Great Moments in Flying

By Joseph Conner

From Golden Valley Aero News""December 1982 Joseph B. Conner Joe writes "Conner's Corner" every month. He has been writing for Livermore Valley Airmen's Association's newsletter for several years, and his stories are now included in Golden Valley Aero News. Joe works for Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory and commutes""by car""from Tracy, California. In Joe's stories, we learn about Fidelia, the Varga he uses when he cruises around the valley on his excursions. Fidelia is not just any Varga. To Joe, she is a real she, an airplane with soul and personality. Reading Joe's stories, you get this feeling that he is talking about a real live being. "Conner's Corner" describes real events, things that have happened to Joe on his flights. They are cute stories so well told by Joe in his easygoing, "talking" style. Many of them have an undertone of philosophy that adds a pleasant color to the events Joe is describing. He writes in such a manner that the reader actually gets the feeling of being the pilot or passenger. Most enjoyable reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098017705

Book preview

First Article

Published in January 1979 in Livermore Valley Airmen’s Association Newsletter.

One Saturday afternoon I was treated to a rare privilege of riding in a 1927 Fairchild Model 22. While bumming around airports, I saw this beautiful old plane from the air and landed, walked over, camera in hand and talked to the owner, Gary Smith from San Leandro, about his prize. I took a few pictures and helped him push a Super Stearman back in the hangar. I also helped gas the Fairchild.

He then told me that he had not flown the plane for a while and needed to become current and if I was there when he got back, I was welcome to a ride. I was right there when he finished his touch-and-go exercises.

I climbed aboard (the engine still running), and the next few minutes were a really great experience. The open cockpit, engine noise and smells, the feeling of freedom and joy of flight are really much stronger because you are closer to them all. The pilot’s yahoos into the wind as we banked right, then left, then level, then banking again. The joys of flight for the fun of flying, no destination in mind, no schedule to keep, are moments to savor long after landing.

I helped put the plane back in the hangar, closed the doors, then headed back to my plane. I could still feel the wind, the roar of the engine, and the pilot’s yahoos to the wind as I headed back to my Cessna!

The Other Woman

Sunset

It’s late afternoon as I drive to the airport, with about an hour and a half of daylight left. The wind is light and variable, the sky is clear, and the temperature is sixty-eight degrees. It’s a beautiful evening when the earth and sky are at peace: a time for flying!

The decision to fly has been made earlier in the day. The pressures of work and the monotony of daily routines has to be relieved. The best way I know of to relieve pressure is to fly. I fly for the sheer joy of hearing the engine sing, to hear the wind in the struts, to see this good earth as a bird sees it. From up there, 1,000 or 2,000 feet above the earth, everything seems so much at peace. You can see everything, but you’re not involved in anything except maintaining your altitude and keeping a watchful eye for other aircraft.

Where to go this evening hasn’t been decided yet. This is to be a therapy flight. There is no destination in mind when the wheels leaves the ground. After climbing to 1,500 feet, leveling off and trimming for cruise, I decide to fly to the east. I select a small airport about 40 minutes away after looking at the map. Someplace I’ve never been before. It just seems like a nice place for this evening’s excursion.

All flying should be broadening, a learning process, and this evening is to be IFR (I follow roads). I find the highway intersection I want and follow it through two small towns, across the railroad tracks, turn left at the power lines, and, in a few minutes the destination I’ve chosen is there off the nose of the plane. I make a wide circle to stay clear of any traffic at that airport and head north for the lake.

The air is so calm that I’ve been sitting in the cockpit for twenty minutes or so, with my hands in my lap, and my feet lightly on the rudder pedals. Time is relative at this point. I’ve decided to check out one of those aerodynamic wonders of flight, rudder turns. Do things happen the way you’ve heard? I push the left pedal and watch what happens. The tail comes around, but also the left wing drops a little, and soon I’m in a shallow left turn. No altitude lost or gained, just smooth change of direction. A little pressure on the right pedal, and soon I’m level; and when the pressure is maintained, I slowly bank into a right turn, just as before, no altitude lost or gained. Just smooth, sweeping turns.

I’ll swing around now and put the setting sun on the nose and enjoy the view below. The long shadows and a few places where they don’t have any sun at all. I haven’t touched the yoke now for almost an hour; there’s no need to. The joy of flight continues.

As I near my small airport, I reluctantly take the yoke and perform the duties and rituals associated with flying an aircraft near an airport. I turn up the radio and listen to the chatter of other aircraft in the pattern. I’m surprised to learn that I’m number 4 to land. It’s nice to know there are other fliers, such as I, who fly when they can, just for the joy of flight on an evening such as this.

It’s my turn to land now. The plane seems almost to land itself, as if to say, I enjoyed this flight as much as you did. The touchdown and rollout is smooth. I’m a little reluctant to take the first turn off.

I want to prolong this evening as long as possible.

