Solitude

I recently rediscovered this piece that I wrote almost six years ago after a remarkable flight that I still recall vividly. I added only minimal edits to the original version before posting.

I awoke unprompted at 2 am and the full moon was lighting up everything out my window. The summer night was beckoning. A few quick calls to area ASOS numbers revealed ideal weather conditions, clear skies, no wind, good visibility and a descent temp/dewpoint spread. I fired up the Blazer and headed out to the airport. An aerodrome at night is always a beautiful peaceful place, the runway lights and rotating beacon radiating a meditative atmosphere. I pulled the Champ out of her hangar and completed a preflight inspection. All in order. Four shots of primer, three prop turns, contact, fire! The little Continental eased into idle and the exhaust stacks rhythmically breathing life into the damp stillness of the night. I hopped in, lights on, breaks off, taxi out, the panel glowing red in the cockpit flood light. I chose and intersection departure after a quick run-up and flew off into the night, southeast bound. The air was absolutely still and the moonlight was spectacular. Each bend in the Colorado river was plainly visible and even the furrows in the cotton fields were clear enough to be counted. Ahead the orange lights of Bay City glowed steadily, unlike the twinkling of lights out west. Passing the small city, I noticed the traffic signals were all flashing yellow and red, no need for delays in the heart of the night. Only a few sets of headlights and taillights prowled about the town. Off ahead, the lights of Matagorda marked where the ocean meets the continent. I turned to 123.8, Houston Approach, to hear what other airborn souls were up to this night. "Fed Ex 449 heavy, expect ILS or visual runway 26 left, descend and maintain 6000," a woman said with a thick East Texas accent. Soon I was able to clearly see a widely scattered layer of small cumulus clouds at about 2000 feet just inland from the Gulf. They were metalic silver orbs hovering above a moonwashed bay.

"Fed Ex 449 Heavy, contact Bush tower, good morning."

"Over to tower, good morning."

I danced just over the top of the silver clouds and began a steep descent as soon as I cleared them. I held my attitude to about 300 feet, right over the beach, then leveled. No need to get too low at night, even with the moonlight. I could see each breaker, every granite boulder in the jetties, and out off shore there was a virtual city of oil and gas platforms. The moon plainly lit up the rafts of sargasum washed ashore the entire length of the beach, so common in a during the Texas summer. I reversed course by gently turning out over the Gulf and then back over the shore. I circled the Matagorta jetties a time or two, noticing the green and red markers on either side of the inlet, then climbing and turining inland, I headed back up the river. Before I got to Bay City, I could clearly see the Wharton airport beacon, beckoning me back home. Off with the little Garmin, I don't need you any more. Never did really. Thinking. How is it that I am the only apparent viewer of this spectacle? All of the beauty of any of the great National Parks was before me and why was I the only soul taking it in and why would most call me crazy for being here, held aloft on my magic carpet of steel, wood, and fabric?

Inbound to Wharton, landing light on. I made standard calls on the radio for a straight in for 32, though I was willing to bet there was no other soul on the frequency. My transmissions were broadcast into the night, across the region reaching nobody's ears. Good wheel landing for having not flown at night in a few months. Before putting the aircraft away, I set up my old Olympus on a tripod and took some time exposures of the Champ at night in the moonlight and runway lights. I don't remember much about the drive home, but as I pulled into Richmond off US 59, the eastern sky was getting pale and the stars were all in the west. The Houston radio stations were starting up their loud-mouth car-commercial morning shows and a city was preparing for a day of work.

Flying and Freedom From Unimportant Things

Imagine being free from all of the most destructive thoughts and feelings humans are susceptible to. Imagine a place where insecurities, anxiety, fear, pain, self-doubt, and guilt are removed. This is how the world is to one who has embraced the sky as home, as a comfortable and proper place to be. When flying, the immediacy of the situation demands the pilot’s fullest of attention and there is no room for any of these cancerous thoughts. This is not to say that the pilot is constantly on edge and at his wit’s end. There are occasional introspective and meditative moments for the mind to wander somewhat while aloft, but due to the unique perspective that flight offers, these times are overwhelmingly positive. It isn’t that there is no time to focus on anything but the mechanics of flying and navigating, but that flying produces an environment which engages the mind and spirit in such a way that it has no room for the negative.

When flying a precision maneuver or a tricky cross-wind approach and landing, the mind is busy making innumerable and often subconscious calculations. The motor skills are constantly making small corrections. The eyes, hands, and feet are in symphonic coordination. The successful outcome of the maneuver or landing depends on high levels of concentration, planning, and action. There is no room for destructive thoughts


In another situation, the pilot might find himself in cruise flight on a calm evening over beautiful scenery as sunset nears. The workload is much less, but the mind must still be engaged in keeping a constant heading and altitude or performing other cockpit chores, but the mind will also find itself studying the world below or the sky above. The wonders of the earth, the progress of mankind, or the incredible vastness of the unknown inevitably creep into the pilot’s mind at these times. Once again, there is no room for destructive thoughts.


In both types of circumstances, the mind is much more active than in most ordinary situations, but the spirit is also more alive than it normally is. Completion of a maneuver to perfection lifts the spirit to great heights. Nailing that crosswind landing is like a spiritual high-five, and the peaceful sunset patrol produces a terrific sense of self-exaltation. When one’s inner self is in such a healthy state, it too has no room for destructive emotions.

The FAA lists several hazardous attitudes that are very real and can lead to very poor judgement. Two of them are anti-authority and invulnerability. All pilots encounter these attitudes from time to time and must learn to effectively deal with them. Rule books are written in the blood of others and are printed for a reason. No man is ever invulnerable to the unforgiving sky. On a higher level however, anti-authority and invulnerability are two blessings that flying brings. When flying, there is no greater authority than the pilot-in-command. His decision is final. Nobody is in control of his destiny save himself and spiritually, this is a striking and empowering revelation. Even when there are others in the airplane, there is solitude to be found in the stick and rudder. Being removed from reliance on all others, if even on a short flight, bolsters the individual. There is no authority over a pilot’s destiny save his own. Additionally, because of the very real vulnerability of the pilot’s person, the spirit must takes on an almost impervious armor. Only physical hazards exist in the sky. There is no pain or suffering. Spiritual invulnerability is something seldom found in safety of the ground.

St Exupery is known for saying, "I fly because it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things." Indeed, only the truly important elements of one's being stand out when embracing the sky. Flying is a triumph over the worst and a celebration of the best. It is an activity that fortifies the mind and spirit to do battle in the day-to-day conflicts which can be so draining. An exceptional flight can set the individual right for long after the airplane has been put in the hangar.