Jean Moule last wrote for the Flight Training blog about making the best of a change in her flight training plans. She is an emerita faculty member of Oregon State University, and a published writer and artist. Visit her website.—Ed.
In 1970 my art instructor bought a Piper PA-16 Clipper. His art changed from many other media to photographs taken from the airplane. To get a clear view of the ground directly under the airplane, as he wished, he had to turn it pretty much on its side (someone more knowledgeable feel free to tell me a better name for that maneuver and tell us more about that airplane). Earlier, when I had Robert Hartmann as a professor at Berkeley in the mid 1960s, his work was mostly two-dimensional images of airplanes in or under clouds.
In the last year, as you may know from my earlier blogs, I have been taking flying lessons. My flight school closed and my quest for a solo has been on hold. I have not shared here that in the last three years I have reentered a world of art—mostly watercolors, mostly clouds. It was Bob Hartmann who inspired me to change my undergraduate major at Berkeley to art.
Last year I wondered if Bob was still alive and where he was located. A bit of searching, as he does not own a computer, turned up a number. With hesitation I called him. We exchanged a few letters, and this week I was honored and touched to meet with him in his home of 50 years in the Oakland, Calif., hills. It was there that I learned of his flying history and spent time looking at his incredible earthscapes taken from his airplane.
Two days later, I had an extra day in the Bay Area. None of my other connections worked out, no phone messages returned, no beckoning activities. But, wait. There must be a flight school near here. With my recent decision to get up in the air in as many places with as many CFIs as possible before settling down and training for that solo, I decided to fly. I begged my way into a flight lesson for the afternoon. Giddy, I think of the joy of flying over my old campus, seeing the bell tower from the air, and circling Mount Diablo.
An hour before my flight I think. Would Bob, now 87, be available to go up? As we all know you can put another person in that airplane when you take a lesson. [So long as weight and balance work.---Ed.]
I call. He comes. A circle is complete.
It was a pleasure to preflight and go up in a Cessna 172 so similar to the one I flew for a year. Details escaped me and I left the radio work to Joe, the flight instructor. Often I asked him to take the yoke so I could take the photos. I timed our one-hour flight perfectly and learned a few new pieces of information to connect to my knowledge base. Beautiful blue sky, San Francisco in the distance, and Mount Diablo up close. Best of all, we flew over the land that Bob had photographed as art over the years.
As I pay and get a log of the flight, Bob talks with Joe about his years of flying from Buchanan Field in Concord in his Piper Clipper.
After our flight we go to lunch and, at his home, I marvel at more of his images. I spend too much time and miss my commercial flight home, but I don’t care. I will treasure his gallery book that he signs and gives me. It is called Solo Flights.—Jean Moule
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