I was sitting in a journalism lecture today. That, incidentally, is something worth noting. The theme of the current lectures is 'new media' - blogging, Twitter, Facebook and such. The lecturer was discussing the phenomenon of the average journalist - anybody with a camera phone who has the initiative to take photos of morbid incidents that happen. He was flicking through some photos that were projected on the screen. And then suddenly - like a rape of my peaceful, serene mind - an image of a plane crashed into a car shocks me.

It's been about three months since I've last flown.

I need to fly again... else that will happen to me.

NOTAMs

A NOTAM - an acronym for 'Notice To Airman' - is an information circular that student pilots and above receive. It is a fantastic system conceived by some fantastically pragmatic human with the intention of informing pilots about changes and procedures at airports and in airspaces. Every month, without fail, a yellow and white wad of notes appears in the post box. And every month, without fail, I get as far as tearing the plastic sleeve off and reading the information applicable to my own airport. Due to a terrible disease, Toolazytoreadmynotamsitis, there were two wads on my desk this month.

The one month I needed to read them, I didn't... Murphy, for god's sake!

So there I was, turning up the volume for Lanseria's ground frequency, wondering why on earth my psychological foundation had abandoned me. Like a reckless little creature (a smidgen of sarcasm), I crossed over to Lanseria's tower frequency and explained that I couldn't contact ground. A woman informed me, with a slight patronising tone, that ground frequency was close after two. Right. She then preceded to preempt every radio call of mine for the entire flight, poor little girl-pilot can't read her NOTAMs. Maybe she needs help with her radio calls.

In order to avoid sure embarrassment - read your NOTAMs.

Cowboys

Another night flight. The first in a few weeks. A niggly feeling said: you should fly with an instructor... just in case you find a way to rip of the wing in mid-flight. And die. The idea of such asymmetrical flight was deterring, so I flew with Jason.

There we were, priming IOI's beast of an engine when another plane came screaming in our direction. It didn't help that I hadn't yet turned on the master switch, and that hanger was entirely dark, save for one bright light. You should always aim to be going in the same direction as a moving propeller - not in the opposite direction and facing it. As I stared at the approaching bulk of furious metal, I saw the light. Not an 'ooh-ahh-epiphany' kind of light, but a landing light. It was a little too close.

Why don't panes have hooters? Because cowboy pilots shouldn't be recklessly taxiing through hangers at night anyway? Because most pilots manage to watch what's going on around them?

At the critical moment, about a meter or two in front of poor IOI, Cowboy-pilot noticed us. Fortunately, some kind of innate reflex resulted in efficient breaking. There was a cheeky smile through his windshield. Another close call, another good story, another inexperienced pilot on the other end - scared out of her mind. After he got out the plane (and skillfully pushed down the tail to spin it out the way), I realised he was my first instructor - infamous for his...er... liberal flying. That may explain some of my curiously bad habits. Like almost-stall speed on Final Approach.

confederations cup requires all pilots to file a flight plan for every flight. Relieved we were only doing circuits, I was happy to put in the squawk code. There is something about flight plans. Perhaps it was the movie that put people off. You would think that the idea of search and rescue would be incentive.

Pilots and Passengers

There are certain things you expect your passenger-friends to know, but they won't (like the altitude of that mountain). There are certain things you expect your passenger-friends to be interested in, but they aren't (like the Vx speed). And there are certain things you expect your passenger-friends to do, but they can't (like change the frequency). So how is it possible that flying with 'normal' people can be so insightful?

Well, perhaps passengers are harsher critics - they're not going to forgive your bad landing because of a cross wind. They've also had less practice at concealing squirms and nausea. So it's likely that if your 'Straight and Level' is a little 'Skew and Tilted', you'll hear all about it. (Or, god-forbid, see all about it.)

