Flying Stories
Why I Fly
A little while ago, a friend sent me a picture which depicted this beautiful riverine scene with a man casting a fly as he fished for trout. The setting was idyllic and the caption read ‘Not all Churches have Pews’.
That sentiment, in a nutshell, is why I fly. I am not a particularly religious person, but having said that, flying provides a connection to a beauty that I can scarcely describe. It’s the stuff that poets write about and it’s the same reason why people find peace and rejuvenation when they go on a trip to the bush.
In the film, One-Six Right, one of the pilots that are interviewed comments that (and I’m paraphrasing) “Finding a reason as to why you love to fly, is like trying to motivate why you like Mozart or van Gough. The reason defies words…it just is.” That’s why I find it difficult to put into words why I fly. It’s not about getting from A to B; it’s not a faster method of transport; and it’s not because I need to keep current.
There is something inside of me that feels incomplete if I haven’t been in the sky recently. I think that the President of the Piper Aircraft Company, William T Piper puts it quite well, and he’s the sort of authority that carries quite a bit of weight on an issue like this, having designed what is arguably the epitome of what it is to be a recreational aircraft, the J3 Cub. He said “Once you have learned to fly your plane, it is far less fatiguing to fly than it is to drive a car. You don't have to watch every second for cats, dogs, children, lights, road signs, ladies with baby carriages and citizens who drive out in the middle of the block against the lights…Nobody who has not been up in the sky on a glorious morning can possibly imagine the way a pilot feels in free heaven.”
I think that every aviator has felt this way, and sadly, sometimes this passion is lost in the
progress of efficiency and safety that rules out the pilot and is translated into the binary codes
of computers. That is why recreational aviation is so important and it must be safeguarded, like
all things that are so terribly vital to happiness and rejuvenation. For me, a life without flying would be like a life without music. It would be dull, the lesser for its loss. I don’t think that this romantic view of aviation is confined to these aerie-fairy musings, but somehow it also incorporates a personal challenge. You only compete against yourself when you fly; for the perfect landing, the
balanced turn, or the optimal cruise. I think this reason is probably similar to why people play golf. It’s for the personal satisfaction of rewarding and testing yourself.
Coaxing all of that machinery into one fluid, graceful movement is part of that satisfaction which, I suppose, makes up so much of its appeal.
You might have read the musings by Robert Traver where he tries to articulate what drives him to go fishing whenever he has a spare moment. I like what he has to say, because I understand where he is coming from and I’ve adapted his words to suit my passion:
“I fly because I love to. Because I love the wide open spaces of sky and cloud that swallow up my worries and let me be free. No matter what the weather, the skies are invariably beautiful, contrasting the places where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly. Because of
all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape.
Because in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing what they hate, my flying is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion because in flying there is an absolute truth. Aircraft do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed, or impressed by power. They respond only to quietude and humility, and endless patience. Because I suspect that men are going this way for the last time and I for one don't want to waste the trip. Because in the sky my skills are reflected in honest judgement by the craft, and although I will never reach perfection, there is a thrill when I get close. Because in the sky I can find solitude without loneliness. ... And finally, not because I regard flying as being so terribly important, but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant and not nearly so much fun.”
That sentiment, in a nutshell, is why I fly. I am not a particularly religious person, but having said that, flying provides a connection to a beauty that I can scarcely describe. It’s the stuff that poets write about and it’s the same reason why people find peace and rejuvenation when they go on a trip to the bush.
In the film, One-Six Right, one of the pilots that are interviewed comments that (and I’m paraphrasing) “Finding a reason as to why you love to fly, is like trying to motivate why you like Mozart or van Gough. The reason defies words…it just is.” That’s why I find it difficult to put into words why I fly. It’s not about getting from A to B; it’s not a faster method of transport; and it’s not because I need to keep current.
