Flight Lesson: Off course

Dawn, on September 2, 1978, broke with clear skies, unlimited visibility—and calm. A perfect day for my first solo cross-country. I flew from Igor I Sikorsky Memorial Airport (BDR) in Bridgeport, Connecticut, to Windham Airport, 55 nautical miles to the northeast. A week later, I trekked to Orange County Airport in New York state. Two weeks later I completed my last short solo cross-country to Barnes Regional Airport in Massachusetts.

Having completed three solo cross-countries uneventfully, I planned my long cross-country to Schenectady, New York, 107 miles distant, then to Hanscom Field 119 miles away, just west of Boston.

The first leg went routinely. Departing Schenectady, I was full of confidence. I had lived in Massachusetts and knew the Boston area well. My confidence took a hit when I discovered the Gardner VOR was off the air. It was square on my route of flight. I had crossed my last checkpoint, but suddenly nothing was making sense. I found myself at the northern tip of a large dagger-shape lake running north and south. Then something clicked, and I began to relate the chart to the scenery outside. The “lake” was Quabbin Reservoir. I was about 10 miles south of course.

By now I was about 45 miles west of Boston. The Boston area came into view, and I saw what I thought was a really big lake. Then it dawned on me that it was the Atlantic Ocean. Feeling sheepish and humbled, I stumbled into Hanscom following highways I knew. I fueled and readied for my last leg.

On this departure I didn’t pick an early checkpoint, as I had on other flights. Nothing looked right from the moment of departure. Eventually I knew I was lost because there was an airport right under me and there was no airport along my route. I resolved to land and sort myself out before proceeding further.

Landing proved unnecessary. Someone had painted WORCESTER in big white letters on a taxiway. I was 10 miles off course again. Considering I was only 30 miles from my departure point, that was a pretty big error. I was getting cocky. And a little tired.

I decided to head south, and turn right at the first ocean. Bridgeport was on the sound and I would be home free. That worked.

Given my experience now, I would have flown to the Putnam, Norwich, and Madison VORs, then to the shoreline. That’s what experience does for you: It gives you options. At the time, I did the right things. I took charge of the situation, found a way to keep it under control, then conceived a plan to get home. Elegant? No. Effective? Safe? Yes and yes.

That night I celebrated by springing for pizza for my family. I felt 10 feet tall. I had accomplished something I thought I could never do. That’s why the FAA includes the long cross-country—to prove that you can. Six weeks later I was a private pilot.