Aug 202010
 

Pilots are different. I mean the ones who really love to fly—the hardwired pilots. Think about it: They get into man-made heavier-than-air machines with wings and steer them all around the big skies, up where only birds used to go. For them, it’s a glorious thing to do.

The ones who are really hard wired are like human Jonathan Seagulls; they do all kinds of marvelous things with their flying machines. They loop and roll and dive and climb and whatever else they can imagine to do. They are aerobatic pilots and their inventory of maneuvers has names like Immelmann, Chandelle, Cuban Eight, Hammerhead, Snap Roll, and Pugachev’s Cobra.

They push their bodies and minds and spirits to the edge of reason and often do it with great big-ass grins on their faces. You might even hear a few loud joyous whoops if you are bold enough and lucky enough to be up there with them. These Jonathan Seagulls are risk takers for sure but they are not foolish daredevils. It’s not a death wish that compels them on, it’s a full-life wish.

All good pilots are never masters but are always students. They respect the sky like sailors and surfers respect the sea. They study the sky—the air— and their machines like a surgeon studies the human body and his implements. They are committed to learning and to honing their skills. Words and concepts like lift and drag and thrust and ground effect are as familiar to them as sitting down and standing up are to others.

They study the weather. Along with so many other things, they read clouds like some read labels on a can. Clouds tell them things—important things they must know if they want to fly like a bird. Pilots look up more than other people do.

Some, like Mozart to music, are born to it. They are naturals. They can feel the subtle messages of the airplane and the sky—the winds and the currents—in their fingertips and the pressures on their bodies. They know what is happening and why and they know what they can do, cannot do, or must do. They know these things all at once. They are as close to Jonathan as a human can get.

In some special way, they are at home up there.


Dedication: This little piece about pilots is dedicated to Bruce Watson, the man who taught me how to fly when I was a nineteen year old Aviation Cadet in the U.S. Air Force. He was an exceptional flight instructor. Bruce is the epitome of what I described above and is an Aviator in the truest sense. He also happens to be a good man. I should add that he is still very much alive at 92.

 August 20, 2010
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