There is something inside of me that feels incomplete if I haven’t been in the sky recently. I think that the President of the Piper Aircraft Company, William T Piper puts it quite well, and he’s the sort of authority that carries quite a bit of weight on an issue like this, having designed what is arguably the epitome of what it is to be a recreational aircraft, the J3 Cub. He said “Once you have learned to fly your plane, it is far less fatiguing to fly than it is to drive a car. You don't have to watch every second for cats, dogs, children, lights, road signs, ladies with baby carriages and citizens who drive out in the middle of the block against the lights…Nobody who has not been up in the sky on a glorious morning can possibly imagine the way a pilot feels in free heaven.”
I think that every aviator has felt this way, and sadly, sometimes this passion is lost in the
progress of efficiency and safety that rules out the pilot and is translated into the binary codes
of computers. That is why recreational aviation is so important and it must be safeguarded, like
all things that are so terribly vital to happiness and rejuvenation. For me, a life without flying would be like a life without music. It would be dull, the lesser for its loss. I don’t think that this romantic view of aviation is confined to these aerie-fairy musings, but somehow it also incorporates a personal challenge. You only compete against yourself when you fly; for the perfect landing, the
balanced turn, or the optimal cruise. I think this reason is probably similar to why people play golf. It’s for the personal satisfaction of rewarding and testing yourself.
Coaxing all of that machinery into one fluid, graceful movement is part of that satisfaction which, I suppose, makes up so much of its appeal.
You might have read the musings by Robert Traver where he tries to articulate what drives him to go fishing whenever he has a spare moment. I like what he has to say, because I understand where he is coming from and I’ve adapted his words to suit my passion:
“I fly because I love to. Because I love the wide open spaces of sky and cloud that swallow up my worries and let me be free. No matter what the weather, the skies are invariably beautiful, contrasting the places where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly. Because of
all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape.
Because in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing what they hate, my flying is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion because in flying there is an absolute truth. Aircraft do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed, or impressed by power. They respond only to quietude and humility, and endless patience. Because I suspect that men are going this way for the last time and I for one don't want to waste the trip. Because in the sky my skills are reflected in honest judgement by the craft, and although I will never reach perfection, there is a thrill when I get close. Because in the sky I can find solitude without loneliness. ... And finally, not because I regard flying as being so terribly important, but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant and not nearly so much fun.”
SHE FLIES!
After experiencing carburetor icing and a subsequent forced landing in our Tiger Moth during November last year, she is finally back in the skies. Repairs needed to be made on oarts of the lower wings, and we decided to do a full recover of all of the wings as a result. So 'Tiggy' is looking better and ever and it was so good to be flying her again...
She rests wingless and motionless
As time passes, the fabric is drawn away
Like a curtain revealing the inner workings
That somehow turn physics into flight
Moulding and bending the air
So that lift has more gravitas than weight.
As this curtain of material is gently
Plucked from her wooden skeleton
We find a cracked rib and some minor damage
Nothing that cannot be fixed.
Dedicated hands motivated by experience
Take her broken wing and begin.
Like a child nursing an injured dove,
Her wounds are healed and covered by a new skin;
Better than the old one. Brighter
More fluid and a canary yellow
Flutters in the hangar light
In eagerness to par ways with the ground.
Bolts and nuts and washers and pins
Raise all four wings onto a slender body.
Trussed with silver wires that twang in tension
And are turned up tight.
I marvel at their intricate criss-crosses
That will hold me skyward.
So much trust placed in the hands
Of those wooden wings and invisible forces;
And like the wave of a wand
The magic of aerodynamics is possible.
So much joy manufactured
By this intricate secret.
That first flight is tender and graceful
And I feel like I am reacquainted
With an old friend
As I strap the moth over my shoulders
And in the sky
Am suddenly complete again.
As time passes, the fabric is drawn away
Like a curtain revealing the inner workings
That somehow turn physics into flight
Moulding and bending the air
So that lift has more gravitas than weight.
As this curtain of material is gently
Plucked from her wooden skeleton
We find a cracked rib and some minor damage
Nothing that cannot be fixed.
Dedicated hands motivated by experience
Take her broken wing and begin.
Like a child nursing an injured dove,
Her wounds are healed and covered by a new skin;
Better than the old one. Brighter
More fluid and a canary yellow
Flutters in the hangar light
In eagerness to par ways with the ground.
