The Very Empty Seat by Victor Sullivan

     © 2013

A student pilot's first solo flight.

How often have you seen an empty seat? I mean totally empty, utterly empty, terminally empty?

I have. Once. I'll never forget the occasion. It happened half a century ago but every detail is vividly etched in my memory.

It began with a simple wish, desire, ambition, a decision and finally, action. I would learn to fly.

I signed up, paid the fee, bought the books, studied, learned a great deal and pleased my instructor who provided one-to-one practical tuition and who sat beside me on my hour-long training sessions, all of which I found thoroughly enjoyable and exciting. I was making really good progress, I was becoming intuitive my instructor informed me. 

On one memorable day, following the routine preparation, pre-flight checks and engine warmup time, I communicated with the Control Tower and received permission for EI-AMF, ('Mike Fox' in aviation terminology), to taxi to the end of runway 35 at Cork Airport for another training session. With my trusted flying instructor beside me I prepared for take-off, moved forward and aligned the aircraft with the centre-line of runway 35. We waited with engine ticking over. 

"Mike-Fox you have permission to take-off" crackled the message from the Control Tower. I reached for the throttle only to have my hand grasped by my instructor. 

"Wait! Let me out first."

He opened the cockpit door and stepped onto the runway. "Off you go! Good luck! You're on your own for just one circuit!" he added as he closed the door.

Adrenaline production went into overdrive, pulse rate tripled, I was invincible. I opened the throttle and with engine roaring, accelerated along the centre-line of Runway 35, getting faster and faster, the rumbling of the wheels on the concrete adding to the noise level. I reached take-off speed, pressed gently back on the control column and the vibrating contribution from the wheels was hushed. I was airborne. I flew straight and level for a little longer to pick up more speed then began to climb. The airport buildings and control tower fell away behind me. I was applying everything I had learned as and when necessary, confident in my mastery of my new skills.

Independence! Freedom! A break from the bonds of gravity! This is what humans had longed to do for millions of years, to fly like the birds. Now I was doing it, even if only for one circuit of the airport. 

Time to turn right; bank gently, turn ninety degrees, maintain altitude, perfectly executed. Keep a lookout for other aircraft, (even though I knew the next plane due hadn't even left London).

I was ecstatic, enjoying my utter independence in this three dimensional environment. Monarch of all I surveyed; from that place and time it meant the entire city of Cork, its vast Harbour and environs with the shimmering river Lee winding its way through the lush scenery that was spread out below me. All too soon it was time to start my next turn to the right onto the next leg of my circuit.

That was the moment when I caught sight of the instructor's seat beside me. It was empty, utterly, utterly EMPTY!!!!!! It was the emptiest seat I had ever seen .... and I was alone, very alone, up there in the clear blue sky, flying a light aircraft at 120 miles per hour with the altimeter indicating 1,200 feet.  I completed the right angle turn and flew parallel to the main runway from which I had taken off a couple of minutes earlier but I was now going in the opposite direction. I had to get back to the other end from where I had begun my takeoff and land on that tiny strip of concrete that seemed to have become far smaller than it had ever been before. The seat beside me continued to be life-threatingly empty. 

That was when I experienced one of those Moments of Truth spoken of by the Great Philosophers: I would have to land this aircraft by myself, just me, alone. No other human on the planet could land it for me, there was no point in expecting help from anyone, not from my flying instructor, my mother, St. Patrick, the Wright brothers, the angel Gabriel or God. It was simply up to me, in my sublime isolation, to land the plane intact and undamaged with me inside it, equally undamaged.

Another thought rose momentarily to prominence. There would be watchers, Control Tower staff, casual observers in the passenger terminal, plane spotters, my anxious flying instructor and Aero Club fellow members, all watching my first solo landing, ready to declare it a mere solo 'arrival' if it was anything other than a perfect landing.

Concentrate Victor! The seat beside me was still extremely empty and that miniscule patch of concrete down there was where I would have to land this machine.

One more right turn and it would be time to alert the Air Traffic Controller with: "Mike Fox turning finals."
"Mike Fox you are clear to land."

I turned 90 degrees and was on my final approach towards the rapidly growing runway.

Photo by the author but not taken on the same occasion!

 I flew steadily towards the white line painted down the centre of runway 35. Engine ticking over, airspeed correct, glide-path correct, wings level, over the painted stripes of the runway threshold, steady, hold off..... let it sink.... keep it straight ... steady... both wheels kiss the concrete gently and simultaneously without even a hint of a bounce... slow down now, keep straight...  gentle brake pressure. A perfect landing! I have flown solo! I can fly a plane all by myself! Euphoria! 

I brought Mike Fox almost to a stop, then turned around carefully and taxied back sedately and proudly to the the Munster Aero Club's premises, there to be met and congratulated by my instructor and a press photographer, Roy Hammond. 

The author after his first solo flight. Photo by the late Roy Hammond

  

While walking from the aircraft to the Clubhouse my euphoria was suddenly quenched:  It is customary to buy a round of drinks for everyone in the Aero Club bar on completing one's first solo flight. Had I enough cash in my pocket? Not having expected to fly solo that day, I hadn't a bean. The photographer came to my rescue and offered me a loan. Many years later his son married my daughter.