Where Eagles Fly

I recall one early morning climbing through an overcast sky and breaking into clear air. I was in Coast Guard and flying a twin engine jet traveling at 240 MPH. The sun was just rising and barely peaking through the clouds coloring the sky with a reddish-yellow tint. This day was overcast with drizzle below, but above the grey overcast there was a blanket of reddish colored water vapor being illuminated by a beautiful sun. I leveled the airplane and skimmed the top layer of the clouds, occasionally dipping my wing into the those enticing rolls of vapor; here-and-there were giant popcorn mounds of vapor protruding above that blanket. I would fly the plane around them like playing a game of pylons. Occasionally, I would penetrate those mounds and, after a second-or-two of flying in a gray haze, we would again burst out into the clear air, almost like being born-again. What a lovely experience……I was glad I had soloed sixteen years previously in Brownsville, Texas.

I don’t recall my first flight in a commercial airplane, but I do recall the first flight in a small aircraft. I was about fourteen on a trip into Mexico with my Father. We had been building transceiver radios, which my Father was installing for some Mexican clients. He took me along on this particular day. The only reasonable access to the ranch was by air, so the rancher provided his Cessna 172 for the trip. We took off from Matamoros, Mexico; I was mesmerized the moment we were airborne. The love of flying entered my soul that day.

During the summer of 1966, I had a job at a gas station and had purchased a scooter to get me around. A car had recently hit me (while on my scooter) on Washington and Third Street. The drivers insurance had given me some money to release him from liability. I don’t know how legal that was, since I was only fifteen, but I had the opportunity to learn-to-fly, so I accepted the offer.

With the cash from the settlement, I drove my little Sears Allstate scooter to the airport and stopped at the first hanger I saw, Hemphills' Flying Service. Hemphills' Flying Service was a single hanger Fixed Base Operation situated just south of the airport terminal. I went in and introduced myself to Mrs. Hemphill, she was at the counter. She was a slender lady in her forties and very proud of the fact that they had just bought a new airplane for flight instruction. She explained to me the cost and regulations associated with obtaining a pilot’s license. I was in luck, there was no minimum age to receive instruction, but the minimum age for solo was sixteen, which was just a few months away. The cost was $7 per hour for the airplane rental and $3 per hour for the instructor. I told her I was ready. Luckily an instructor, Buddy Ude, was present and she introduced me to him.

Buddy was a former Air Force pilot. He was in his forties, pudgy, round face, scraggly thinning hair, and always smoking a pipe. He had a soft-spoken manner, intelligent, with an obvious love of aviation. He was a part time instructor and made his living at a local nursery growing orchids; I liked him instantly. He was a very good instructor, in my opinion. He was thoughtful, deliberate, and patient, not like those “screamers” at the Naval Flight School I got to know a decade later. He taught me how to fly with a gentle touch. He would say: You know, women make the best pilots…and you know why?…..because they handle the airplane with tender movements of the controls. So he proceeded to demonstrate by maneuvering the airplane through the sky in a series of steep climbing and descending turns with smooth gentle movement of the controls; I later learned this maneuver was called a “Lazy Eight”. Flying that maneuver was like being a seagull, so graceful and so natural. I was impressed and enchanted by the airplane, it’s aerodynamics, and it’s response to such gentle movements by the pilot. Buddy Ude taught me well and passed along his love of flying.

I continued with the flight instruction through the summer of 1966 and accumulating about 10 hours of flight time by late August…….I passed my 16th birthday on the 14th. I had been instructed on all the flight maneuvers and had recently mastered the “art” of landing and, I must say, after some difficulty; I was more like a Dodo bird than a seagull. One clear Saturday morning in early September I was training with Buddy, we flew outside the traffic pattern and practiced emergency approach-to-landings, then came back to Brownsville Airport for touch-and-go’s. We did several practice landings and then he instructed me on how to salvage a bad landing, i.e., bouncing severely. From that training, I should have figured what was going to happen that day. After we finished training, like usual, we taxied back to the hanger. As we were approaching the terminal he said something unusual: stop over there, pointing to the terminal. When I got to the terminal and stopped, he opened the door and got out of the airplane. He said: go on by yourself and have fun, just remember to approach the airport from the water-port…….that will set you up for runway 13 and he closed the door. I figured, welllllllll this must be my solo flight; I was very perceptive at sixteen.HAHA!!!

So I taxied back out to the runway and did my run-up; called the tower for clearance and took the active runway and started my rollout; the airplane lifted off quickly and I was in…….E-C-S-T-A-S-Y. The concept of being alone and in control of the airplane combined with the glorious feeling of being airborne was fantastic. It was self-actualization, it was like my first kiss, it was like a glorious embrace by well-endowed young lady, it was indescribable…….I fell in love!!!

This was my first solo but it was also the first time I could do-or go- wherever I wished in an airplane. So I flew straight out to the Rio Grande River and followed it’s meandering path to the Gulf of Mexico; flew low along Boca Chica Beach and across the jetties, there is nothing more beautiful than the meeting earth and ocean; I flew along Padre Island and the Laguna Madre; over the Causeway and Port Isabel; performed S-turns along the ship channel and the shrimp basin. When I got to the water port, I called tower telling them I was inbound for landing. Just like Buddy said, it set me up for a good approach to runway 13. On final, I idled the engine, set full flaps, descended at 60 knots, flared to a perfect three-point landing………I was truly in love, life was good, and I was only sweet sixteen!

Thirty five years later I am laying in a hammock in the Texas Hill Country when an Eagle soars overhead barely skimming the treetops. It had its wings spread (about three feet), its tips flared, and gliding so effortlessly. It banked gently directly overhead, cocked its head, and...WINKED! somehow the eagle knew we shared the sky...WHERE EAGLES FLY. What a lovely experience....thanks Buddy Ude!!!