Birds in flight possess flawless instinct. I don’t believe this; after thirty-five years of soaring daily and twice as many on the ground looking up, I know it. Not to say they’re incapable of error, but next time one does something that appears counterproductive or graceless, keep an eye.
Read MoreSame time each year my dear mother would always ask what I wanted for my birthday, and I always had the same answer: a clock that runs slower. If she ever found one, she never let on.
Read MoreThe airport I flew from in Vermont lay silver distance up the road from Sugarbush, where Region One’s soaring competition was usually held each year. North beyond our end of that valley, the highest mountain is Jay Peak, a traditional turn point near the Canadian border, putting us on the course line for at least one leg of many declared tasks.
Read MoreIt was pre-solo, thankfully, and I learned not only what to do during that encounter, but also how to proceed later with others under my care. We were under a couple hundred feet on final approach and I was staring at my aim point with the tunnel vision typical of student pilots when abruptly my instructor Eve said, “Look up.” I did, and froze.
Read MoreNow be honest. Whatever your level of experience or skill, wouldn’t you love to fly with at least a smidge more finesse? Don’t you wish there were some exotic trix to augment control, sharpen technique and stretch your limits?
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