After parking and tie-down are completed, one of the other fliers stops by to share his joy with me. His plane is larger, faster, and more efficient than mine; but the joy of flight, the joining of man and airplane into a flying machine, is felt by very few. Fliers are a unique breed of romantics who secretly believe a little of the Red Baron lives in all of us!

On my trip home, it’s a straight line as the sun sets. The only sounds are a few crickets chirping and my footsteps walking slowly back to the car. My flying has mended the wounds of daily routine, and, for a short time, I am close to perfection.

Dawn of Summer

It’s early. The sun has just peeked over the Sierras to see what is happening in the valley. There isn’t much activity this early on a Sunday; the wind is calm too. The sky is clear, and the weather is just perfect for a flight to breakfast.

Sandy doesn’t know where we will fly to. I’m not certain of our destination either. We’ll fly and see where we end up.

As we arrive at the airport, a hot-air balloon is being inflated. It has an unusual design on it. Can’t make it out yet though—we’ll have to wait until it rises. I’m taking care of the plane, getting ready for our flight. It will be a few minutes yet, so Sandy walks over to watch the activity of readying a balloon for flight. The balloon is upright now, almost ready for liftoff. The unusual design is a huge lion’s head with a gold mane, done on a light-blue background. It’s quite impressive.

The plane is ready now. Sandy returns, and we take off. We circle the balloon to take a few pictures.

It’s so beautiful there, only a few hundred feet above the ground shimmering in the early sunlight. I’d like to ride in one someday.

Pictures taken, our flight is going over the foothills to the west. We’re seeing some ranchland in this early light. The shadows are long, and the wind is calm, so we’re flying a few hundred feet above the ground to get a close look at this beautiful land. There’s an abandoned farmhouse, seldom-used corrals, and a broken windmill. Evidence of ranching’s better times. There’s an orchard; the trees are in neat rows evenly spread and lush from being recently watered. They are well cared for.

There’s a dry wash with rock piles everywhere. Some sort of dredging operation, I guess. It sure left an ugly scar on the land. From up here nothing is hidden. There’s a couple of kids on motorcycles riding through the orchard. The farmer may not know, but we do. That farmer over there must be doing pretty well. That’s a nice house with a pool. It’s hidden from the road by the orchard, but from up here, he’s doing okay.

Our flight continues through the foothills and down to San Louis reservoir. We fly out over the lake and circle toward Los Banos. I’m setting up for a perfect landing. The approach speed is so slow that touchdown is without a tire chirp. Take the first turn off the runway, and park the plane. There’s only one other transient aircraft parked here.

As we walk to the restaurant, we see a flight of three on its way in. Two Luscombes and a Piper Pacer. They are in close formation, and they look quite impressive as they fly by, break out of formation to land. They have flown together before. They don’t eat at the same restaurant, so we don’t see them until we return to the airport. We exchange greetings, and all go our separate ways.

The ride home is a different route. We’re going up the valley and back to Tracy by the San Joaquin River. We wind and turn the way the river does, still enjoying the flight. There’s more activity now. More cars on the roads and tractors in the fields raising dust. Those farmers work when the work is necessary, Sunday or not.

We’re nearing the airport now and getting ready to land. A different kind of landing, with no flaps, slip the plane and land just past the numbers. Nice. Taxi in, and fuel up. The price of fuel is up a few more cents; will it ever end?

We’ve had a most enjoyable morning, met some nice people, and for a while we’ve shared the sky with the birds. It is wonderful!

Flight

Instructors

Don’t

Sweat!

Independence Day

The morning breaks clear and bright. A gentle breeze is blowing, and the temperature is in the 70s. A nice day to celebrate our country’s birthday.

We’ve decided to fly to Columbia State Park for an old-fashioned parade and picnic—the way it used to be done. There’s Sandy and I, Harold and his wife, and Terry and his daughter. These special occasions are to be shared with friends, close friends.

The flight to Columbia is smooth and clear, and the scenery is fantastic. The rolling hills are now the color of straw, and the sun shining off the lakes along the way is momentarily blinding as we glide along toward our destination. We circled a couple of points of interest along the way just to enjoy more fully the sights below, sights especially reserved for the incurable romantic who happens to fly. Those who have never flown will not know the sights that are presented to a flyer each time he leaves the ground.

Harold and his wife arrive at Columbia first. They have rented a plane, so they have flown straight to their destination. Sandy and I arrive about three minutes later because of sightseeing excursions. After parking my plane and securing it, the four of us wait for Terry and his daughter. They too have been enjoying the scenery along the way and arrive about 10 minutes later. They’ve had a nice, scenic flight too.

After Terry gets his plane secured, we all take the nature trail into town—a short walk that’s just right for getting the kinks out of your legs.

When we arrive in town, people are lined up along Main Street for the parade that will be starting soon. We were fortunate enough to find a shady spot from which to view the proceedings.

After a short wait, the old-fashioned parade begins. Children are pulling wagons decorated with crepe paper in red, white, and blue. There is an old-fashioned