –
and the tach isn’t fazed as collective is raised,
since the grip automatically rolls.
I pull it up slow – wonder which way she’ll go
until finally she’s light on the skids –
then I counter the yaw and correct for the draw
that could lead to what safety forbids.
She lists to the side as collective’s applied,
‘cause the fuel weighs a bit more than me –
but the wonderful gift of additional lift
makes the earth set the two of us free.
It’s hard to describe what it feels like to ride
on a cushion just feet from the ground
in an aerial sled – as the blades overhead
beat the air with a thunderous sound.
The pound of my heart when I’m cleared to depart,
makes me wonder if all that I’ve learned
will ensure I survive, that I’ll get back alive –
still intact when my flight is adjourned.
I know I’ve progressed and that leaving the nest
is a ritual all must transcend,
but I find it profound that there’s no one around,
if I panic – that might be the end!
I start on my roll with the cyclic control,
get in trim with the help of a string,
then I push for the shift to translational lift
and I climb like a bird on the wing.
I’m really content with my rate of ascent,
it’s much faster than any before –
the reduction in crew makes this R22
fly a lot like an R44.
I’ve reached AGL in my flying gazelle
and the tower has cleared me to land –
I’ve already seen that the gauges are green
and the cyclic is firmly in hand.
I reach by my seat and I pull in some heat
so my rotors continue to spin –
then I pilot my coach onto final approach
and the two of us softly descend.
I try to be neat with my hands and my feet,
keep her straight ‘till we come to a stop,
and I’m back to the stand where my journey began –
the experience – over the top.
My memory’s tossed to the hurdles I’ve crossed
and the times I was ready to quit –
the tasks I assailed and consistently failed,
and a few that I hate to admit.
This tunnel has light that is barely in sight
and there’s no turning back now for me –
I’ll stay on this course if it leads to divorce,
but a pilot – I’m destined to be!
The day is just right for companion-less flight,
winds are calm with no clouds in the sky,
the critical gear has received the “all clear” –
now she’s fueled and deemed ready-to-fly.
The mixture’s full-rich, I confirm that the pitch
will adjust as I move the controls –
and the tach isn’t fazed as collective is raised,
since the grip automatically rolls.
I pull it up slow – wonder which way she’ll go
until finally she’s light on the skids –
then I counter the yaw and correct for the draw
that could lead to what safety forbids.
She lists to the side as collective’s applied,
‘cause the fuel weighs a bit more than me –
but the wonderful gift of additional lift
makes the earth set the two of us free.
It’s hard to describe what it feels like to ride
on a cushion just feet from the ground
in an aerial sled – as the blades overhead
beat the air with a thunderous sound.
The pound of my heart when I’m cleared to depart,
makes me wonder if all that I’ve learned
will ensure I survive, that I’ll get back alive –
still intact when my flight is adjourned.
I know I’ve progressed and that leaving the nest
is a ritual all must transcend,
but I find it profound that there’s no one around,
if I panic – that might be the end!
I start on my roll with the cyclic control,
get in trim with the help of a string,
then I push for the shift to translational lift
and I climb like a bird on the wing.
I’m really content with my rate of ascent,
it’s much faster than any before –
the reduction in crew makes this R22
fly a lot like an R44.
I’ve reached AGL in my flying gazelle
and the tower has cleared me to land –
I’ve already seen that the gauges are green
and the cyclic is firmly in hand.
I reach by my seat and I pull in some heat
so my rotors continue to spin –
then I pilot my coach onto final approach
and the two of us softly descend.
I try to be neat with my hands and my feet,
keep her straight ‘till we come to a stop,
and I’m back to the stand where my journey began –
the experience – over the top.
My memory’s tossed to the hurdles I’ve crossed
and the times I was ready to quit –
the tasks I assailed and consistently failed,
and a few that I hate to admit.
This tunnel has light that is barely in sight
and there’s no turning back now for me –
I’ll stay on this course if it leads to divorce,
but a pilot – I’m destined to be!
Last edited by tradford; 24th Dec 2013 at 21:17.
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Excellent
Well done Trafford, lovely poem and congrats on going solo!
I always tell my solo students to write down how they felt going solo
It's such a special experience and it makes my smile
Whenever I read the transcript of my own solo.
I also tell them to tell other pilots when they have flown their
First solo. People who have never done it can't comprehend but other pilots will always recognise how you are feeling. CH
I always tell my solo students to write down how they felt going solo
It's such a special experience and it makes my smile
Whenever I read the transcript of my own solo.
I also tell them to tell other pilots when they have flown their
First solo. People who have never done it can't comprehend but other pilots will always recognise how you are feeling. CH
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Thanks folks - much appreciated. It was a great experience, but now I'm preparing for my first solo cross country. Now I've got to contend not only with the navigation part, but the radio comms as well (I see the flying as the easy part), since I'll be passing through several Class E airspaces on my route. This time it's all about cockpit management - should be a real hoot!
Tony
Tony
