I wrote a solo poem

[Tradford]

I recently completed my first solo flight while in pursuit of my helicopter PPL. I thought I'd write a little poem in celebration -

Solo Flight

The day is just right for companion-less flight,
winds are calm with no clouds in the sky,
the critical gear has received the “all clear” –
now she’s fueled and deemed ready-to-fly.​

​

The mixture’s full-rich, I confirm that the pitch
will adjust as I move the controls –
and the tach isn’t fazed as collective is raised,
since the grip automatically rolls.​

​

I pull it up slow – wonder which way she’ll go
until finally she’s light on the skids –
then I counter the yaw and correct for the draw
that could lead to what safety forbids.​

​

She lists to the side as collective’s applied,
‘cause the fuel weighs a bit more than me –
but the wonderful gift of additional lift
makes the earth set the two of us free.​

​

It’s hard to describe what it feels like to ride
on a cushion just feet from the ground
in an aerial sled – as the blades overhead
beat the air with a thunderous sound.​

​

The pound of my heart when I’m cleared to depart,
makes me wonder if all that I’ve learned
will ensure I survive, that I’ll get back alive –
still intact when my flight is adjourned.​

​

I know I’ve progressed and that leaving the nest
is a ritual all must transcend,
but I find it profound that there’s no one around,
if I panic – that might be the end!​

​

I start on my roll with the cyclic control,
get in trim with the help of a string,
then I push for the shift to translational lift
and I climb like a bird on the wing.​

​

I’m really content with my rate of ascent,
it’s much faster than any before –
the reduction in crew makes this R22
fly a lot like an R44.​

​

I’ve reached AGL in my flying gazelle
and the tower has cleared me to land –
I’ve already seen that the gauges are green
and the cyclic is firmly in hand.​

​

I reach by my seat and I pull in some heat
so my rotors continue to spin –
then I pilot my coach onto final approach
and the two of us softly descend.​

​

I try to be neat with my hands and my feet,
keep her straight ‘till we come to a stop,
and I’m back to the stand where my journey began –
the experience – over the top.​

​

My memory’s tossed to the hurdles I’ve crossed
and the times I was ready to quit –
the tasks I assailed and consistently failed,
and a few that I hate to admit.​

This tunnel has light that is barely in sight
and there’s no turning back now for me –
I’ll stay on this course if it leads to divorce,
but a pilot – I’m destined to be!

Merry Christmas!!
​

 

[ScottVal]

Very nice, we'll have to call you the Dr. Seuss of the skies! Never flown a helicopter, you gave me a sense of what it is like.

 

[ebykowsky]

Awesome! Both the solo and the poem! You've done something few people will ever do: command an aircraft into the air to return safely to the ground without anyone there to help. Doing it in a rotor craft must makes you that much more elite! (More elite than I)