Thirty-five years ago, on the thirteenth day of June 1991 Anno Domini, I had my first flight as a freshly baked pilot.

I had trained at Bub Walen Aviation at the Van Nuys Airport in California. The trainers at that school were exclusively Piper Tomahawks, so it was the logical choice to rent one for my first flight on which I could legally take a passenger.

Best buddy Max was chosen to prove his trust in me.

The historic moment was recorded by exposing 35mm film with light through the lens of a camera – believe it or not — we did not have phones with built-in cameras yet. Even though it was Max, who had the first cell phone I ever encountered – one of those brick-sized blocks that cost 45 cents/minute to use.

Take-off was without any unusual events; time en route was minimal because Agua Duce Airpark was just 25 miles to the north-northeast, but landing was not quite as I had planned. I was a bit high on the final approach and had to lose altitude quicker than normal.

I was well trained, so I knew what to do: a sideslip. You turn the ailerons to one side as if to enter a turn, but counter that with rudder to the opposite side. This way you put more of the plane’s side into the wind, creating more drag, and you really can go down like in an elevator. When you have reached the proper altitude, you straighten out and land normally.

This is what I did and landed event-free. This procedure can be a bit disconcerting for a new passenger, but Max took it in stride.

After a proper pre-flight…

… the return flight was without events – at least I don’t remember any — all that was today, 35 years ago.

I did not remain a customer of Bub Walen for long. Soon I found the Pilot’s Co-Op at the Burbank Airport, a club that had many Warriors and Archers, and most of my now about 800 light hours was on that type.

Too bad there was no YouTube yet — otherwise I might have a flourishing aviation channel now, like for example Stevie Triesenberg. (I think I could have competed in the cuteness department.)