In one of my favorite movies all time, “Always”, there was a pilot who had been killed and, as a spirit, acted as the inspiration for another younger pilot. Even though I absolutely loved the story, I always thought of it as just a nice story. I never really believed in spirits.
It was just another Saturday towing gliders. I had already done a few flights, pulling gliders up into the air. I was taxiing (rolling on the ground) the aircraft to the runway. Usually I would have rolled right up to the holding point, just before entering the runway for takeoff. I saw absolutely nothing strange ahead of me. Nevertheless, as I was making my way to the runway, a few meters before where I would usually stop, “something” told me not to go further. It wasn’t a voice or a presence. Nothing like that, but a feeling. I simply had a feeling I had to stop much before I would normally do. So I did.
Two seconds after, a parachutist was landing where I would normally have been. There was no way I could have seen him arriving as he was descending from back and above and the airplane I was flying that morning had a covered roof. Just like all the other airplanes I’ve flown, this one has a fast spinning propeller at the front end. The parachutist landed and simply walked away. Until today, I can’t tell if that man knew how lucky he was. I was too.
A few months later, I was flying at another airfield near the mountains, at Covilhã. It was my very first experience of mountain flying. Once again I was towing gliders. I had already towed a few gliders on that day, and I had just released one of them near the ridge and proceeded to a final for landing. I was high, higher than usual, already adding some safety margin due to a windy day flying in a very turbulent layer of air. Covilhã is known for its up and down drafts when it is windy, so maybe I was simply more aware than normal for unusual situations. Nevertheless, all the sudden I had one of those feelings. I just felt I had to open the throttle quite a bit and push the nose the aircraft down to win some speed. Normal approaches I would do at 120 Km/h. After having had that feeling I found myself flying at 140 Km/h, near the limit of the maximum speed with flaps down without really knowing why I was putting so much speed. I simply had to do it. Somehow, I felt “something” was about to happen and I would need that extra energy.
Shortly after, I caught a really nasty downdraft, probably the biggest downdraft I had ever caught on a final for landing until then, since I was a pilot. I promptly opened the remaining throttle and kept on lowering the nose so speed wouldn’t bleed away too fast. In light aircraft, on final, descent rate is controlled with the engine and speed with the elevator. Even so, I found myself back to 120 Km/h, still pushing nose down with throttle wide open right until I arrived at the flare, when I was able to finally close the throttle again and make a smooth touchdown. Even if all the instances of this event are perfectly explainable by knowing some meteorology and aerodynamics, what in the world made me believe that on that particular final I would face an even fiercer downdraft than all the others I had caught previously that day? Had I not gained speed before the event, I could have probably crashed before reaching the runway.
I never really believed in spirits…
It was just another Saturday towing gliders. I had already done a few flights, pulling gliders up into the air. I was taxiing (rolling on the ground) the aircraft to the runway. Usually I would have rolled right up to the holding point, just before entering the runway for takeoff. I saw absolutely nothing strange ahead of me. Nevertheless, as I was making my way to the runway, a few meters before where I would usually stop, “something” told me not to go further. It wasn’t a voice or a presence. Nothing like that, but a feeling. I simply had a feeling I had to stop much before I would normally do. So I did.
Two seconds after, a parachutist was landing where I would normally have been. There was no way I could have seen him arriving as he was descending from back and above and the airplane I was flying that morning had a covered roof. Just like all the other airplanes I’ve flown, this one has a fast spinning propeller at the front end. The parachutist landed and simply walked away. Until today, I can’t tell if that man knew how lucky he was. I was too.
A few months later, I was flying at another airfield near the mountains, at Covilhã. It was my very first experience of mountain flying. Once again I was towing gliders. I had already towed a few gliders on that day, and I had just released one of them near the ridge and proceeded to a final for landing. I was high, higher than usual, already adding some safety margin due to a windy day flying in a very turbulent layer of air. Covilhã is known for its up and down drafts when it is windy, so maybe I was simply more aware than normal for unusual situations. Nevertheless, all the sudden I had one of those feelings. I just felt I had to open the throttle quite a bit and push the nose the aircraft down to win some speed. Normal approaches I would do at 120 Km/h. After having had that feeling I found myself flying at 140 Km/h, near the limit of the maximum speed with flaps down without really knowing why I was putting so much speed. I simply had to do it. Somehow, I felt “something” was about to happen and I would need that extra energy.
Shortly after, I caught a really nasty downdraft, probably the biggest downdraft I had ever caught on a final for landing until then, since I was a pilot. I promptly opened the remaining throttle and kept on lowering the nose so speed wouldn’t bleed away too fast. In light aircraft, on final, descent rate is controlled with the engine and speed with the elevator. Even so, I found myself back to 120 Km/h, still pushing nose down with throttle wide open right until I arrived at the flare, when I was able to finally close the throttle again and make a smooth touchdown. Even if all the instances of this event are perfectly explainable by knowing some meteorology and aerodynamics, what in the world made me believe that on that particular final I would face an even fiercer downdraft than all the others I had caught previously that day? Had I not gained speed before the event, I could have probably crashed before reaching the runway.
I never really believed in spirits…