The following is a paper i wrote for a lower level college composition class a few years back. The assignment was to be as descriptive as possible without overtly stating what was happening. So, as a pilot, it was very difficult for me not to include all the technical jargon that had become second nature to me. This flight took place my senior year of high school in 2005, when i was training for my Private Pilot License. Enjoy!
The view across the airport was foreboding. Weather reports had succinctly informed of a low overcast ceiling starting around eight hundred feet with the tops of the clouds around two thousand feet. The reality of the situation looked much more grim. Dark, gray fingers reached down, raking the earth with a seemingly ethereal mission to oppress the natives below. All light was muted, if such a thing is possible, casting a deepening gray tinge over the land. The buildings of South Sacramento were hunched over as if to protect their inhabitants from the invading, bitter cold. Then the clearance I was waiting for fired my nerves.
In a series of deft and fluid movements, my fingers found all the right switches. Strobe lights, navigation lights, taxi and landing lights, trim wheel, transponder, everything was in order. I felt my legs lower autonomously from the brakes to the bottom of the rudder pedals, applying equal force to keep the plane aligned perfectly with the centerline of the runway. At long last, it was time to pierce into the gloom hanging above us. With a slight tremble, my right hand loosened the cold metal friction lock around the throttle lever and my left hand found home on the left stalk of the worn, plastic control yoke. A distant voice confirmed the orders handed down from on high. It took a moment to recognize that it was my own voice.
I felt the resistance of the throttle cable in the engine as I pushed the throttle lever to the firewall. The machine before me responded without objection, pulling us down the long black strip. The engine subtly rose from a cheerful chug to a dull roar, the tips of the propeller popping as they broke the sound barrier; this was accompanied by the intense pressure of acceleration on my lower back, signaling me to dart my eyes across the instrument panel. Oil temperature and pressure were both in the green. The airspeed indicator came alive, the pale white needle shuddering, then racing across the dial. I could feel the wings yearning to fulfill their purpose. Tenderly, I pulled the control yoke back and we slipped the surly bonds of Earth.
My gaze shifted from the instrument panel to the dark mass we would enter in a few seconds. As we ascended, peering out of the left window I saw the ground leaving us, slowly becoming obscured by a thin mist, then a thick vapor, and finally disappearing altogether. A disembodied voice crackled over my headset, reminding me to keep my eyes on the instruments. I complied, forcing myself to let the menacing darkness out of my sight. The little white plane on the attitude indicator was telling me the plane was in a level climb. The vertical speed indicator, with its own bobbing needle, told me the plane was indeed performing exemplary. My eyes wandered over the panel where framed in the windscreen was a featureless wall of gray. As if the world had lost all color, the gray surrounding me seemed to suffocate space and time itself. Then the darkness took me, and chaos reigned:
Up was down, left was right. My legs felt as if they were being twisted all the way around until my feet were pointing behind me. I was tipping to the side, both sides, at the same time. I plunged headfirst towards the ground. Then I was lying on my back rocketing through the atmosphere like I was in a space shuttle. It was persistent, relentlessly thrashing my equilibrium as if it were a child’s toy. I was at the mercy of a monster known as spatial disorientation. Suddenly, the instruments were my best friends, my only friends. They were in fact the only source of reality for me in this dark place.
The darkness lingered for the longest minute of my life. Slowly, very slowly, the dark gray surrounding me started to lift. Like someone had control of a dimmer knob, the gray started to fade away. It seemed like a miracle occurring all around me, right before my eyes. The gloom was being replaced by light, gray turned to white. Then more white, and even more white. It was a white so intense, so bright, my eyes were quickly growing fatigued.
Then in an instant, the brightness was gone. The same disembodied voice crackled into my ears once again. “Look outside,” it said. I lifted my head and took my first look outside in what seemed like years. It all flooded into me and I became vividly aware of the moment. Cool, fresh, untainted air flowed through the overhead vents, pleasantly mingling with the scents of warm ashless dispersant oil, and hints of aviation fuel. The low, vibrating hum of the trusty, finely-tuned, Lycoming powerplant permeated every cell of my body. My seat was soft and welcomed me, as it welcomed the hundreds who had come before. The myriad of knobs and switches and dials no longer felt worn and abused, rather they seemed lovingly used. I felt my wings stretch and slice through air smooth as glass. Soothing were these comforts, only complementing what came next. A vast blanket of white fluffy clouds, covering and completely obscuring the land from horizon to horizon. I banked southeast towards distant mountain peaks that refused to be held in oppressive darkness, just as I had refused to be held in that darkness. Off my right wing, an enormous, towering cumulus cloud was the only thing casting a shadow over me. I looked in wonder at this behemoth, imagining the tumbling mirth contained within. Beyond, the familiar transmission towers stood proudly, poking holes in the blanket that surrounded them. I swooped and spiraled, tumbled and turned. My course was elusive as I played across the sky, feeling every pocket and buffet within myself.
