As a side note here it is the wind direction that decides which
runway we use. Sometimes I get a choice, say between 24 and 26 as they share a
common threshold. I usually go with 26 because 24 and I don’t get on to well
for various reasons.
Anyways once I’m on my side of the line, I point my plane so I can
see any traffic on final. ATC prefer it if you wait until they a) aren’t
talking to anyone else and b) have a legitimate chance of actually giving you
clearance before you bother them. Once they give me my takeoff clearance I
repeat it back to them, mostly to reassure them that I am indeed planning to
takeoff from the runway situated directly in front of me and haven’t taken off
on some mad urge to taxi halfway round the airport. Then I taxi out and line
myself up so that I have a halfway decent chance of heading in a straight line
when I gun the throttle.
So we point in the direction we want to go. I push the throttle in
and pray! As well as offering a silent offering to whatever deity I feel may be
listening, I keep one eye on the engine gauges (rpm, temp etc) to check that
the engine is functioning as it is meant to, one eye on the centre line,
compensating for the inevitable drift with the rudder pedals, one eye on the
airspeed indicator and a final eye on Bob’s face to check that he’s not wincing
too much at my directional control.
Yes I am aware that the above paragraph requires me to utilise
twice as many eyes as I actually possess. Welcome to the world of flying!
After this there’s not really such a thing as a “typical flight”. I
might be flinging it around the circuit ad infinitum, or heading out to the
practice area to do some upper airwork. Even if I am doing the circuit to death
thing, there’s not even really such a thing as standard circuit in my neck of
the woods. It’s more of a fly around a vaguely rectangular course while ATC
allegedly try not to bounce you into anything.
Let’s fast forward to the landing then. I set up on final approach
trimming my speed for around 65 knots. Speed is actually determined by how nose
high you are, your power controls your altitude*. I do my best to line it up
along the centre line. I usually fail miserably. Bob offers helpful advice like
“bring her to the right a bit, no, the other right!”
As we cross the threshold I chop the power back and once again pray
to the deity-du-jour. At a predetermined point I bring the nose up to the
horizon (the flare) and wait for the plane to sink downwards rapidly. Now I
bring the control column back (not too much) trying to keep the plane off the
runway as long as possible (the hold-off). If I don’t reckon that the touchdown
is going to happen in the first 1/3rd of the runway (1/2 if Bob is feeling
generous or is bored with me not being able to get the damn thing down already)
we power up and go around for another bash at it.
Once we’ve touched down, I extricate my head from the interior roof
of the plane and recover my headset from where the impact has knocked it clean
off and figure out just what I need to do to get this thing back on the
centreline and slowed down.
Well we’re on the ground now, so that seems like a good place to
break and wait for the final installment.
* yes to anyone not involved in flying this sounds messed up, and
let’s face it, it is!
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