The volatile mix of work and weather allowed a narrow window of opportunity. During the winter, dedicated skiers who have understanding workplaces watch for the perfect powder days. When the conditions are right and work can stand to wait a day, it's on. Flying is much the same way these days. Pilot's can become quite the weather-watchers, and when a narrow ridge of cold, high pressure comes to roost for an afternoon, sometimes you just need to go. An extra bonus is when other students cancel their appointments because the forecast says clouds, but they turn out to be nothing (or at least are delayed by a few hours). The end result is an opportunity for a solo cross country flight.
I've had a flight plan sitting in my bag, just waiting for the right day. Today, my instructor was flying all day, but I still needed him to review the plan with the current weather and time of day in mind. I managed to catch him just at the right time, and I was cleared to go, sort of. My original plan was for about a 2.5 hour round trip, but the day was getting on, and we were concerned about getting back after dark. Luckily, there is another field just close enough to meet the distance requirements and still return just barely by sundown. T.I. is comfortable with my abilities, and I am comfortable with the weather, although there were about 20 knots blowing aloft, so I was expecting a few bumps.
In any case, the "go" was decided, and I was off. These first cross-country flights highlight the concept of the best laid plans going awry. Primarily, it is a space problem. As before, I have the chart, navigation logs, airport diagrams, and miscellaneous other documents all neatly organized in a clipboard. In an ideal situation, as the flight progresses, I will note times as I pass checkpoints, and monitor my speed and fuel. However, this is a handful as I am trying to fly the airplane, especially in the spots of turbulence. It really is not too much different than trying to write while driving. The GPS, as much as I hate to use it as a crutch, really saves the day.
I was still able to keep the chart open and monitor it, while changing radio frequencies and fiddling with the VOR receiver. But that was about the extent of it. Overall, since I am familiar with the terrain and the towns I was flying over, this was not a problem. It will be interesting to venture over places I have not been before. This time, at least, I concentrated on holding course and altitude, configuring for climbs, cruise, and descents, watching outside, and just feeling comfortable with the plane.
So, aside from the brief intervals of turbulence (mostly on the return trip), the flight was a success. I did a touch-and-go at the half-way point (in gusty winds), a full stop landing and a "real" short-field takeoff at the destination, then fought the headwinds and made it back almost exactly on schedule, with the sun going down and the field lights coming on. Not "night", but it made for a nice return landing at dusk. Although the last landing suffered a bit from a stiff crosswind that petered out about 50 feet above the ground, so I wallowed a bit getting it down straight, but it all worked out.
The total length of the flight was about 230 miles, done in about 2 hours, 10 minutes. Not bad for a first solo cross-country, but it was easy to identify things that I should have been keeping better track of. One is to scan the engine instruments a bit more often, and the other is to watch for emergency landing sites a bit more often. One reason for that was my familiarity with the area and the wind that could have easily carried me over 10 miles from 5,000 feet above the ground. Again, it was good that I was at least conscious of this, and the flight was a good stepping stone to more unfamiliar areas.
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