The last time I flew, was a strange flight back in October. Hubby and I went for an evening flight down Turnagain Arm as the sun got low. At the time, there was a corner of my mind that was already wondering if this would be my last flight for a while, and the biopsy results a few days later confirmed I was right... the long version of the whole story is over in Medical Topics, but this chapter of it I think belongs here.
...To today: six months of chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and one BasicMed course completion certificate later, I am back in the air. It's been 311 days.
During that time, Hubby swapped out the 172's regular tires for bigger poofier ones. Their size seems almost absurd to me.
First, get current again and confirm that I really am still capable of doing this... I asked Hubby to sit right seat as PIC while I did some shakey touch-and-goes. My heart was absolutely racing. Shutting down: had to pause for an emotional moment.
Then Hubby got out and drove off, and I took off by myself, to meet up with a friend in nearby Girdwood. He's my former PPL student actually, who got his ticket back in 2018, and was in-state for just a few days. Flying back down Turnagain Arm again... It was a gorgeous blue-sky day, clear, a little windy in the Arm, but that's quite normal. Everything was going great. Feeling confident. Nice landing on Girdwood's gravel, although with the big poofy tires it seems one can get away with anything when landing on gravel.
My former student met up with me there -- I'll call him "Wayne," just in case he values his privacy. He hadn't flown for a few months. I confessed that I'd just gotten current that morning. "I'm sure that two moderately-competent certificated pilots can figure out how to land this thing!" I said. The plan: a refresher for Wayne, dork around in the mountains, just have fun, keep it simple. First, let's check out Portage Pass and see if Prince William Sound is clear. This is an astonishingly gorgeous landscape of fjords and glaciers, which is often socked in with clouds and rain, but today might be an opportunity.
The pass was clear, the Sound expansive on the other side. Then, just as we crossed the pass to the far side, *BAM* we hit severe turbulence. Wayne would describe it later as "like hitting a wall". My stomach went up -- or maybe down?, my butt left the seat, and a million tiny things -- every dead bug and dust bunny from the top of the panel, as well as water bottles and phones -- lifted into the air, and then rained back down upon us. After that, Wayne fought for control, but kept the blue side up and needed no intervention, and quickly started looking around for an exit strategy. No Prince William Sound for us today -- hang a left, into a different pass, that would bring us back toward Girdwood and sanity.
"You handled that really well," I said when we were out of the mayhem, "You kept your cool, and kept the airplane under control, which is the most important thing." "It didn't feel that way on the inside!" said Wayne. As for me, well, it took a while to bring my heart rate down again, too. We chose different mountains to dork around in for the rest of the flight... again a little bumpy, but nothing like the Portage Pass Wall. I think Wayne has gained a bit of perspective on turbulence. I've only experienced it that bad once before, and that was back in my student days.
Back to Girdwood, where we landed and compared notes on the Portage Pass Wall with a local helicopter pilot, who nodded emphatically that yeah, it's windy and bad in there. Survey the cargo compartment to see what had been rearranged. Then I moved all my stuff back over the left seat again and took off solo for home. It was clear to the north, too; all three big mountains (Foraker, Hunter, and Denali) were out.
I've been wondering for a few months now when I'd feel "ready" to go back up again, how I'd "know". Recovering from cancer is not the kind of thing where there's a day when it's all "over" -- it's more like a gradual step down from treatments and gradual regaining of strength and stamina. I knew this flight, whenever it would happen, would be a meaningful milestone. So I'm really glad Wayne called, and he couldn't've picked a nicer day.
That we can fly at all is a kind of miracle. May we always appreciate it as such.
...To today: six months of chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and one BasicMed course completion certificate later, I am back in the air. It's been 311 days.
During that time, Hubby swapped out the 172's regular tires for bigger poofier ones. Their size seems almost absurd to me.
First, get current again and confirm that I really am still capable of doing this... I asked Hubby to sit right seat as PIC while I did some shakey touch-and-goes. My heart was absolutely racing. Shutting down: had to pause for an emotional moment.
Then Hubby got out and drove off, and I took off by myself, to meet up with a friend in nearby Girdwood. He's my former PPL student actually, who got his ticket back in 2018, and was in-state for just a few days. Flying back down Turnagain Arm again... It was a gorgeous blue-sky day, clear, a little windy in the Arm, but that's quite normal. Everything was going great. Feeling confident. Nice landing on Girdwood's gravel, although with the big poofy tires it seems one can get away with anything when landing on gravel.
My former student met up with me there -- I'll call him "Wayne," just in case he values his privacy. He hadn't flown for a few months. I confessed that I'd just gotten current that morning. "I'm sure that two moderately-competent certificated pilots can figure out how to land this thing!" I said. The plan: a refresher for Wayne, dork around in the mountains, just have fun, keep it simple. First, let's check out Portage Pass and see if Prince William Sound is clear. This is an astonishingly gorgeous landscape of fjords and glaciers, which is often socked in with clouds and rain, but today might be an opportunity.
The pass was clear, the Sound expansive on the other side. Then, just as we crossed the pass to the far side, *BAM* we hit severe turbulence. Wayne would describe it later as "like hitting a wall". My stomach went up -- or maybe down?, my butt left the seat, and a million tiny things -- every dead bug and dust bunny from the top of the panel, as well as water bottles and phones -- lifted into the air, and then rained back down upon us. After that, Wayne fought for control, but kept the blue side up and needed no intervention, and quickly started looking around for an exit strategy. No Prince William Sound for us today -- hang a left, into a different pass, that would bring us back toward Girdwood and sanity.
"You handled that really well," I said when we were out of the mayhem, "You kept your cool, and kept the airplane under control, which is the most important thing." "It didn't feel that way on the inside!" said Wayne. As for me, well, it took a while to bring my heart rate down again, too. We chose different mountains to dork around in for the rest of the flight... again a little bumpy, but nothing like the Portage Pass Wall. I think Wayne has gained a bit of perspective on turbulence. I've only experienced it that bad once before, and that was back in my student days.
Back to Girdwood, where we landed and compared notes on the Portage Pass Wall with a local helicopter pilot, who nodded emphatically that yeah, it's windy and bad in there. Survey the cargo compartment to see what had been rearranged. Then I moved all my stuff back over the left seat again and took off solo for home. It was clear to the north, too; all three big mountains (Foraker, Hunter, and Denali) were out.
I've been wondering for a few months now when I'd feel "ready" to go back up again, how I'd "know". Recovering from cancer is not the kind of thing where there's a day when it's all "over" -- it's more like a gradual step down from treatments and gradual regaining of strength and stamina. I knew this flight, whenever it would happen, would be a meaningful milestone. So I'm really glad Wayne called, and he couldn't've picked a nicer day.
That we can fly at all is a kind of miracle. May we always appreciate it as such.
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