A Different Flight...

Our ship was as simple as they come, which means that it was pretty complicated. We started our "before engine start" checklist, which was combined with other checklists on a single 3 inch wide laminated card. I found ironic humor in the fact that this machine could be prepared for flight with such a simple checklist. I watched and listened to Chris, my flight instructor, carefully work through the procedures, trying to catch every little detail, knowing full well that most of them would slip right by me. What I did catch, though, was that the checklist was not simpler, or shorter, or less complicated. It was just represented in a more compressed, more effecient manner. As we completed the preflight tasks, the ship was deemed airworthy, regardless if I was or not.
"We are going to pull some power until we get light on our skids."
"Ok," I said, really meaning, "these crazy machines really do fly?!?"

As the collective control came up, the govenor rolled in some throttle. Vibrations found their way through to the cyclic control, and a slight vibration also became noticable through the seat. The noise and the vibrations were nothing close to what I had expected, though. I had expected pain and discomfort. I experienced neither.
"Notice that? We're barely on the ground now."
"Ok," I said, really meaning, "We're barely on the ground now!!!"

The skids gently lost their contact with the ground and at that moment, the mystery, the suspense, the unfamiliarity all escaped me. I was in the air, flying; exactly as I had done countless times before, except this time, I wasn't really going anywhere, just hovering. There was the familiar ebb and flow of the air currents, softly, gently, ever so slightly pushing us to and fro, up and down. I was comfortable again.
"Hold the controls and follow what I do," Chris said as we climbed away from the earh on our southbound departure of the airport area.
"Ok," I said, really meaning, "yeah, yeah, no problem, this is just flying..."

Moments later my new found confidence faded when a very familiar feeling of flying collided with a very unfamiliar way of controlling. I had to methodically think through the control movements, but pretty soon, I wasn't doing so bad. I managed my way through straight and level flight, left turns, and right turns. Only on a few occassions did I get the "my ass is starting to hurt from flying sideways. You wanna get us coordinated?" Oh yeah, there are those pedals down there where the rudder pedals belong; I suppose I should be using those. After a while, though, things were working out alright, and I figured that this isn't so bad - I might get the hang of it after all.
"Ok, follow me on the controls for a climbing right turn."
"Ok," I said, really meaning "Ok."

Not quite what I am used to, but not bad. Decending turns followed in similar fashion. I had to fight my airplane tendencies of pulling back on the stick, but generally speaking, they were respectable for a first-timer. That is, at least from the perspective of a first-timer, as my flight instructor might like to argue a different point. The flight progressed as uneventful as it could, considering it was a helicopter lesson on a crystal clear morning, an event all in itself. I experienced sights so incredible that it is only possible to describe it to other helicopter pilots, and only then by exagerating the understatement, "nice view" so as to make it clear that you understand, but cannot articulate.
"Yep," the response.
It'd be perceived as only a simple exchange to the passing unaware, as the deeper meanings are reserved for those that have witnessed first hand the unobstructed beauty roll by. Nevertheless, after what seemed like only moments of flight, it was time to go back. Going back, didn't mean being done, though.
"We're going to do some hovers. Follow me on the controls..."
"Ok," I said, not really knowing what to think at that point.

It was my turn after his short demonstration. I quickly learned that the demonstration drastically over simplified the skill; small control movements, stationary hover. My hover was more like a partially controlled stroll around the area. More of a slow flight than a hover.
"Don't let me break anything..." I said out of strong introspective of my mastery of the current task.
"Hey, I'm in the same helicopter as you are, ya know..." He wanted to break the helicopter less than I did. I was also comforted by the fact that I could on occassion feel Chris on the controls, keeping me from getting too far out of whack. This let me relax a little; my thumb and index finger, and partially my middle and ring fingers. The rest of my body, however, was hopelessly in spasm.
"If you relax, you'll do better."
"Ok," I said, really meaning, "AAAHHHHH!!!"

As the time for the flight reached an end, we taxied back to the ramp. Well, that is if one could call hovering a couple feet over a taxiway actually taxiing. After another short hover for a photo opportunity, we once more became earthbound. The 3-inch laminated card came out again, but this time, I knew its secret. We worked our way through the shutdown, set the rotor brake, and climbed out of the helicopter. I had one of those smiles that are only possible when you get married, have a child, or take your first lesson in a helicopter. Clearly aware of my mental condition, Chris took the opportunity to ask, "How's the flight?"
"Ok," I said. It was not a simple exchange.

Mark Thomas