12/08 - Keeping the Faith

12/08 - Keeping the Faith

By Amy Gesch

During the course of your flying experience, you are bound to doubt yourself. Many pilots experience doubt early in their flight training. For me, it was after solo. I was confident and ecstatic—on top of the world. Then, suddenly, I couldn’t land worth a bean. I bounced that poor Cub every which way and became generally frustrated with myself. After all, I had already mastered this, right?

Mastery is a false concept when learning to fly. A pilot’s license is not a certificate of your superior knowledge so much as it is a federal acknowledgement that you’re safe enough to continue learning. Pilots have bad days. Every airline pilot has had a less than perfect landing, and could very well have one tomorrow. A poor landing here and there is to be accepted—it’s an opportunity to learn, or to have a good laugh.

I readily admit my mistakes, which may not always be accepted in certain parts of the industry. I do my best to welcome insight into my mistakes so that I can better learn from the experience. Similarly, you should admit your frustrations to your instructor, and he or she should be attentive to what it is that you need to restore your confidence.

Having the support of others is also important. Even when I lost faith in my own ability, my instructor and peers still believed in me. Know that you are not always right and trust your instructor. One day after making only average landings, my instructor made me go up solo. She told me to make three touch-and-go’s and then return. It was enough to relieve some stress and prove to me that I was indeed capable of pulling off some sweet landings.

Take a step back once in a while. Sometimes, all it takes is a deep breath and a glance out the window to remind you why this was a worthy pursuit. Don’t forget what it is that keeps you flying. If you lose the memory of how much fun it is, then your lessons will become work, and there’s no greater shame than losing your passion for something as wonderful and beautiful as flying.

The Gift of a 285T
Keep flying. Always, always keep flying. Don’t work so hard to get your license, pass the checkride, and then disappear from the airport. In my case, flying is as necessary as breathing. I can’t explain how, or why, but it just is. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m extremely partial to Piper J3 Cubs. I’m not about to say that flying a Bonanza is the same as flying a Cub, but you can enjoy either, though in my case, I’m likely to have more fun in the Cub. But that’s just personal preference, and maybe some ingrained genetic predisposition.

In any case, here’s my “keep flying” story. I spent last summer in Texas fulfilling an aviation internship. While there, I learned a slew of amazing things that I would never have otherwise been exposed to. I helped make a fiberglass mold, spent a week and a half upside down in an airplane cockpit doing wiring work, was taught how metal could be shaped and formed, learned how to safely transport airplanes on the ground, gained knowledge of how to research Airworthiness Directives for applicability, learned how to machine custom fittings, how to maintain an airplane through general preventative maintenance, how to rivet, and how to cover fabric airplanes. It was certainly a whirlwind summer that I wouldn’t have passed up for the world.

For the first few weeks, though, I definitely felt as though I was in a foreign environment. I was 800 miles from home, with new people, in an unfamiliar home. Having learned to fly at an airport that was delightfully vintage, with a population primarily of Cubs, Champs, and Luscombes, I was a fish out of water in this world of airline pilots with Bonanzas and other high-performance airplanes. I longed for my beloved Cubs. After some trials in the Bonanza, I began to doubt myself. It felt like all the work I had done to get my license had been for naught.

I passed up an opportunity that summer. Several very dedicated and well-intentioned people run the foundation that facilitates this internship. They arranged to have a Cessna 172 for the interns in which to receive flight training, and had several wonderful instructors willing to donate their time simply for the joy of giving some kids the gift of flight. I never made the sacrifice to get out and fly and start working on some instrument requirements. I passed up a fabulous chance to fly with an experienced instructor and get a head start on another rating, all at no cost to me. And I didn’t. Yes, I’m still kicking myself.

There were two Super Cubs based at this particular airpark, and I was always pleased to see them out and about. At last! Something familiar. I watched them with a particular fondness as they tugged at my heartstrings.

