A Christmas story

I woke up this morning not wanting to fly.

The weather last week had been miserable, with low ceilings and truly lousy visibilities to match. I'd wound up scrubbing a bunch of flights, which meant I wound up making hardly any money for the week.

I had managed to find a slight break in the weather on Wednesday to go fly with two students, both of whom are taking their check rides next week. Normally I wouldn't have flown, but with check rides looming we launched into three miles of murk and did as much as we could given the conditions.

This morning's flight was a discovery flight purchased by a mother for her son. The satellite office of the flight school was empty, the FBO we base our airplanes out of was nearly empty as well and scheduled to close at noon.

The person taking the discovery flight doesn't live in Minnesota and from the concern his mother had expressed over the extremely reasonable cost of the flight I was fairly certain this wasn't a flight that would result in a new student for the school.

Plus, I still had Christmas shopping to do, discovery flights pay so little they're really not worth the time involved and despite the miserable weather the previous week that had left me in an ugly mood because of the lack of flying I was still looking forward to some time off.

It had snowed over the weekend, which usually means treacherous conditions out at the airport as the taxiways, ramps and even runways become a patchwork of ice, snow and sand despite the best efforts of the crews who work day and night to keep things clear.

Add all that up and I would rather have stayed in bed, had a late breakfast, forgotten about going to the airport, finished up my shopping early and spent the rest of the day watching television and drinking beer.

Instead, I drove down to the airport to meet my passenger.

Five seconds after they walked in the door I was in a much better mood. My passenger was a sheer joy, one of the nicest people I've had the pleasure to meet. His mother was just as wonderful, as was his girlfriend, who despite her intrinsic shyness quickly agreed to come along for the ride.

I showed them how to preflight a 172, had the last remaining line guy help me pull it out of the hangar, posed for a few photos and got everybody strapped in while mom went into the FBO to wait for our return.

I showed my guy how to taxi the airplane and he did a good job keeping us out of the snowdrifts that still lined the taxiways.

He managed the takeoff with only a small bit of assistance from yours truly and we were on our way.

After a few minutes he was doing a decent job keeping the airplane straight and level and I was in heaven.

The body to my left was topped off with a giant smile and wide, keen eyes that were drinking in the joy of flight. He was gushing.

We flew low to the north then turned east before heading down the St. Croix river. I sat back, arms and legs crossed while he did the flying and pointed out the ice fishing shacks, towns and docks that line the river that defines the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin in this part of the state.

His girlfriend in the back seat was equally ebullient. She had never been in a small airplane before but her smile was as wide as that on her boyfriend who worked the controls.

I showed him how to keep a light, barely perceptible grip on the controls and guide the airplane by mere pressures on the yoke rather than crude movements and we tracked smoothly through a still winter sky.

His eager mind grasped the concept of a gentle touch on the controls much more quickly than I had, by a factor of seconds as compared to many, many hours. This gave me a quiet chuckle as I realized I was seated next to somebody who was more than a few degrees of sharpness ahead of myself.

By now, my only regret was that his mother had only asked, and paid for, a 30-minute flight. As I looked in the face of the young man to my left then back outside watching the frozen river slide below us I could have happily flown for hours.

Hesitant to break the spell I ignored the Hobbes meter as long as I could before my professionalism got the best of me and I asked my new friend to turn us West, back toward the airport.

But there was still one treat left.

As we neared the airport I talked him through the power reductions and flap settings until we were lined up on final, right on the glide slope and on speed.

We approached the earth, to which we must always return, and I gently reduced the power to idle while prompting my client to pull back on the yoke, then pull back some more.

With just a brush at the controls and a gentle stab on the rudder on my part we squeaked down on the runway and rolled out quietly.

I gave the young man sitting next to me a big smile and said, “see, there's nothing to it. Nice job.”

His smile was wider than I would have thought possible. He taxied us back to the FBO and after we shut down we all just sat there for a bit, listening to the gyros spin down.

“It's different than I thought it would be, but there's just so much. I can't even put it into words,” he said. “I've always wanted to do that and I can't believe I have.”

Mom came out, more pictures were taken, I cracked some clumsy pilot jokes and they were gone.

Maybe it's just my corny side, or maybe there's more to it, but the look on his face and the obvious happiness our simple flight brought made my month, much less my day.

When you fly for a living, it's easy to forget that it is a privilege enjoyed by the relatively few and that even the most modest of flights are, for many, an accomplishment on par with Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic.

Sometimes, it just takes a flight you didn't want to make to remind you.