By Kristy Gilligan 

She’s determined, always meets her deadlines for scant reward and was born into aviation. But, thus far, she’s restricted herself to GA. To her surprise, our charming sub-editor, Kristy Gilligan, opened her emails last month and discovered that she’d been recreationally challenged. Her mission: obtain the fastest growing ticket in aviation…

It had been a long time between flights when I decided to take on the challenge of converting my Private Pilot’s License to a Recreational License. When I brushed the layer of dust off the cover of my log book and checked my last entry, I found it had been over two years since I last flew, rounding out approximately 150 modest hours of aeronautical experience.

I can vaguely recall my last GA flight. It was from Jandakot Airport, Perth, on a mild April day, taking some friends on a day trip to Rottnest Island. I hired a rather new Cessna 172 and we all squeezed in for our flight. I’d flown the same trip a week earlier and was confident (despite a long held opinion that the Cessna 172 is not the most enjoyable aircraft in the world to fly), that this would be a relaxing flight.

Once I signed the paperwork, we sat and waited for the previous hirer to return the aircraft (late). Twenty minutes later and on board the 172, I acquainted myself with my new flying friend. In the previous few months I’d been forced to hire various aircraft, an Arrow and Airtourer and four different 172s, so it took a while to figure out which way the seat belts buckled and how to find the flaps and fuel pump. I finally got airbourne, but not without holding up some Jandakot ground traffic while I figured out where the transmit button was for the radio. At that stage, I was not having the relaxing experience I had hoped for, but I did eventually settle into the flight and, ultimately, had a great day on Rottnest with my friends.

Upon my return, I was reprimanded for being 10 minutes late; as someone else had hired the aircraft for the exact same time that I was due to return it. I muttered something under my breath about how the person before me was 20 minutes late, but grudgingly handed over a few days’ wages in hire and landing fees and went home.

So I find myself working in aviation two years later, with nothing added to my log book but a few coffee stains and an inch of dust. Somewhere along the line, like any relationship or love affair, GA and I had a falling out, or it just became too hard, or perhaps I got too lazy. Meanwhile, people are talking about Recreational Aviation. It’s sold by some of the GA fraternity as a lesser version of what GA has to offer and it’s sold by Recreational Aviation Australia as a specialist area of flying which puts focus on ultralight aircraft operated for recreational purposes. For me, it seems no harm can come from an attempt to revive my flying with the RAA. I’ll make my own conclusions as to which is better, if such a decision is to be made.

Any great adventure starts with some soul searching. And so I reflect on my ten years around aviation and think what it is I would like to gain from being a recreational pilot? I decided that, more than anything, I want the freedom to travel further and faster than my Holden Commodore wagon will offer, and the buzz only a pilot knows from spending a Sunday afternoon with your head in the clouds. A further, smaller contributing factor, I must confess, is my ego.

One important issue that my ‘financial advisor-come-boyfriend’ reminds me of is cost. Recreational flying seems to be cheaper and there’s no doubting I can hardly afford a drive to the local airport, let alone an hour dual in a Piper Arrow. It’s a big reason why I haven’t flown for so long and I hope that RA flying will relieve the monetary stress of flying, if only a little.

I also approach this exercise with caution, if not complete trepidation. With so long out of the saddle, there is a chance that I have forgotten everything. Could I have aviation Alzheimers? Plus there’s the looming threat that me, the big GA pilot, has to prove myself to a ‘lesser’ RA instructor. Will he be out to get me, and use me as a demonstration that GA pilots aren’t all they’re cracked up to be? I take the opportunity to talk to my many GA friends about flying an ultralight. At this point I may be trying to sabotage my very own efforts, as I get the expected answers with reference to ‘kites’, ‘toys’ and ‘death wishes’. But before I get myself too worked up, I decide to bite the bullet.

My nearest Recreational Flying School is Pioneer Aviation Gippsland, about forty minutes down the road at Latrobe Regional Airport in eastern Victoria. I think about calling the school for about a week, until I happen onto the airfield by coincidence and head over to the hangar to say hi. Anthony Morrison, the Chief Flying Instructor is very welcoming, and perhaps sensing my nerves points at the Tecnam parked outside and says, “let’s go flying”.

Inside the cockpit my worst fears are confirmed as my eyes dart around looking for familiar instruments in familiar locations. No, no! The Tecnam has a centre control column, to be flown using my left hand. I can’t fly left handed! For that matter, can I remember how to fly at all? I’m screaming inside my head, but Anthony casually talks me through start up and taxi and, by the time we rotate off zero-three, something has snapped in my brain and I feel quite at home - left handed and all!

In the air, we work through some basic manoeuvres to demonstrate the operation and effects of controls in the Tecnam. Anthony explains that the controls can be distinctly different from ultralight to ultralight, and more so from GA aircraft to ultralight. The Tecnam is kind to me and we dart our way back and forth in the area just outside the CTAF working through turns, climbing turns, descending turns and stalls. And there, for the first time in the air over Latrobe, I hear the words I’m going to hear a lot in the next few weeks from Anthony’s mouth…, 'rudder, rudder, rudder!’

