"Moments"
In recent times I have had cause to both reflect upon and discuss what it is about aviation that attracts me and like-minded souls. It is a question that is inherently met with a reasonable pause before any sort of answer is forthcoming. Sentences often stumble and phrases falter as the search for the right words is like feeling one’s way around a darkened room. Ultimately you make it to the other side in some sort of fashion, but it’s neither efficient nor timely.
Much of this confusion stems from the juxtaposition of flight, for in so many ways it is where science collides with art. The rational, operational aspects can be strictly defined, published in manuals and committed to memory. However, the majesty of flight is far less easily captured. It is the sensations and emotions that are associated with this freedom in the three dimensions that can both captivate and confuse. And just like art, it can be in the eye of the beholder.
It is equally difficult to ask a purveyor of fine art why they like a certain work. They may wax lyrically about brush technique and the use of light, but struggle to define the quality that reaches into the heart and stirs their soul. It is intangible and unable to be quantified, but no less genuine than the paint, frame and canvas. And so it can be with aviation.
The most immediate sentiment expressed is often that of freedom. It is the ability to move in three dimensions and break the shackles of the earthbound asphalt. As long as man has envied the freedom of the birds, he was destined to be enthralled by it once he had mastered the skill of flight. And yet, when questioned more deeply, aviators will often drift away from the generalisations and grasp particular points in time when aviation took hold of their being with such a force that they can recall it in an instant. Perhaps the joy is not a painting but a puzzle in progress, still with pieces missing, but other small components laid out in their rightful place.
As I reflect upon my own puzzle, I feel for the pieces one by one. The time when, as a very young boy, I sat beside my father and ‘steered’ an aircraft around the airfield with the ‘steering wheel’, while my father actuated the pedals far beyond the reach of my short legs. The sound of the rushing air that substituted for an instructor’s voice as I sat alone on downwind that very first time. Or that wonderful feeling on my first solo navigation exercise when everything was in order and I was able to sit up and take in the scenery like never before. The day over golden fields when the Mustang moved effortlessly through roll after roll as the scenery tumbled past the sky time and again. From the flight levels, the wonder of a rocket launch out of Vandenberg that lit up the sky, just as dawn was breaking, while nature turned on its own light show as the ‘Southern Lights’ on the way back from Johannesburg. There are just so many treasured times.
Yet, on their own they are pieces of life’s fabric, not an entire tapestry. That does not make them any less real or significant, just harder to put neatly into a concise package. Consequently, when aviators begin to express their passion they can be prone to ramble, leaping from experience to experience. For those who may not appreciate the art, the oration can be tedious and beyond comprehension, yet when in the company of their fellow pilots they will be surrounded by knowing nods and smiles of a shared experience. Their common language will draw forth more stories and often the hangar’s candles will burn late into the night.
And from these exchanges, not only love stories are written. Valuable lessons are learned and passed from one generation to another, be it the subtleties of a particular aircraft, or the early warning signs of nature’s fury. Like the sailor’s of old, much is to be gleaned from the first hand experiences of those who have gone before. The sea and skies can be angry, unforgiving places, but they can also often glimpses into a world that those who are land-locked can only dream of.
The corner office is a treasured goal for many on the corporate ladder and yet as aviators sit aloft in their cockpits, the view from the office is ever-changing. Influenced by time, light, weather and a limitless list of factors, the earth below is an ever-changing carpet. While at their own eye’s level the horizon offers orientation, it also hosts the first glimpse of the day and the last settling rays of the evening in the most spectacular array of colours the eye will ever see. And the clouds that burble and build like uncontrolled froth from a coffee machine, or the low grey murk that merges with the hills and beckons to the foolhardy. All of this can be seen, not just in a lifetime, but in a day.
It is true; describing the special qualities of flight is not an easy task. It stirs something different in each of us and refuses to be categorised or labelled. Nor should words be able to adequately define such a sense of wonder. Where would the fun be in that? No, it is better to leave a little mystery; another stone unturned. A teasing thought that when the wheels leave the earth today, we might just see a sight that astounds us one more time. For as our log books fill with hour upon hour, it may well be that it is the moments that truly count.
