Away we go

Nothing moves! Yes, we’re flying along at 70 mph, 1,000 feet or so above the ground. And I should be thinking, “What a beautiful day; not a cloud in the sky, fields of green, lakes of blue, glistening rivers, the gentle wind nipping at my clothes.” But no, maybe it’s the nerd in me. I marvel at the fact that nothing moves.

It’s early evening and I’m in the back seat of a light sport aircraft flying over the valley at the northeast end of Flathead Lake. It’s got a blue, green and white delta-shaped fabric wing, and a blue fiberglass gondola hanging underneath it. An Apollo Monsoon, its carriage is Hungarian-built and the wing is made in the United States. It is a Federal Aviation Administration-certified light sport aircraft that seats two in a tandem open cockpit and, propelled by a 100-horsepower Rotax engine, cruises around the sky at a little over 70 mph.

Todd Ware, an internationally recognized aviation pylon racer and instructor/pilot with about 1,200 hours of flying experience, is at the controls. I’m pretty excited to be along for the ride.

But did I mention that nothing moves? I’m speaking aerodynamically. Getting an aircraft into the air is just the first step in flying. After that, controlling where it goes becomes really important. The Wright brothers figured that out and invented the conventional airplane, with controls that achieved this by reshaping the aerodynamic surfaces. On most airplanes, there’s a tail that has an elevator. Move it up and the craft rises, move it down and the craft descends. And on the wings are ailerons. Move one up while the other goes down and the craft banks, turning by effectively climbing sideways. The Wright brothers’ patent for a flying machine hinged on having three control surfaces effecting movement in three axes. But this is a weight-shift control aircraft with only one aerodynamic surface, the wing. And on that wing there are no moving parts.

Yet there is still control. Hanging under the wing is the gondola that contains the engine and the passengers. Unlike the wing of a conventional airplane, the wing of Ware’s aircraft is aerodynamically stable. It will fly by itself, maintaining a direction determined by how it is balanced. Attached to the wing is a large A-frame bar that the pilot holds. Applying pressure to the bar shifts the position of the gondola, changing the balance of the craft and the direction the wing wants to fly.

Designing the wing was an act of genius, but controlling it is the epitome of simplicity.

Which is not to say it’s natural or easy. At Ware’s invitation, I grasp the controls and assume responsibility for establishing the direction of the craft. Push forward and it climbs, pull back and it descends. “Backward from what I’m used to, but OK.”

And push left to go right and right to go left. “What? That’s backwards, too.”

But it’s sort of like riding a toy wagon and steering with the tongue: left to go right and right to go left. Once you get used to … “No, you can have it back, Todd.”

Honestly, the controls are really straightforward and I’m sure I could have gotten comfortable with them in very few minutes. The craft felt solid to me and I had no doubt that it would fly flawlessly and return safely to the ground. I will admit, though, that in addition to the exhilaration, I had a little trepidation about letting it all hang out, so to speak, in the slipstream. In a conventional airplane, surrounded by structure and wedged into a cabin, you can convince yourself it’s like riding in a car. But feeling more like an open canoe in an ocean of sky, this light-sport aircraft never lost its appeal as a thrill ride.

Ware gives pilot lessons and discovery flights as part of his business, Air Therapy Aviation.

“Air Therapy?” I wondered and I asked.

“I took this up about seven years ago,” Ware said. “I’d just broken up with a belly dance instructor. It was hard, I felt like I needed therapy, and flying seemed to be it.

“I mean, you’re up there with the world around you. It focuses you. You have to concentrate on the moment, on what you’re doing. And all the cares of the day just disappear. You’re above it all. You’re one with the sky.”

Yes, I should say it makes perfect sense, the freedom, the Zen of it all.

But as Ware waxes poetic, I question whether I’m destined to ever become one with the sky.

My mind is still on the belly dancer.

David Vale, a private pilot of conventional aircraft, retired from the world of psychology and statistics, and now owns the Pocketstone Cafe in Bigfork. For more information on light-sport aviation, see Todd’s website, www.airtherapyaviation.com.