Learning to fly, one mistake at a time
Flying is simple isn't it? Take off. Land. Repeat. And obviously try not to get the two confused.
I started learning to fly in my early 50s and have never quite stopped being a student. This is my attempt at explaining why I fly. To myself, to Wifey, and hopefully to you.
I hope you find my antics honest, humorous and possibly even inspiring? That last one is a bit of a stretch, I know. But I love flying, and I love seeing others understand why I fly. If that encourages one person into the air, then I've succeeded.
My goal is simple: keep the number of landings equal to the number of takeoffs. And of course, try not to crash. I'm not an instructor - listen to them not some internet influencer (I was once called an 'up and coming YouTuber - Thanks Flyer Magazine'!!), All you will find here is just me and my experiences. Hopefully you can learn from them before I run out of luck, skill or cash.
Beautiful day. Blue skies, a light-ish breeze, and my flying mojo at its absolute peak. Every instinct said go. So why did I leave KK tied down and reach for an ice cream instead?
My recent Kemble airfield review went down a treat, so it seems only fair to show you the other half of that day. Not the bacon roll and the wander round the apron, but the bit that came afterwards. The flight home - this is supposed to be a flying channel after all. This one was a two-up trip with Ed, one of KK share owners, which meant he sat back and I flew and worked the radio and did all the hard work. And no, before anyone writes in, Ed isn't an instructor. That's rather the point. And he did fly us to Kemble in the first place.
Someone left a comment on one of my videos back in January. The video was about avionics installers, the Aspen and Avidyne saga, part two. Nothing to do with weight, medicals, or BMI. And then, buried in a line about engineers being the wild west, @ghoflyer wrote this:
"Looking a lot slimmer! Congrats."
It's a kind thing to say. It's also the kind of throwaway line that does a lot more than the writer probably intended. It's been turning over in my head ever since. So here's the long answer. The borderline BMI, the AME who put me on notice, the switch to a PMD, the Mounjaro, and the small matter of a lawnmower I cannot fly.
This isn't a brag and it isn't a sob story. It's just what being a heavier pilot actually looks like from the inside. One example, mine, and nobody else's.
Read more: Too Fat to Fly? (Now With 15% More Ways to Fail a Medical)
Five years ago today I flew an aeroplane on my own for the first time. One circuit of Elstree in a PA-28, fifteen minutes in the logbook, and a right seat so empty it was practically shouting. If your own first solo is somewhere ahead of you, this is the post I wish I'd read the night before mine.
Read more: Your First Solo: What It's Actually Like (Five Years On)
I drove to my own airfield the other day, walked up to the café I've eaten at for years, and couldn't get a table. Turns out the national press had found the place first. Here's why that's the best problem an airfield can have. And why I still ended up at a drive-thru.
Last week I didn't fly because it was simply too hot. Thirty-three degrees the day before, density altitude doing unhelpful things, the kind of bumpy air Caz politely declines. So the plane sat in the sun and I stayed on the ground. And then I decided to I spent the evening in a portacabin with no air conditioning, and have a chat with the CAA.
Look, mum, no instructor! Yes it's true. I flew without an instructor and, more importantly to me anyway, I've managed to create another video from another flight in a month. God, is my channel coming back to life? Could I be doing more flying? Yes.
There's a man carved into a Dorset hillside who has been showing off for about a thousand years. The Cerne Abbas Giant. Fifty-five metres of chalk, a club in one hand, and absolutely nothing in the way of clothing. You can probably picture him. Most people can.
