"When everything seems to be going right, worry. When everything seems to be going wrong... worry more."

Veni, Vidi...
by A.G. Lindsay

It was early summer when the CFI bird finally managed to nudge the baby bird out of the nest.

I got my first weather briefing at 6:30 AM with mixed feelings. The weather-gurus had predicted a good day to fly, so I had no excuse not to do my first solo cross-country from Beverly, Mass. to Laconia, NH.

It was as good a time as any, said my head, but why was my heart beating so fast? Who but an idiot or a nervous student pilot would want to stay on the ground on a day like this?

I did my flight planning and did it over. Then reviewed it again. I called DUAT twice more for updated weather. It was still as beautiful as the original briefer had predicted. I drove to the airport and hit every green light. I must be forgetting something.

That "something" was to schedule time with my instructor to review my flight planning for the trip. It was not really worth worrying about since he was working that morning. I ended up third, behind two other students who had also forgotten and who had arrived at the airport even earlier than I did. So, I sat on the couch at the FBO and reviewed my flight plan again.

By this time, I had reviewed the course, flight plan, frequencies, emergency procedures, mother's maiden name, father's social security number, etc., so many times I could have flown to Laconia in my sleep. I had also flown to LCI once before with my instructor. I got my signoff. What's to be nervous about?

I preflighted the plane and got in. I looked at my watch and noticed I was more than an hour off schedule just to start with. I had s cheduled plenty of time, and there was no one signed up for the plane after me. "You know, you really don't have to do this," I said to myself or maybe it was my nerves talking. Pesky nerves.

Hearing my clearance to take off, I flirted briefly with the thought of going to the practice area, flying around for a couple of hours and coming back. At least that way I couldn't get lost. Shut up, nerves.

I opened my flight plan just inside Beverly's ATA. I passed my first checkpoint, Lawrence airport. At that point, I should have just thrown the plan out the window. I never saw another of my planned checkpoints until I reached Laconia.

Oh, I knew where I was. Kinda. But I never managed to correct my course enough to get back to the original plan. No sleeping on this trip.

When Manchester terminated radar services, my (VOR) needle was centered for the last checkpoint At first, I considered using the VOR sort of cheating, but it was in the plane and I knew how to use it. I had planned on using the Concord VOR only to "confirm" my last checkpoint. Of course, it turned out that I never saw the actual checkpoint, so the radial was all the hint I got.

North of Manchester's radar area, I knew I had to be with 10 - 15 miles of Laconia depending where I was on that radial. This was where I had planned to start my descent to pattern altitude.

I knew I was off course. I needed a new plan of action. Since I wasn't talking to anyone but my nerves anymore and they had no useful suggestions, I decided to descend to 1000 feet above pattern altitude and act like I knew what I was doing. I could fly along Lake Winnipesaukee ("When I found it," the nerves added) until I found Laconia and then enter the traffic pattern.

But first, I had to find Lake Winnipesaukee.

"North," I thought. "Big lake. Has to be north. Can't miss it."

If I flew north, I should run right into it. "Or Mount Washington... or Canada where I would die because I had no more fuel left, or the border guards would shoot me down because my N-numbers weren't big enough..." You've got to watch those nerves every minute.

What I didn't realize was that I had somehow managed to get back on course. I had decided because I was always wrong, I would just do the opposite from what I thought was right. It had paid off, sort of. I had gotten so used to seeing wrong landmarks that it didn't register when I saw the correct one.

I found both the airport and the lake at about the same time. You know, those nerves quieted right down after that, except on landing. I entered the pattern, but cut it too short because I was listening to those nervy voices that never completely quieted. "You're too close!" Laconia has hills all around except for the side of the aiport that faces the lake.

LCI has a long runway for such a little airport, but still I felt I was too high and too fast on final. At first, I thought that I should land in the middle of it just to get out of the air before I made any more mistakes. In the end, I decided not to tempt fate and did a go-around. On the second pass, I landed and it was not poetry. I suppose I shouldn't blame it on the nerves.

The trip back was more of the same.

Obviously, the first thing I should have done at Laconia (aside from kissing the ground and finding the bathroom) was to figure out what had gone wrong and replot my course.

When discussing the flight later with my friends, I realized that I had gotten blown off course and made flew in an arc instead of a straight line, thereby missing all my checkpoints and yet ending up at the right place.

The winds were the same on the way back, and I did the same thing. Only I had to deal with a pesky controller reading the part previously played by my nerves. "Can you go lower?"

"No, I didn't bring enough money for tolls."

I received a real lesson in wind correction on this trip. I just wish I had learned it before I went.

I did pick new checkpoints for the return flight. Big, obvious checkpoints you could see from miles away. The string of airports I picked(Concord, Manchester, and Lawrence) led me in another arc back to Beverly. I was so relieved to get back there, I actually said "Look, Toto! It's Beverly airport, and it's closer and more beautiful than EVER!" Good thing the mike was not keyed.

My streak of bad luck wasn't over, though. I mistook the downwind for 34 for the downwind for 27. When I reported midfield, they told me to make the turn onto the downwind for 27...Sheesh. At least the BVY controllers are subtle.

I did a VERY short field landing because BVY tower wanted me to pull off onto 34 so I wouldn't have to taxi around the entire airport looking like an airshow pilot, waving to my hordes of screaming fans.

My instructor was off "getting a bite to eat." He wasn't even worried, or if he was, I'm planning on nominating him for an Academy Award. I suppose that's better than listening to see if I had cracked the plane up.

I closed my flight plan only to find out that, even though I had been told it was open on the radio, they hadn't really opened it. Well, I suppose the Civil Air Patrol wouldn't have known which part of Canada to search for me anyway.

So, what did I learn from this? Well, mostly that flying cross country seems to be a lot like playing jazz. It's nice to have a plan, and you really should know the beginning and the end as well as some idea of how to get from one to the other. It's nice to be able to play the plan but sometimes you just have to play something else and just do the best you can.

What else can I say? I went. I saw. I landed.

To return, close this window.