Once upon a time, I had a fear of flying. A completely illogical, irrational fear, it must be said, but a fear none the less. The take-off was the worst for me and I would either grip the arm rest or my partner’s hand, until we were in cruise mode high above the clouds. Any noise, any change to the engine pitch, would set me off again, as would any amount of turbulence and then the descent and landing. My nerves weren’t exactly shredded, but I was a nervous person who couldn’t wait to get off the plane. Then, without me noticing, my fears disappeared and I embraced the wonder and joy of flying. I wonder what changed?
I bought books to explain not just the theory of lift that gets this monstrous heap of metal off the ground, but also simple explanations for what the different noises meant, how turbulence was no different from a ship bobbing over the waves. Perfectly normal, almost perfectly safe. And I listened to experts, people like David Learmount who, back in the day, would always be wheeled out by TV news bulletins to explain what may or may not have happened after an aviation incident. Then he said something which has stuck with me ever since: “(Planes) don’t just fall out of the sky. Modern airplanes just don’t.” But they still do, don’t they? There have been two fatal crashes this week already. This doesn’t make sense, does it?
Well, yes it does actually. Plane crashes are incredibly rare, especially in the modern age with all the technology deployed in aircraft design, much of which has been implemented after learning lessons from previous crashes. It is possible for a plane to simply fall out of a clear blue sky but the vast majority of accidents are caused by our old friend human error. If an engine fails, there is always at least one more to keep the plane flying. But there are outside factors that can bring down planes.
One such factor is Vladimir Putin who apologised for the recent Azerbaijan Airlines crash but, absurdly, failing to admit Russian involvement. Another could be at play in today’s deadly crash in South Korea – early speculation is a bird strike may have damaged the 737-800 so badly it was unable to lower its landing gear. We don’t know yet what really happened, but the most unlikely possibility is that the plane was perfectly maintained and simply crashed for no reason.
It may well be that I no longer have a fear of flying because I am in the autumn, perhaps even the winter, of my life. I know it’s a bit gloomy and fatalist but I do have a bit of a whatever will be will be attitude to flying these days. The uneasy feeling when the engines spooled up for take-off has turned into more of a positive adrenaline rush. I love and embrace the power. When the engines are idled for descent, which is basically a controlled glide, I am no longer thinking, “I just hope I get down in one piece”. I now love the swoops and low speed wide turns. I suspect it’s partly an age thing but it’s also, unusually in my case, an understanding of how and why things work. Rationality has taken over.
I love watching planes take off and land almost as much as flying in them. Given how routine it all is these days, that makes little sense. After all, no one is hanging around Bristol Bus Station writing down bus numbers. But then again, I still love the sight of passing trains so it’s not me wondering if this time I will see a plane falling out of the sky. No. It’s more innocent than that. I just like them.
Going from having a fear of flying to having none at all has been a strange but rewarding process. When a crash occurs, I never think, “That could have been me” anymore than if a train crashes somewhere. Or if there is a pile-up on the motorway.
When I think back to how I used to fret about flying, I merely think what a twat I was. I don’t feel that way about others who live in fear of flying because I have been there. Somehow, somewhere, at an unspecified time, my fears left me, hopefully never to return. It makes life and travel so much easier and it’s something I strongly recommend.