Grabbing Some Sky

My first flight was, well forever ago. Before I was born. At least that’s the way I think of it. But my first real flight took place when I was eleven years old. I guess I should clarify: in my book, a real flight is a flight where you are the pilot. You control the aircraft. Crammed in some tiny excuse for a chair on an airliner with dozens, maybe hundreds of other grumpy passengers who smell of old aftershave and spilled coffee, doesn't count as a real flight. A real flight takes new meaning when you see the ground slipping by, and clouds flow over your wings changing colors with the sun.

There is true exhilaration and freedom that comes with flight. You feel as though you can go wherever. Nothing can stop you. It’s just you, and the brilliant beauty of Earth. On my first flight, this feeling was raw and untamed. It was sheer joy. My dad is a pilot, and it has been my dream to become one too. He and I drove to the Provo Municipal Airport in Utah, as the sun began its descent to the horizon. Inside the Utah Valley University building we picked up the keys and our headsets from dispatch, who handle all the flights and airplanes.

Then we walked onto the ramp. The sun glinted off canopies of Plexiglas, and the scent of jet fuel reached my nostrils, carried by a swift breeze that goaded me to leap off my feet and leave the pale existence of life bound by gravity. The mountains surrounding Utah Valley seemed determined to undermine me.

Whoa. Where'd that come from?

My dad walked me around the plane we were taking out. We went through the preflight checklist, making sure the airplane would perform the way we wanted it to. It wouldn’t do to have the fuel gauge stop working mid-flight!

At one point my dad stood on the port wing (the pilot’s side) and I on the starboard (the copilot’s side) while he showed me something in the cockpit. “Come around to this side to look at the fire extinguisher under the seat.” I hopped down from the wing and turned toward the nose of the plane. Wham! My head hit the flat end of one of the stationary propeller blades. I quickly spun around to see if anyone was watching. What a way to begin this ride! It looked like I was in the clear. Only later would I see a home video my mother at the fence had taken, showing it all.

Finally with preflight complete, we were able to strap in, don our headsets, and start the engine! My dad turned the key in the ignition, just like a car, and the plane rumbled to life. Even with the protective headset, the din in the cockpit was loud enough that I couldn’t hear my dad speaking… which is what the headsets were for. Dad placed his hand on the stick and pulled a trigger beneath his index finger. No guns went off, but suddenly I could hear him speaking in the headset. I followed his example and said the only word that came to mind. “Yeehaw!”

Dad nudged the throttle forward and using pedals at his feet to steer, taxied to the runway. That’s when I realized my legs weren’t long enough to reach the pedals. Oops.

Dad radioed the tower, “UVU NR187398 to tower requesting permission for taxi.”

The tower answered back almost immediately, which I thought was very impressive. “UVU NR187398 you are cleared to taxi Runway 31 left.”

“Copy, Runway 31 left.”

My excitement swelled within me like an inflating balloon. This was it! Time to get away from the ground and soar with the birds. Dad turned our little twin seater airplane onto the runway, aligning the nose with the white stripes of the runway. We paused another moment, waiting for authorization to take off. I honestly don’t remember a word that was said, I was so excited.

Dad pushed the throttle forward, almost all the way. My heart started racing the runway. I started bouncing in my seat, only to find out I was strapped in so tight I only moved with the airplane. I looked out the right side, seeing ferns and poles flash by.

Then.

We were airborne. An immense floating sensation came over me. Lift generated by the wings was literally sucking us skyward. I gave a little whoop! that was lost in the noise from the engine. I was flying!

The ground got farther and farther away and I got the feeling I was leaving all my problems behind. All my fears, all my worries, sat there on the asphalt looking after me, disappointed at my escape.

To highlight this feat, the sun brushed the horizon and pink, orange and gold colors filled the air around me. We flew in a tight circle above the airport, then dad turned the controls over to me and told me to head north.

I grinned in jubilation and took us on a lap around Utah Lake. Looking down, the lake, valley and mountains all seemed so small. The view was stellar.

In later years, my dad recalled I didn’t stop smiling until we drove home from the airport later that night.

Eventually, inevitably, it was time to head in. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but knew I'd be back in the air soon enough.

Landing is actually easier than they make it to be in movies. As long as you have authorization and are aligned with the runway, you’re good to go. I set us up for approach while dad talked to the tower. I was excited to show him what I could do. I pulled the knob for the throttle back to slow us down and dad showed my how to lower the landing flaps. I eased us lower and lower. Then-- we weren’t lowering any more.

As dad taxied us back to the ramp, I looked up the gigantic mountains towering above. My problems still existed, but I had something to fight them. Memories like the one I just made, that were strong enough and happy enough could motivate me to keep going and push on. Throttle up and go for it.

I learned two things on my first flight: I’m a pilot. And it’s possible to rise above the hard things in life. Even the ones that tower over us.