Back on the ground I am a new woman. Once again acquainted with my inner pilot and already eager to be let off my leash, the next step is to get some paperwork out of the way. I will need an RAA membership and student pilot certificate to continue with my conversion and, ‘go solo…again’. Recreational Aviation Australia have very straight forward paperwork and, $160 later, I am an RAA member, covered for third party insurance and will soon receive a copy of the RAA Ops Manual and Technical Manual, along with the monthly in-house magazine.

The conversion of my PPL(A) to an RA-Aus Pilot Certificate requires that I fly a series of dual flights with Anthony until he is satisfied I am safe for solo flight and, upon completion of a flight test for issue of my certificate I must have not less than five hours experience in an ultralight aircraft which includes at least one hour solo. Part of me thinks, ‘hey, I’m a private pilot, I don’t need five hours, I only need a BFR to make my PPL current, let alone fly a little ultralight but common sense prevails: my ego is put in check and I decide there’s a good reason for everything, and really, I can’t wait to find out.

For now, I head back home and pull out my flying training manual. What is all this rudder business about anyway? I only recall using rudder to overcome take-off torque, instigate a side slip approach or recover from a spin. A revision of the basics reminds me that brothers Orville and Wilbur might have been onto something and I should heed the words of my instructor, rather than risk a long and prosperous career of filling sick bags, as passengers tire of my uncoordinated turns.

I’m told my next flight will be getting started on operations and effects of controls (again) in my training aircraft, the Jabiru J160. It’s a high wing, two seat aircraft, only a few years old and named after a flying bird: both comforting facts. For now, it’s back to the books.

I carefully revise the practice of safe flying at home, so as to impress my instructor during my next flight. Every checklist and procedure is recited in my head until it hurts but I have the suspicious feeling that this is all going out the window once I step into the cockpit.

Day two of the RA conversion starts with a bit of theory. Argh! Theory is the bane of any pilot’s existence the first time around, so the second is like pulling teeth. On top of it all, my mind is blank, and my boyfriend, like a proud expectant father sits in the back of the room waiting to see how brilliant I am [editor’s note: 12 month Double Page Spread advertising campaigns will possibly make Kristy reconsider her relationship status. Please contact our sales office for further details]. Right now I’d kill for the dentist’s happy gas. Swallowing my pride, I answer what I can, which is surprisingly a fair bit and, given that I last covered basic aerodynamics over 10 years ago, I fair pretty well. Anthony is convinced I am worthy of a flight, so into the hangar with us.

I take a pre-flight walk around the Jabiru J160, my little training aircraft with Anthony in tow. We walk around and he points out all the bits that could fall off, so I have a good look and pay attention. The picture is the same as any GA aircraft, wings - check, tail – check, wheels, engine, fuel – check! I’m satisfied that the Jabiru will do the job and we casually roll her out of the hangar.

Entering the cockpit is a slither, rather than step into the Jabiru, with a little wiggle just a little to make her fit. Surprisingly it takes two cushions behind my back and some small rudder extension blocks to have me in good contact with the instruments and controls.The J160 is as roomy as ultralights go, and the student pilot is quite impressed!

Taxi, line up, take-off. I’m as delicate as a blindfolded bull in a china shop as I fumble around the cockpit. Bearing in mind it’s been two years, I do OK, managing to retract the flaps in time and remember the fuel pump. Overspeeding the flaps is something Anthony expects me to do now, so let’s save it for later, when he least expects it. (Insert cheeky student grin here).

Upper air work consists of the same manoeuvres flown in my trial flight - some straight and level, climbing, descending and turning, all in aid of burning the required attitudes into my mind. We also do some exercises in relaxation, and my trusty instructor demonstrates some no hands, no feet flying. He pries my whiteknuckled hand off the control column and smiles: “Remember, flying is fun!”

The Jabiru handles nicely, though not as expected. The control column is very responsive, requiring small, almost non existent moves, particularly the aileron. Rudder is another kettle of fish. No matter how much Anthony tries to persuade me, I can’t wake up my legs. “Rudder, rudder, rudder! Your passengers won’t like you much if you keep that up!” Anthony is exceptionally cool and upbeat considering what I am doing to him. Students must do it to him all day, every day; the difference is that I’m supposed to know better. Not since my early gliding days have I needed to pay such close attention to coordinating a turn. And evidently, ten years of bad habits acquired in forgiving GA aircraft have accumulated.

Back on the ground, a sense of achievement and invigoration envelops me. At this point, I am satisfied there is something worth perusing in this recreational flying. I could be enjoying my flying again; I might even be able to convince my loving partner [ed: remember that annual ad campaign?] that this pursuit will not send us broke and, at a good 100kts, I can certainly look forward to travelling further and faster than my Holden will ever permit me.