Muffling a yawn, I thought to myself, "Cross country flying is so relaxing," as I fixated on the farm and pastureland passing slowly underneath my wings.

"Should be getting close to Athens soon...ought to be able to see something in a few minutes. Let's see, altitude looks good. Engine? Smooth as silk! Heading? Oops, better turn left a little. Ah, 085 it is."

6:20 p.m. "Gee, I should at least be seeing the outskirts of Athens by now...hmmm, maybe a right or left 45-degree turn will help. Gosh, nothing."

"Perhaps I should be talking to someone. I know, I'll call Flight Service in Anderson. They'll get me pointed in the right direction."

"Anderson Radio, Anderson Radio. This is Cessna Seven-Two-Eight-Niner Sierra, over."

"Cessna Eight-Niner Sierra, Anderson."

"Anderson, Eight-Niner Sierra...student pilot...first solo cross-country...a round robin from DeKalb-Peachtree direct Athens direct Gainesville direct Atlanta. I have reason to believe I'm a little off course. Could you assist me with a course correction to Athens?"

"Ah, negative, Eight-Niner Sierra. No direction finding equipment at Anderson. Give me your present altitude, heading, airspeed and last known check point."

"Affirmative Anderson. Present altitude is thirty five hundred feet; heading is 085 degrees, indicating 105 mph. Last known check point was Winder."

"Eight-Niner Sierra, can you climb to fifty-five-hundred and maintain Visual Flight Rules? Atlanta may be able to help you if you are higher and may be able to make several 360's for identification."

"Roger, Anderson. Climbing now. Will advise on reaching fifty-five hundred."

"Understand, Eight-Niner Sierra. Anderson Radio standing by."

I advanced the throttle to full climb power and gently pulled back on the yoke. As the aircraft entered the climb, the airspeed slowed, and the cool air that had been whistling through the cabin diminished to a hiss. I alternately cupped each hand over the left fresh air vent, hoping to dry my sweaty palms.

Obviously, the stress and apprehension of earlier in the day had returned. Not panic, mind you, just an uneasy feeling evidenced by occasional deep sighs, and increasing cranial and octal pressure.

"Anderson Radio, Cessna Seven-Two-Eight-Niner Sierra. I can't climb above forty-eight hundred due to broken clouds. I'm beginning a sequence of 360-degree turns to the left at forty-five hundred. Please advise."

"OK, Eight-Niner Sierra. Understand you cannot maintain Visual Flight Rules above four thousand, eight hundred. Continue circling."

I circled and circled and I circled some more. For what seemed like an eternity, the radio was eerily silent. Then I heard, "Eight-Niner Sierra, can you advise us of any landmarks?"

"Negative, Anderson. No towns, no power lines, no highways or railroads, no distinguishing features of any kind. I thought I saw a mining quarry just before I contacted you, but I can't be sure."

"Roger, Eight-Niner Sierra. I suggest a heading now of 050 degrees."

©Copyright 2002 David Ray Skinner/SouthernReader. All rights reserved.