For some reason, every time I go to a little airport and ask someone there to let me a fly a plane, they say yes. I used to think it was because of my stunning good looks and charming sense of humour, or at the very least because I appear to be mildly competent. But now I am pretty sure it is because of the exorbitant amount of money that they request, and which I obligingly pay.

So, I went flying last week, for the first time in several years. Odd as it sounds, the saying "It's just like riding a bike" almost applies here. Except that this bike has wings. And an engine. And a spinning blade of life/death about four feet in front of your face.

So ... uhhh ... if E.T. was juggling knives while sitting in the basket on Elliot's bike, I guess that flying a plane would be like riding a bike ...

Wait. What the hell was I talking about?

Oh right. This week, I went to the Squamish Airport and rented a Cessna 172, which is essentially a large aluminum can with wings and a dash full of blinking lights and knobs and suspicious red buttons that make you feel really important. Then I also rented a guy whose job is to make sure I don't kill myself. Well, technically, his job is to make sure I don't kill him. By sheer physical proximity, that means if he doesn't die, conveniently, neither do I.

I am totally not joking.

As your flight instructor will tell you the first time you go out, it's not the flying that's a problem. It's the landing.

So. Yeah. Flying ... like riding a bike. Stalls, slow flight, steep turns ... my airwork could even be considered competent. The landing part? More like riding a pedal-less unicycle.

Let me tell you about the Squamish Airport, and it's lovely approach to landing. (For the record, any airport with a windsock doing THIS, is not likely to be talked about using words like 'lovely' or 'relaxing' or 'totally didn't feel like I was going to die.')

If I were talking to another pilot, I'd describe the approach at Squamish as follows:

Uncontrolled airport, 2400 foot runway, trees on both sides, in a valley with 9000 foot peaks. Lefthand circuits. For takeoffs to the south, immediate 50 degree right turn for noise abatement. Winter eagle habitat, watch for birds of prey. Fly toward mountains, then turn modified upwind/crosswind following the river, level off circuit altitude and turn downwind inside of peaks. Follow power lines downwind, turn base inside peaks, runway not visible due to forest. Turn shortened final, due to mountainous terrain. Cross river, industrial complex, two sets of power lines - watch for pressure differences. Trees on short final. Keep above 70 knots for wind shear penetration and approximate 8-10 degree approach angle. Expect wind shear, and variable crosswinds on final and touchdown. Watch for wildlife on runway. Active helicopter traffic.

Sounds all smart and technical and like my education was actually worth something, eh?

What I actually said was ...

Really short runway, at an airport with no air traffic controllers, in a valley with huge mountains on both sides. When you take-off to the south, you have to turn immediately to the right and not fly over houses, so that the rich people in the Republic of Brackendale don't complain about noise. Before you turn, make sure to look for eagles, because they will leave a very big hole in your plane, and a lot of blood on your windscreen. Then fly directly towards the mountain, and turn in time to not hit it. Climb to 1000 feet, and stay there, but don't hit any of the mountains that are also 1000 feet high. When you want to land, aim your nose straight down to the ground and fly really fast, in case the winds change, otherwise you will drop like a rock. Don't hit the power lines, or the trees, or the deer on the runway, or the helicopters. Try to keep your airplane right side up, and try not to scream.

So yeah. That guy that I hired to make sure that I didn't die? SO worth the money.

Then again ... so is the view ...

One of the pains in converting my American pilot licenSes to Canadian licenCes has been trying to find preparatory information to help me study for the Transport Canada exams I have to pass. Unfortunately, there is no standard guide outlining the differences between US and Canadian aviation practices. The best I could find was the description of one of the exams I had to write: "The examination consists of questions on differences between American and Canadian procedures for IFR flight."

Not helpful.

Back in November, after reading through the general exam guide and scouring the internet for any information on US-Canadian flight procedures, I took a stab at the two written exams. I passed the commercial licence test, but failed the instrument licence test by one question. So ... what this translates to is that people are allowed to pay me to fly, just not in bad weather.

So this past weekend I bit the bullet and drove down to Boundary Bay Airport for a three-day ground course on Instrument Flying operations in Canada, hoping it might fill in some of the gaps (of knowledge dad, thank you very much) and get me through the written conversion exam so that I could get on with converting my flight instructor's rating, which I have been dragging my feet over for the past ... ummm ... while.

Since Boundary Bay is about a two hour drive from Squamish, I stayed in the pilot accommodations available, called the Farmhouse. This would be why it is called the Farmhouse:

I may be a city girl, but my guess is that the expanse of uninhabited land behind the house might be for growing things ...

The Farmhouse was cheap and convenient. It's just an old ... ummmm .... farmhouse ... up the road from the flight school, with a bunch of guest rooms used by long and short-term students. It has everything a pilot needs ... weather briefing numbers on the fridge, charts on the walls, bookshelves full of flight manuals, and no shortage of hangar talk. Being able to see the airport control tower from my bedroom window was a total bonus.

Although, if you are a GIRL pilot, sharing the bathroom with eight guys who have been living there for several months ... ummm ... let's just say, not a bonus.

The course, however, was EXCELLENT, and on Monday morning I marched into the Transport Canada office in downtown Van, and was, like, "Yo, give me one hour (cause ... well ... you only get an hour to finish the test) with that FAAIA exam and I'll show you who knows that you CAN slide the standard alternate minimums for an airport with a non-precision approach if your calculated minimums are not higher than the required 800 foot ceiling and two miles visibility."

And then I forgot that you couldn't use a PROB forecast in a TAF to calculate those alternate minimums, and I totally got that answer wrong.

I did however remember what the RVR equivalent of a half statute mile is and that it is perfectly acceptable to use French while flying IMC in Quebec, and got myself an 80 percent, which, while not exactly a stellar grade, is a pass.

And, yes dad, I do indeed know where the other 20 percent went. Five percent went to the inability to apply IFR flight plan procedures, five to being unable to recall 1000-foot-on-top regulations, five to forgetting how to apply cold temperature weather corrections, and five to the TAF forecast interpretation mentioned above.

I guess you better hope that I don't take you out flying on a VFR-On-Top IFR flight plan on a cold day when the weather forecast included a probability condition.

Well, I am moving up in the world of flight instructing: Yesterday I soloed my first student.

I had been well trained by the other instructors in the art of pacing the length of our tarmac, radio in hand, from one side of the building (to watch the downwind leg of the pattern) to the other side of the building (to hold my breath and wait for them to pop back into my sight as they make the turn from base to final).

It's very nice to watch your student taxi out to the runway for the first time, but there is a very small part of you that secretly hopes for some sort of mechanical trouble that keeps them on the ground and sends them straight back to the tie-downs; there is nothing in the world like watching your first student roll down the runway by himself for the first time and in one short second become airborne, your flight instructor license and entire aviation career rattling down the runway behind him.

On the other hand, there is also nothing in the world like watching them make a beautiful approach and set the bird down safely on the runway for the very first time, your flight instructor license and entire aviation career safely intact.

When I went back inside after four landings and the return of a live student and an airplane in one piece, the flight operations manager said to me "It's like having children, Michelle."

Maybe, except, if that was my kid, he'd have long been unenrolled from the aviation program and be sitting safely in the back of an accounting class. Who the hell lets their children do this kind of stuff?