Bolts and nuts and washers and pins
Raise all four wings onto a slender body.
Trussed with silver wires that twang in tension
And are turned up tight.
I marvel at their intricate criss-crosses
That will hold me skyward.
So much trust placed in the hands
Of those wooden wings and invisible forces;
And like the wave of a wand
The magic of aerodynamics is possible.
So much joy manufactured
By this intricate secret.
That first flight is tender and graceful
And I feel like I am reacquainted
With an old friend
As I strap the moth over my shoulders
And in the sky
Am suddenly complete again.
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The 22nd February 2011 marked 45 years since the first flight of the Tiger Moth, ZS-UKW (previously ZS-BSF), that we still enjoy in our family.
We are lucky in that my brother, father and I have this beautiful vintage biplane to use to play amongst the clouds at our home base, Baragwanath.
During early February 1966, my father, Roy, completed the rebuild of what was then a silver and blue Tiger, with the help of Arthur Meechin (an icon in de Havilland history). The rebuild started shortly after Dad had finished High School, and bit by bit, the Tiger was lovingly put together at the family home in Bryanston.
We watched some old 8mm footage of 'Tiggy' being towed out to Grand Central with the tailwheel supported in the back of a 'Hey Ho' bakkie that had been hired for the job. The wings were assembled in one of the old T-hangars and we watched Arthur doing a run-up before taking her to the skies for her first flight. On 22nd February, Dad took her up for the first time as the start of his conversion. I wonder how many people can say that they still fly the same aircraft that their father learnt to fly on?
Besides for the uplifting moment when we watched the first flight, it was amazing to see how much Grand Central has changed! It was really out in the country 45 years ago! The airfield had minimal buildings and most of the aeroplanes were housed in rows of T-hangars, connected by dirt tracks. There was no hard stand, but instead just a strip of tar carved through the veld. The racetrack was also operational and FAGC looked like a small grassroots airfield.
So, in honour of all of this, we had a flight with the C140 and the Tiger, to celebrate this personal milestone. 'Tiggy' has taken up a really special place within our family. At Baragwanath that day, the weather played the game as well, with some beautiful cloud formations that made us feel like we were flying into a painting. This year is also her 70th Birthday so after dancing in the sky, we cracked open a bottle of champagne and drank to another 45 years of happy flying...
We are lucky in that my brother, father and I have this beautiful vintage biplane to use to play amongst the clouds at our home base, Baragwanath.
During early February 1966, my father, Roy, completed the rebuild of what was then a silver and blue Tiger, with the help of Arthur Meechin (an icon in de Havilland history). The rebuild started shortly after Dad had finished High School, and bit by bit, the Tiger was lovingly put together at the family home in Bryanston.
We watched some old 8mm footage of 'Tiggy' being towed out to Grand Central with the tailwheel supported in the back of a 'Hey Ho' bakkie that had been hired for the job. The wings were assembled in one of the old T-hangars and we watched Arthur doing a run-up before taking her to the skies for her first flight. On 22nd February, Dad took her up for the first time as the start of his conversion. I wonder how many people can say that they still fly the same aircraft that their father learnt to fly on?
Besides for the uplifting moment when we watched the first flight, it was amazing to see how much Grand Central has changed! It was really out in the country 45 years ago! The airfield had minimal buildings and most of the aeroplanes were housed in rows of T-hangars, connected by dirt tracks. There was no hard stand, but instead just a strip of tar carved through the veld. The racetrack was also operational and FAGC looked like a small grassroots airfield.
So, in honour of all of this, we had a flight with the C140 and the Tiger, to celebrate this personal milestone. 'Tiggy' has taken up a really special place within our family. At Baragwanath that day, the weather played the game as well, with some beautiful cloud formations that made us feel like we were flying into a painting. This year is also her 70th Birthday so after dancing in the sky, we cracked open a bottle of champagne and drank to another 45 years of happy flying...
A Collection of flying Stories
a_collection_of_aviation_short_stories_by_courtney_watson.pdf |