Lesson six: In which I attempt to avoid crude jokes about going down

One of these. Bigger than my old Fiat 500
with wings - but still bloody tiny.

Damn you, real life; will you please stop getting in the way of learning to fly? It's September, and I've just managed my second lesson of the year. Fingers crossed, getting a proper job instead of mucking around as a contractor will mean I can budget a bit better, and fit some more regular lessons in. That said, with summer having finished as promptly as it began, we'll have to see what winter throws at us. The last 24 hours here seem to have been dominated by howling gales, so let's hope that's not going to be the theme for the next few months.

As my last lesson was climbing, the logical way to follow on was descending - of course, I'd descended at least once in all of my previous lessons in order to get back on the ground, but this time I was going to do it properly. I was in a Piper again, having decided to make the switch from the smaller Cessna. On reflection, I think I'm starting to like the aircraft. Although the Cessna feels more responsive (almost twitchy, sometimes) the Piper handles what the weather throws at it somewhat better. Furthermore, it cruises at a rather different attitude - whilst the little Cessna is somewhat nose-up, obscuring much of what's directly ahead of you, the Piper shows you a bit more of the landscape.

To add a bit more interest to the day, the weather had decided to throw me a curve ball. I've flown from my local airport many a time, either sitting at the pointy end of a light aircraft, or sitting further back on something far bigger. Every single time, I'd always taken off in the same direction, but this time the wind direction meant I was going to see it from the other end. Well, I was excited about it, even if nobody else is.

I got to do my first walkaround check of the aircraft - making sure that both wings were in the place where the factory had left them and all that jazz, and clambered inside. Despite having two more seats than the Cessna, the Piper has only one door, and it's not on the pilot's side. Getting in when you're more than about 5'8" requires a bit of contortion, but I managed to get there somehow. Off we went, up into the wide blue yonder, to fly over a bit of the countryside that's now getting to look hugely familiar to me.

There's a certain slightly alarming element about descending, in that the term 'aim point' comes into your vocabulary. Of course, this is intended to be about aiming for runway thresholds and the like, but during my lesson, my aiming point ended up being a lighthouse. Managing to surpress thoughts about how aiming a light aircraft at a lighthouse is a stupid thing to be doing, we descended. Then climbed. Then descended. And climbed again. I became aware that I was completely incapable of climbing and maintaining a heading at the same time. Oopsie, forgot about the rudder pedals - that'll help.

Cessna Citation X.
I'll own one when I win the lottery

Eventually once we'd done the climb-descend thing enough times, it was time to head back. The airport was rather busy - for the first time since starting to learn a year ago, I saw another light aircraft in the sky. We ended up holding near the airport, spending a good ten minutes flying in circles before we could come in. When we eventually did, air traffic control warned us that there was something crossing the runway ahead of us. And there it was - right in front of us - a rather bigger and shinier business jet. Fortunately we missed it. "I wonder if it's anyone famous?" my instructor asked as we taxied in. We both peered over, but had no idea who was getting out. I decided not to get them to autograph a blank page in my log book.