Solo?

by Tristen Ross

As a regular routine I buckled in, set my altimeter, closed my dive brakes, and went through the normal tow rope hook up. Hank got in and inquired as always, "are you ready?" I said yes and he responded with "OK then, I'll see you when you get back." Puzzled, I looked back with a nervous face and all I said was one word: "Solo?" Immediately, I knew that I must set all my conversation ideas aside and focus on all I had learned from Hank and Charlie.

Check lists, rope break procedures, and safety precautions all filled my mind and made me extremely nervous. But then a calming voice that I could barely hear through the roar of the tow plane said, "Relax, don't worry about anything, just enjoy the ride." It was Scott on the wing. His words helped me a little but I was still nervous about going up without someone in the back seat.

As I started the takeoff roll, my mind was thinking ahead to every single field that was a possible landing site. I said out loud to myself, "two hundred feet" as I was instructed. The ride up was consumed with scans of the horizon from wing tip to wing tip. As I reached for the little red ball, my mind took a different approach to my first solo. I shouted out loud, as if I wanted the whole world to know that I was soloing, "The hell with this nervous crap, I'm going to have fun!"

The ride down seemed short being cautious and only performing wide turns to the left and right, clearing each turn with the eyes of an eagle looking for even the slightest hint of a speck on the horizon, each spot of dirt catching my attention.

The landing seemed as natural as riding a bike, taking every turn smoothly and easily, this was not the time to goof off with tight turns. I aligned myself with the grass strip next to the runway and adjusted my descent with my hand firmly on the dive brake handle and my eyes on the spot I had picked out to land. With a bounce and a smooth roll out, I was down to earth again with an extremely large smile on my face. I had soloed!

I opened the canopy and waited a few seconds to pose for pictures in the cockpit and then jumped out to shake hands with the first wave of guys from the club. Already seeing two pilots solo before me, and knowing what Neal's first thought is when he hears that a student pilot is going to solo, I knew very well that there was a bucket of water somewhere among that mass of people moving towards me. I immediately took off my jacket, sweat shirt and T-shirt so that I wouldn't have to go home in wet clothes in the 35 degree temperature weather. The group started to run at me and I threw my arms in the air ready to bond with three gallons of ice-cold water. However, instead, I met with two small towels that probably would have been what I would be drying off with. What a big disappointment, even in the cold weather, I felt strange missing the traditional dousing, but what a great feeling it was to solo. (Editors note: Tristen still has much to learn, including the fact that this particular tradition, likee revenge, is a dish best served cold.)