Brutally Honest Flashback

A few weeks back, someone on a blog I had visited told the story of a near mid-air collision they were a part of.  It brought back memories and I left the following as a comment, something I've decided today to share with my regular readers here:

Back in 1988, a few weeks after I had soloed for the first time in the rented Cessna 152 provided by the local flight school, I was on my way to the designated practice area just across the James River, roughly 20 or so nautical miles from the airport, where I would engage in whatever skill sharpening drills were slated for the day (nearly 20 years later, I can't recall what I was going to do but it'd be a good bet that some of those drills would've included lazy S turns, power on and off (reduced) stalls, and the like).

Although the details are more murky now, I do remember flying solo and once again enjoying the thrill of being in command of an aircraft and escaping the law of gravity on a beautiful sunny Tidewater day. Looking back, those solo flights were near spiritual events for me but I digress.

Not yet having the trained ear that a more experienced pilot might have, I had just missed a brief call on the radio. Mad at the fact that again I had missed a radio call (and wondering if it had been for me, and wondering if I should call the controller and ask for a repeat), I quickly decided to do clearing turns, a turn necessitated by the overhead wing of the 152, and look for the possibility of nearby traffic.

I banked right first, looking to the left and above, and saw nothing.

I then banked left, looking to my right where I immediately saw another Cessna filling my vision. It was banking hard to its left, away from me. I'm lousy at judging distance but it was so close that to this day I can picture the face of the man sitting in the right seat, wearing a ball cap and dark sunglasses with earphones on, mouth agape as they turned away from me.

I nearly crapped in my pants. Their aircraft, looking back at it now, must've been out of sight below me, climbing while flying in the opposite direction.

I remember resuming straight and level flight, and waiting to hear the radio erupt with expletives, either the other pilot or the controller chastising the rookie pilot for causing a near mid-air.

To this day I wondered why the radio remained silent. Nothing from the controller. Nothing from the pilot. I wondered if somehow I had switched to the wrong frequency but I hadn't. Nothing but the noise of my 152, my ragged breathing, and the beat, beat, beat of my pounding heart.

I flew for perhaps another 5 minutes before deciding to cancel my practice session and head back to the airport. I landed uneventfully and didn't fly again for months. In fact, I flew only a few more times, including my first cross country solo (another story for another time) before giving up the quest to get a private pilot's license some time later.

In more ways than one, I'm blessed.  I need to remember that during the rough times.