(T. McTavish)
My first experience flying floats was a one hour flight in a Bellanca Scout. Flying the plane wasn't difficult, but it took me most of that first hour to get used to
actually wanting to land on water. Hey, I'm a prairie boy, and water is something we're supposed to avoid.
Only a couple days later I was on Vancouver Island for a conference. Travelling on the airline, I went a day early to accomplish a couple personal tasks, including looking
up a small company with an advertisement in one of the Canadian flying journals - Stewart Air. What set this company apart from the others offering introductory float
training was that he was using a 90hp Aeronca 7EC Champ. A fan of classic airplanes, and an admirer of Aeroncas, I had to at least try flying it.
When I first saw the advertisement, I did what I normally do, ask my dad about flying a Champ. His comments were encouraging and I remember him telling me that I'd know
when I was comfortable - I'd be flying the plane entirely with trim.
Arriving in Victoria, I called Shawn Stewart and arranged an introductory flight. With some time in the Scout giving me confidence, I boarded the Champ and set off.
Departure from Patricia Bay was interesting, in that you're directly below the final approach path for the airport's main runway. As a result, it's common to have an
airliner passing 100 feet overhead.
"Stay below 50 feet," stressed Shawn.
Of course I didn't need encouragement, and settled in with my altimeter reading about 30 feet ASL. It stayed that way for about 20 minutes as we left the Victoria Airport
control zone, passing below a power line along the way. Eventually I had to climb up to a couple hundred feet as we started doing some air work, and practicing landings.
With only a couple touch and goes under my belt, I found myself flying with my left hand above my head. I was using elevator trim for everything - just like dad said. We
proceeded to fly around several of the islands in the Victoria area. One practice landing put me right beside two very expensive sailboats, passengers waving.
After returning to Pat Bay, I knew I'd be back. This float flying was just too much fun.
The following summer I did return. Over the course of two days, and three sessions, I completed my Transport Canada minimum of seven hours dual and one hour solo. It was a
blast. Returning from my second session, which was in the evening, I experienced what is to date, my most perfect flying experience. With the setting sun setting everything
aglow with gold tones, and absolutely no wind, I trimmed that little Aeronca Champ to fly hands off. For about 15 minutes, I headed back to Pat Bay at 50 feet, correcting my
course with only the light touch of my finger tips.
On an earlier flight I'd left with the morning rush of sailboats. With no wind, the sailors were motoring out to their weekend haunts. Along came me and my little Champ,
slaloming along the line of sailboats, like they were pylons on a race course. Waves from the boats were returned with a friendly wag of the wings. Then there was the touch
and goes beside a grandpa and grandson in a canoe. Again, more smiles.
With my dual time complete, Shawn felt safe turning me loose for my hour of solo time. I was hesitant, not because of the flying - I knew what to - the knot in my stomach
was because, for the first time, the plane I was flying was directly responsible for someone's livelihood (not just another flying school machine).
I headed away from Shawn's lakefront dock, aiming for the town of Duncan, and a little lake that had been pointed out to me earlier. In the years since that flight, I've
never managed to find the proper words to describe the colour of that lake. Neon lime green is about the best I've managed, but it's still not perfect. Touching down, I
decided to practice a little sailing. With the engine stopped I opened the large door and waited for the gentle breeze to push me backwards. After a couple minutes, I
started wondering why I didn't seem to be going anywhere. Oops. Raise the water rudders and suddenly I was moving. A more couple touch and goes, then I left.
By the time I was ready to return to Shawnigan Lake, I was feeling pretty confident. Some more touch and goes in front of Shawn, so he could confirm that I was doing things
right, and I was ready to stop. Well, no, I wasn't ready. I needed fuel and Shawn had the gas can.
Confident that I hadn't destroyed Shawn's plane, I slowly taxied back to the dock. Avoid the submerged bolder on the right, past the neighbour's dock on the left and the
point of no return to this one-shot approach. I felt quite confident. I even had the throttle way back to bring me in at a walking pace. Once I was close enough to coast
into the dock, I pulled the throttle and watched in horror as the propeller kept turning over. Mixture to cut off. Still turning. Throttle completely out. Still turning.
Crap. I'm going to hit that dock. Wait, kill the magnetos. Chug, chug, chug, stop. Just in time for Shawn to act as a human shock absorber and soften the impact. My
confidence destroyed, I explained exactly what I'd done. "The engine will run forever at idle cut off," I was now told. Should have jammed that throttle forward and starved
the engine 20 feet earlier.
Oh well, its not like the plane was damaged.
I landed with the joy of knowing that I would soon possess my float rating. In the years that have followed, I've only flown a couple more hours in float planes, and always
under supervision. Not that it's lessened the pure fun that float flying has given me.
(T. McTavish)