Flying Backwards: A Lesson I’ll Never Forget

There are moments in aviation that burn themselves into your memory so deeply that you can replay them frame by frame for the rest of your life. One of those moments happened during my flight training in a little Cessna 150 — a tiny two-seater that taught me some of the biggest lessons I’ve ever learned in the air.

It was a beautiful, crystal-clear day. The kind of day pilots dream about. Blue skies, endless visibility, sunshine pouring across the wings. But up high, the winds were a different story. We climbed to 5,000 feet, and the west winds were howling at over 45 miles per hour. Even in that small airplane, you could feel the sky moving around us. It was bumpy, lively — the kind of air that demands your full attention.

That day’s lesson was slow flight training.

We reduced power and carefully slowed the airplane down, holding altitude, keeping the wings level, feeling every tiny control input. I dropped the flaps to 40 degrees and brought the aircraft down toward landing speed. The Cessna felt soft and mushy on the controls, hanging on the edge of flight, exactly where it was supposed to be for the exercise.

Then I looked down.

The ground wasn’t moving the way it should have been.

Instead of drifting forward beneath us, the earth was sliding the wrong direction. Slowly at first, then unmistakably clear — we were floating backwards. The headwind was stronger than our forward airspeed. We were still flying perfectly, wings level, nose pointed ahead… but relative to the ground, we were going in reverse.

We were flying backwards.

Just me and my instructor, suspended in the sky, riding a river of wind. It felt surreal. The airplane was doing everything it was designed to do, and the atmosphere was simply stronger that day. It was one of those rare moments where aviation stops being technical and becomes pure wonder. You don’t just learn — you feel what flight really is.

We laughed about it over the intercom, watching the landscape slide behind us. It was training, yes. But it was also magic. A reminder that the sky always has something new to teach you, no matter how small the airplane or how early you are in your journey.

That flight stayed with me. Not because of the maneuver itself, but because of the perspective it gave me. Aviation has a way of humbling you and thrilling you at the same time. It reminds you that you’re a guest in an invisible ocean of moving air — and sometimes, if you’re lucky, it lets you fly backwards just to prove a point.

A memory I’ll never forget.

How a Seaplane Spark Ignited My Aviation Journey

Some passions sneak up on you quietly. Mine roared in on the whine of propellers and the smell of saltwater spray. In a place where seaplanes are lifelines and the skies are our highways, I didn’t just see airplanes — I saw freedom, adventure, and a world waiting to be explored from above.

At a very early age, I was bitten by the aviation bug. In Southeast Alaska, the only way to get from town to town — and for the most part, this still holds true today — was either by boat or by plane. And around here, seaplanes aren’t just handy, they’re essential.

When I was a kid, my dad worked part-time at the local airport. Sometimes he’d take me along, and that’s where I first laid eyes on the Ellis Airway Grumman Goose. I was amazed by those birds — their graceful lines, their ability to land on both water and land. Back then, our small airport also saw Pan Am, TWA, and the U.S. Coast Guard come through. For a young boy already fascinated by flight, it was pure magic.

I knew, even then, that one day I would become a commercial pilot.

Years passed, but that dream never faded. Then in January 1987, I made it happen. I traveled to a flight school in Northern California with one mission: earn my Private Pilot’s License. I did that — and more. In just seven months, I had also earned my Commercial License, my Instrument Rating, and my Seaplane Rating.

During those months, I literally ate, slept, and breathed aviation. Every day was a deep dive into the world I loved, and each hour in the air only deepened my passion.

My very first flight was in a Cessna 172, and I can still remember the thrill of that moment — the hum of the engine, the lift as the wheels left the ground, the world shrinking below. That flight wasn’t just a beginning; it was the start of a lifelong career in aviation.

And so, the boy who once stood at the edge of a runway watching Grumman Gooses take off, became a pilot himself. The journey had begun.

Decades later, I still feel the same rush every time I step into a cockpit. The boy who once pressed his face against the airport fence, mesmerized by a Grumman Goose, has flown countless hours over some of the most breathtaking landscapes in the world. Aviation didn’t just give me a career — it gave me a way of life. And every time I take off, I’m reminded of that first spark, and the dream it carried me into the sky.