Despite the stress of performing professionally (no low-level flying, ground-effect or diving), passengers point out the obvious things can pilots begin to neglect - like the fact that you said "one crew" instead of "one crew, one pax". Or that ATC said fly at 5500 feet, but you're at 5800 feet.

Yet, with every medium bank there is revived excitement and awing at the view. There is curiosity with every radio transmission.

You also learn to re-admire the Magaliesberg Escarpment you've flown over hundreds of times.

Cross Country

Alone, the prospect of a cross country to Potchefstroom, Rustenburg and Wonderboom is appealing - but getting the chance to fly at night is mouth watering.

If you get such an opportunity, the follow pointers should be taken into consideration: (developed and revised through experience)

• Very High Frequency Omni Directional Radio Range Beacons (more affectionatley known as VORs) are your friends, take the time to culculate their spiky little radials. Do NOT deviate.
  
• Pencils and other useful stationery will surreptitiously loose themselves underneath the seats. They will not want to be found until the yoke is pulled into a 45 degree angle of bank and your cheek is somewhere by your knee.
• 'Restricted Airspace' is, in fact, restricted.
• Not all lights in straight lines mark runways.
• Anticipate being in the air for a long time and never drink too much before departure.
• Johannesburg Information has eyes everywhere.
• 030 degrees is not the same as 300 degrees on the directional indicator.
  

Avoiding these few... lapses in accuracy... usually results in a fair enough flight. Another thing worth noting is the elusiveness of Rustenburg. The runway is marked by scarce, spread-out lights. From the air it looks rather tragic - rather small and missing a few bulbs.

Circuits at Lanseria

'Nighttime', if you need to be technical, is 15 minutes after the sun has set - in aviation terms, anyway. This twilight is an ideal time to do a preflight (not to be confused with the high time for Hollywood vampires). While doing a mandatory day time preflight, it is easy to become complacent when checking the navigation and landing lights - their importance only becomes realised when they're needed to avoid reshaping the wingtips of other parked aircraft at night. Wingtips are curious creatures - subtly camouflaged and hidden... till hit.

A useful piece of information: taxi in between the blue lights. An even more useful piece of information: each light is made of porcelain and designed to break if hit. They're worth a couple of thousand rand each.

Its rather irritating that Lanseria doesn't have ground control after 17:00 UCT. They make a comfortable transition from Ground to Tower and are usually less frightening to talk to, but the protocol is to contact Tower directly.
"Papa Mike Kilo is a Charlie One Seven Two with... er... standby for fuel..."
Traffic control endure antagonising and off-frequency cursing, perhaps unfairly - managing hundreds of aircraft and preventing almost certain collision must invoke some mild form of insanity. This insanity would be furthered with each pilot's rendition of aviation jargon, for example the cheeky: Oscar, Popcorn, Quebec... or the obscene: runway zero sex left.

The runway isn't too obvious while taxiing. It's easier to have faith in the luminous yellow line leading the way (does that echo The Yellow Brick Road?). However, once those runway lights ellipse, suddenly revealing two parallel edges, the runway is a dangerously inviting path. Ailerons into wind, transponder on 'altitude', check landing light and align directional indicator.
"Papa Mike Kilo cleared for takeoff runway two four right..."

Its not that its 'dark' as such, there are certainly things to see. Like residential lights or the illuminated tips of enticing spires - like angler fish in murky water. The dark doesn't discriminate - the glow of shanty towns is just as attractive as the neon message of Sandton. Monte Casino's beacon, the conspicuous 'Absa-balloon', has been changed into a soccer ball in twenty-ten festivity. All these features of a Johannesburg night are markers for straight and level flight. They become familiar in circuit training, even anticipated and celebrated with each loop around the airport.

Yet, the most appreciated set of lights must be the PAPIs. To be guided down to the runway at the correct height alleviates huge pressure, it's enough to remember to put back the 'carb heat' on Final Approach - decorating the belly of the aircraft with telephone poles is not high on the important-things-to-do-while-on-Final-Approach-list.