Conor Popeflew a second World War plane above Florida and found the experience beyond exhilarating
‘WHERE’S THE simulator?”, I ask the man dressed in casual combat chic. I’m at a small airstrip in Kissimmee near Orlando and have come here to be shown what it’s like to fly a second World War fighter plane.
“Simulator? What simulator?,” he replies. “We don’t have a simulator here. We’re flying this,” and he points to a two-seater orange fighter plane that looks like its best years are behind it. A long way behind it. For a second, I think he’s joking – I only had a quick look at the day’s itinerary and I could have sworn it said “flight simulation”. As he gently steers me in the direction of the plane, I realise he’s deadly serious.
Before I can come up with a convincing reason to bail, he has me strapped into the front seat and is showing me the controls. He points to the throttle and the foot pedals – they probably have a fancier name than that but I was too traumatised to remember it. He shows me how to turn left and right and go up and down, and quickly moves on to the safety features.
Normally, when on a plane, I doze as the crew deliver their “in the unlikely event of . . . ” but not now. Now this man gets my undivided attention. This time, however, there are no decompression masks, inflatable slides, emergency strip lighting or life jackets with whistles.
“Release the clasps,” he says pointing to the complex looking belt which has me strapped in. “Then pick the side of the plane that is not on fire and just jump. The parachute will do the rest.”
It is all very matter of fact. “If you hear me shout ‘bail out’, don’t bother waiting or looking behind for me, I’ll be gone.” And so are we. It’s headphones on and chocks away as the North American T-6 Texan, the model used to train over 70 per cent of US fighter pilots during the second World War trundles down the runway.
Seconds later, after some incomprehensible but gratifyingly soothing chatter between my new best friend and air traffic control, we have lift off.
My stomach does a few loops as we climb slowly to over 2,000ft where, he says, we will do our “acrobatic rolls”. Our what?
How did this happen? There I was getting ready for a lazy half hour in a simulator and now I’m in a small 65-year-old plane flying above Florida’s lakes as a man I don’t know from Adam talks about acrobatically rolling the plane I’m sitting in. For fun. He does the roll and suddenly I am flying upside down. Then the right way round and then upside down again. Then the plane goes into a nose dive and I start to wonder if now would be a good time to release the clasps and bail.
Before I can do anything stupid, he rights the plane again and all is well with the world. It is quiet up here and while the engine chugs away like a cranky old lawnmower, the sound is muffled by my heavy duty headphones.
Gentle breezes waft through the cockpit and despite my fear, I find myself thinking how awesome this is. Then there’s the radio crackle and the pilot says: “So, you ready to take control buddy?” Before I can say, “No, never in a million years am I going to fly this plane. I only learned to drive three years ago and can’t even tell my left from right,” he says: “Okay, it’s in your hands.”
He’s not lying. I move the throttle gently to the right and the plane responds accordingly. I’m lying. What really happens is this: I pull the throttle roughly to the right, sweat beading on my forehead and the plane lurches in the same direction. Then, still panicked, I yank the throttle to the left and we bank sharply that way. Over and back we go, left and right like a drunken sailor who has been given the keys to a fighter plane.
Over the course of the next 10 minutes I surprise myself by getting the hang of it. I learn how to smoothly turn the plane, fly in little circles and carry out a few – admittedly simple – manoeuvres. It is beyond exhilarating and I am sad when the pilot takes control again to bring us back to earth.
Just 30 minutes after my first flight starts it comes to a bone shaking conclusion on this sleepy little Kissimmee runway but the bragging rights will go on and on, because I’ve flown a 1945 fighter plane and there’s not many people who can say that!
- Warbird Adventures offer aerobatic or smooth sightseeing flights and cater for first-time flyers, nostalgia buffs and pilots. A 15-minute flight on the North American T-6 Texan costs $240 (about €173) while a half hour flight is $420 (€303). Helicopter rides are also available. See warbirdadventures.com or tel 00-1-407-870-7366 or email fly@warbirdadventures.com.