Nearly all of us, upon seeing a plane soaring and diving easily and gracefully, have thought of the pilot at the controls of that plane as a being invested with some supernatural or unusual ability entirely unknown and quite unattainable to those of us destined to remain safely on the ground and admire the skill and daring of another in the air.
True enough, the guiding genius of that plane is an exceptional man, for relatively few are physically and temperamentally adapted to go aloft and put such a frail craft through dizzy loops and spins with the nonchalance and surety of a navy flier, but even this flyer had a beginning. There was a time when he flew as a mere passenger; then he was subjected to a rigorous ten hours of dual instruction, after which came the fatal check and then—his first solo! Following are a few of the sensations and experiences one may expect to encounter as he travels the first lap on the long and exacting road to becoming a navy flier.
The Naval Air Station, San Diego, California, is the setting for the first attempts of the young officers of the battle fleet to fly. The routine of reporting is soon dispensed with and, almost before he is aware of it, the new student is putting on his cumbersome gossport, jacket, and goggles, and is climbing into one of the NY’s for his first hop. (For the benefit of the uninitiated, a gossport is a stiff leather helmet with ear phones and a voice tube through which the instructor is able to tell the student just what a rotten flier he really is. It is a one-way affair, for the student catches everything and returns nothing.) The instructor then “gives her the gun” and, with a rush and a roar, the training has begun. In a few seconds the earth starts dropping away, and they have only sea gulls for company. Then follows an hour or so of straight flying with a few easy turns and spirals and then down to “think it over.”
On the next hop, the student is allowed to place his hands and feet lightly on the controls and follow the instructor as he maneuvers the plane. One is amazed at the sensitiveness of a plane in flight and its immediate response to the slightest movement of the stick or rudder. It is practically impossible to see the top of the stick move when making a shallow turn.
After two such hops, intended only to permit the student “to see what it is all about,” comes the dual instruction with its ups and downs, bumps, and whatnot. For the purposes of student instruction, the navy has a field some eight or ten miles down the strand from North Island. It is here that one’s hopes Of becoming a flier are soon brightened or dimmed. The usual procedure is to take off, fly to Ream Field, and then try to make a landing. Some time on the way down the instructor will shake the stick, pat the top of his head, and hold both hands in the air. Obviously enough, this means but one thing—take charge! After circling the field once to take a look at the “sock” and thus determine the direction of the wind, the student slips and slides into what is intended for a quarter spiral. Then on down he goes for an attempted landing wondering, meanwhile, just how strong that landing gear really is. The instructor is assisting most of the time during the first few hours of flying, but gradually relinquishes more and more control to the student, a fact attested to by the increasing roughness of the landings. As one young officer put it: “Well, I made several landings all by myself this morning.” When asked how he knew, he replied, “If anyone had been helping me, they couldn’t possibly have been as bad as they were.”
Theoretically, one is supposed to come in on a smooth glide at about 60 knots, level off a short distance above the ground, and then gradually ease back on the stick thereby “keeping her off” until flying speed is lost, after which the plane should drop in on a three point landing. Usually the beginner levels off much too high above the ground or else flies the plane into the ground, thereby making a so-called “hot” landing, with the wheels touching before the tail skid. All beginners seem to have a tendency to make hot landings and no error calls for such sudden and strong comment from the instructor as does this one. Whatever happens—keep that tail down.
The student improves gradually, very slowly it seems, but improvement can be noted up until about the seventh hour, at which time practically everyone takes a slump. It seems strange, but it is true that at about this time it is apparently impossible for him accurately to judge his distance from the ground when leveling off and the result is a series of unusually rough and rocky landings. Improvement then sets in and he gradually works up to the point where he should be able to take off and land safely, not smoothly—simply safely-—a point stressed throughout the entire training period. Be safe!
At the end of ten hours’ dual instruction, he flies down to Ream Field for a check hop and, if successful, a solo. One’s feelings just prior to the check hop are a mingling of prayers and hopes. A “down” check from the check pilot means that you may be a good man but you can’t be a naval aviator; an “up” check means a chance for Pensacola and wings! For the check hop, the detested gossport is discarded and a soft helmet is worn. The check plane is another NY but is not the one the student has been used to. The check pilot climbs in, motions the student to take off and, after circling the field, make a spiral and land. Three good landings, successively made, usually convince him that the pupil is qualified to solo, providing the take-offs and air work are satisfactory and the regular instructor has previously given him an “up” check. After the third successful landing, the check pilot taxies up to one end of the field, stops all other planes to provide plenty of room for action, climbs out, and says the words that the young aviator has awaited so eagerly, “Take her off!”
Just what are the sensations one experiences on his first solo? The popular opinion seems to be that one becomes quite worried, not a little nervous, and greatly excited. Nothing could be further from the facts of the case. In the first place, one is so busy flying and thinking about what to do next that he has no time in which to become worried and, in the second place, there is nothing to worry about. One has unlimited confidence in his ability to take off and land because it has been done so many times with the instructor that there seems to be very little chance for a slip. True, the front cockpit is decidedly vacant and the only way to get down is to do it alone; but one cannot help but feel highly elated at actually flying by himself. In addition, it is somewhat of a relief not to have to wonder just what the instructor is thinking of each and every move made. It is a great feeling to be able to skid or slip a bit in a turn or spiral and not be told about it—a thing bound to happen in dual instruction.
Each student, in his solo, is required to take off three times. The landings are not exactly required, but after all one must come down some time. After the third landing, he taxies up to meet the check pilot feeling himself quite indispensable to the future growth and development of naval aviation. With the exception of the ride back to North Island, the student’s flying at San Diego is completed and a day or so later he is detached from the air station and returns to his own ship, where he anxiously awaits the day when orders will come to “report to the commanding officer, Naval Air Station, Pensacola, Florida.”
What does a young officer gain from such a brief introduction to this fascinating and fast-moving branch of our naval service? First, he learns to appreciate the air service as an indispensable arm of our navy. While no naval officer, aviators included, could possibly think of aircraft as ever rendering surface craft unnecessary or obsolete, the officer student readily realizes the inestimable value of an efficient air service in its relation to our men-of- war. Operating singly, both would be relatively ineffective compared to the tremendous offensive power of ships and planes working together.
Second, he has an opportunity to observe first-hand the real work of the air service with its intensive schedules of spotting, bombing, machine gun, torpedo firing, etc. The actual maneuvering of the plane becomes second nature and more or less instinctive. Perhaps that very fact is the reason why instructing is such a trying and tedious job. Without digressing, a tribute should be paid to all those whose duty it is to teach others to fly. Their lot is a hard and thankless one, but when one considers how very many students undergo instruction and the countless thousands of miles flown without even a single minor accident to mar the record, there is no doubt but that they know their job and do it well. Their responsibility is great but consider, if you please, that of the check pilot. He is the one who decides upon a student’s ability to fly alone and few people would care to be in his place when he sends that student off on his first solo. His unerring judgment is attested to by the absolute lack of accidents of any kind incurred by students at San Diego when they take to the air alone.
The young officers under instruction are strikingly impressed with the wonderful esprit de corps of our naval air service. Every officer from the commanding officer to the newest ensign is there because he is intensely interested in what he is doing. The high morale and efficiency so easily discerned are but a natural result of this healthy condition.
The moral forces constitute the most powerful factors of success; they give life to all material efforts, and dominate a commander’s decisions with regard to the troops’ every act. Honor and patriotism inspire the utmost devotion; the spirit of sacrifice and the fixed determination to conquer ensure success; discipline and steadiness guarantee the necessary obedience and the cooperation of every effort.—Napoleon.