I am a student pilot on the East Coast, working toward my private pilot ticket. Why? Well, the whole idea was my husband's brilliant notion of "togetherness." After nearly five years of marriage as the poster children for Opposites Attract, Inc., he decided we should "find something we could do together." Learning to fly was it. And for some unexplainable reason, I bought it.

Now it's too late — we're both hooked, and approximately half-way toward our private pilot certificates. As a matter of fact, this past week, my CFI and I did some heavy-duty flying.

Having flown away from the nest precisely once by myself — and even then, all I did was venture out about 15 nm, take a look around, then bravely run straight home — we flew to three different airports — all uncontrolled — in two days!

My home base is Martin State Airport (MTN) in Baltimore, Maryland. It's a controlled airport...make that a very controlled airport: tower, military presence, and a hard surface runway 150' wide by 7200' long. By comparison, the three strips my CFI took me to visit this week were roughly the equivalent of your next door neighbor's driveway after three centuries of neglect, both in dimensions and surface quality. Really. Trust me.

My second solo

After practicing short field take offs and landings at Essex Sky Park — a.k.a. "W48" — a.k.a. "The place that time, hedge trimmers, and modern conveniences forgot" — my CFI looked at me and said, "Well, are you ready for me to hop out?"

Huh? Hop out? I thought we were going to hop home! He didn't really expect me to put this thing on the barely-visible numbers alone, did he? What was he, nuts!?

Apparently so. After one more dual landing, my CFI decided I was ready to tackle Essex Skypark solo.

As he climbed out of the right seat, he turned around and waved his little aviation band receiver. "Now, I won't be able to talk to you, but I can hear you, okay?" he said, then gave me a thumbs up and a grin before removing his headset and slamming the door.

Hmphf. He can hear me. Great! Was that supposed to make me feel better? God help me, because obviously my CFI wasn't going to.

Hear this, Will!

Well, as it turns out, Will is a pretty good judge of character. On my first pass, I actually remembered to radio my position on upwind, downwind, and — cheating a little — on "base to final." I also remembered not to succumb to the optical illusion that the runway was further away than it actually was. It was just smaller than what my eye was accustomed to at MTN. Okay, significantly smaller.

When all was said and done, I cleared the trees and landed in one piece. Didn't even damage the plane. As I back-taxied down the runway (you have to announce that, too), my audience-of-one on the ground doffed his hat and gave me a sweeping bow. If nothing else, I was relieved to discover that neither chivalry nor I were dead!

Beginner's luck?

Now that I had proven myself solo in the dragon's lair, my confidence tentatively rose with the plane to pattern altitude for a second try. I flew the pattern smoothly, still grateful no witnesses were in the vicinity. And as I turned onto final, I cautiously began to believe all would be well with my world.

Until I looked at the "VASI."

(The high-tech VASI at Essex Skypark consists of three old boards spray-painted florescent orange and jammed strategically into the ground.)

According to the center board, I was perfectly positioned to land approximately eighteen miles beyond the runway, right in the Chesapeake Bay.

I was not in a seaplane. Uh-oh.

Hrrmmm. Quick decision: go-around, or fix it? Which did I have time for?

I had only done two go-arounds that I could remember (both at mile-wide MTN), and was still mastering the flow and feel of it. Another glance at that menacing center board convinced me — and in one smooth motion (not!), I shoved the throttle in, the carb heat off, and milked up the flaps 10 degrees at a time. As I glanced at the ground and trees rushing past, I aimed for Vx and hauled ass outta there.

Whew! Deep breaths, Maria, deep breaths.

On upwind, I jumped when the radio crackled to life with my instructor's voice: "Good call, Maria," he said from inside the FBO. I nodded (yes, I know you can't see people nod on the radio), announced my new position on crosswind, and told him to break out the Valium.

Well, by day's end, I had nailed a few more solo landings at Essex (then got out to walk off my jell-o legs!), and visited another uncontrolled field. This particular field had an up-slope, plus the added consequence of slamming into a hill and sliding across Interstate 95 if you landed long!

Are we having fun yet?

Lessons learned

Okay, so what did I learn?

• I learned that a pilot must really pay attention to and think about the runway dimensions on the sectional chart — looks can be deceiving, especially if you're accustomed to one field.

• I learned there is no shame in going around. Better to be alive and aloft than determined and dead.

• I learned to like Essex Skypark. Really! Once I overcame my fears, the charm of the place took over, and I now appreciate how the site honed my skills.

• I learned some basic pilotage skills (that's another story!). Landmarks on the ground come up faster and smaller than you anticipated. Trust your time and distance calculations, and always cross-reference what you see.

• I learned to trust my CFI. He has never put me in a situation I couldn't handle, and has always read my abilities, potential, and breaking point just right. Trust is a hard thing to earn from me, but after this week, I think he's done it.

• I learned that you don't need as much flare when you're landing downhill. (Duh!) The ground slope takes care of a bit of that for you. Vice-versa landing on an upslope.

• And lastly, I learned to be grateful for the tower controllers at my home base, whom I had heretofore called "grumpy." It's no easy feat keeping track of everyone up there, and that extra pair of eyes and authority are worth the few bad days those fellas might have.

Next Lesson: Magnetic Dip! Oh, yippee. :-(