One day myself, one of the other interns, and Mr. Keyt, our internship coordinator and foundation founder, drove through the airpark to find a part someone else had, and we stopped to say hello to the owner of one of the Super Cubs. What wonder! An airplane that was fabric-covered, and seemingly so much more alive and biological than the rest. What a beautiful creature! I was thrilled just to see it up close in the flesh. We chatted for a while, moved on, and went back to work on our many tasks. The Super Cub remained a fond memory, until its owner walked into the hangar and asked if I and the other intern present would like to go flying.

Of course! As one very proud Cub pilot, I was excited to see how the big brother of the J3’s would compare. I was itching to hop into this Super Cub though, and I leapt up to go, having collected my headset. Imagine my confusion as I looked at the pedals in the front seat of the Super Cub, wondering where they had hidden the heel brakes (Piper had switched to the now-traditional toe brakes). And a starter? How modern. A radio? We were certainly in the space age now!

At the back of my mind, however, were nagging fears that if I were allowed to fly I’d make a fool of myself. Doubt had surfaced once again amidst all my excitement. But fly I did. I basically had the airplane the entire flight, which I was extraordinarily grateful for. Mr. Wood took me to a small grass strip (wonder of wonders! A proper Cub runway!), demonstrated a nice landing, and then handed the airplane to me. He even talked me through a different takeoff procedure that the Super Cub seemed to prefer to my J-3 technique.

Somehow, some way, that first landing was perfect. I don’t often say that (that would be lying, after all), but it was. Maybe nature was on my side. Whatever it was, the Super Cub caressed the brown, dry grass so gently I had to laugh. A month away from Cubs and I greased it on? I commented to Mr. Wood, “Well, I guess I got lucky on that one! Every once in a while it works out that way.” To which he responded, “No, somebody taught you right.”

Indeed they had. I still recall those words. They are, in fact, some of the most complimentary words that have ever been uttered to me, and I cherish them to this day. I had done something right. I had proven my capability to someone else, but moreover, I had proven my capability to myself. Super Cub 285T gave me my confidence back. It restored my faith that what I was doing was right, both in the airplane and in pursuing aviation as a career. All was well with the world once again, and my little Cub pilot heart was once again at peace.

That’s not to say all the landings were perfect. The second was an accidental wheel landing (though it was pretty good), which I didn’t admit was accidental at the time. The third was nice as well, though not as nice as the first. But the view was sublime, with the door open and the window up. Steep turns reminded me why I loved flying and why I had pursued my pilot’s license. Everything felt right. Instead of struggling with managing and fighting the Bonanza, I was wearing the Super Cub, and everything was good and natural, tactile and delightful.

I was proud to be able to show Mr. Wood the spin technique I had been taught for the J3. After getting a feel for stalls, I went to spin the Super Cub with Mr. Wood’s permission. I had to sigh with delight as the Super Cub obeyed my control inputs and spun just right. I had done something right again. I had been able to show the owner a different technique after he had said it could be difficult to do. At that point my little Cub pilot ego grew, if only out of pride and joy. A smile threatened to split my face in half. How fabulous!

My expanded Cub pilot ego was shortly brought back to size after two less-than-ideal approaches and subsequent go-arounds. To top the flight off was a memorable arrival. Bounce! Bounce! Bounce! It seemed I could almost hear the bungees stretch and grumble in complaint. I apologized to the airplane under my breath several times and also expressed my apologies to its gracious owner as well.

Months later, I still smile when I recall that flight. There have been many lovely J3 flights but only one fantastic Super Cub flight, and the fact that that red-and-white airplane singlehandedly renewed my love of flying makes it a memorable flight. The 285T and her generous owner gave me the gift that is the love of flying, at a time when I wondered if my intentions had been true. She reaffirmed my every decision and rebuilt my self-esteem. It was the most amazing experience, because it felt real. Free of restrictions, limitless, and wholly enjoyable. I can never thank Mr. Wood enough for his gift. He may never know the significance of that hour, but I am eternally grateful.

Editor's Note: Amy, a very ambitious, energetic, and intelligent 17-year-old, graduated from high school in early June, earned her private pilot license in late June, and spent the remainder of the summer working as an aviation intern. She is now enrolled at the University of Minnesota--Mankato in the aviation curriculum.

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