Born To Fly Read online

  The chopper pilot casually reminded me that now was the time to head to Wollongong. We had been flying around for twenty minutes and the concentration required to not make contact with the strange, unfamiliar and large rotating wings on top of the helicopter had taken over my world, but now it was over. I flew slowly, allowing the chopper to keep up as I pointed the nose towards Wollongong, and when the escarpment slipped under the Cirrus it provided another 2000 feet of vacant air. I pushed the nose down and headed towards the airport, and in that moment I realised what was actually happening.

  Years before this moment I had begun thinking about a dream, a ridiculous dream yet one that constantly occupied my mind. When I envisaged an around-the-world flight I had not imagined the paperwork, the logistics, the enormous amount of money required and attained through sponsorship, the planning, the preparation, the fatigue, the stress or any other negative or challenging parts of the operation. I had only thought about taking off from destination A and flying east through unimaginable terrain, cultures and experiences, to return to destination A. And now here I was only minutes from realising my dream.

  I made a radio call to announce my intentions and shortly thereafter said goodbye to the chopper pilot, who hovered close by the runway abeam where I would touch down. I banked to the left and took a quick look at the crowd below where a number of bright red PC9 Roulette aircraft sat carefully aligned creating a large V on the tarmac, revealing my final parking space.

  I turned downwind and flew parallel to the runway. I stopped looking at the crowd and focused solely on flying the aeroplane. A pilot’s life, regardless of what anyone tells you, is dedicated to making smooth landings in front of others, especially if those watching are fellow pilots. I now had countless people in the crowd, the Roulette pilots and crew and family and friends of which so many were aviators, all waiting to watch my landing. Please, oh higher power somewhere out there, let this be a smooth landing.

  I turned the aeroplane towards the runway and lowered some flap. The Cirrus is a relatively slippery and fast machine but by this point I had completed a few landings and figured I should have it worked out by now. I slowed the plane down and turned one final time to line up with runway 35, the same runway I had used to take off in the heavy Cirrus months before. I looked ahead and focused solely on flying the plane, concentrating on not bouncing the landing. I decreased the power as the painted runway zipped below. The Spirit of the Sapphire Coast slowed down as I held the wheels only inches from the ground and shortly afterwards heard a rumble from the landing gear. I let the nose wheel fall close to the tarmac before holding it in the air, knowing that if I could let it touch the runway softly I would have brought the flight to a successful end, most importantly with a landing to be proud of. Moments later the Cirrus met sedately with the earth, just as I had planned.

  I took a deep breath and let the aeroplane slow down before exiting the runway. I made one last radio call before taxiing towards the crowd. I checked and double-checked that everything was set as it should be, as the last thing I wanted was to be caught up in the hype and excitement and leave the flaps down, an error you learn not to make in initial flight training. I turned towards the crowd and lined up with one of the Roulettes’ crew as he marshalled me in and brought me to a stop at the very tip of the now complete V I had seen from above. I flicked the final switches and pulled the little red handle, ceasing all fuel flow to the engine and bringing silence to the tarmac.

  I was home. I was the youngest pilot and first teenager in history to fly solo around the world.

  Part of me just wanted to sit in the plane and think about what had just happened. Instead, I secured the safety pin into the parachute handle that sat above my head, removed the keys and set them on the dash before opening the door and stepping up and out onto the wing.

  I looked around and waved but there was so much to look at that I couldn’t really take anything in. I stepped down off the rear of the wing and started to walk away before realising I had forgotten something. I quickly turned back and gave the Cirrus a kiss and a pat on its well travelled fuselage.

  I had always laughed when people told me, ‘You will become attached to that aeroplane.’ All I can say is that you certainly learn to appreciate the only object between yourself and thousands of miles of ocean, especially the bits with icebergs in them. There were only two common denominators between each destination, each country, each scary moment, each memory and each achievement: the Cirrus and me.

  I walked around the wingtip and met a group of family and friends on the tarmac and it was hugs all around. I was wide-eyed and dumbfounded, trying to take everything in but not really sure what I should have been feeling or thinking. Mum, on the other hand, was highly emotional and I could tell that there was no way I would be allowed to do this again. Dad was proud, stumped for words, yet knowing that little needed to be said. My brothers Chris and Adam and my sister-in-law Claire were ecstatic. I caught my breath before walking over to the fence to say hello to Nan and Pa. It was a wonderfully emotional moment that I will never forget. No doubt relief was what we all felt, but beyond the risk and stress was a feeling of achievement, not just for me but for so many people. After all, this had been a team effort.

  I shook hands and received a hug from Charles Woolley as the 60 Minutes cameras lingered around us. I couldn’t help contrasting this with the situation so many months before when I’d sat nervously down the road waiting to meet ‘Mr Woolley’ for the first time. Now I could see more than ever that ‘Uncle Charles’ was genuinely excited to be there, part of the team and a friend.

  While I continued to try and take everything in, I stood back at the lectern set up for the festivities where we listened to a number of people speak. The mayor of Wollongong gave an address before my mentor Ken Evers stood up and shared a few stories. Then as a surprise Gary Clark, the inventor of our mascot Ding the Duck, said a few words.

  Gaby Kennard, the first Australian woman to fly solo around the world, had also flown down. To have Gaby take such interest and pass on her congratulations was phenomenal. She was one of only a few people who truly understood what the trip had been like. And there were so many other messages, memories and stories that could form a book in themselves.

  With the more structured proceedings over, I was finally able to say hello to family and friends. I walked along the barrier and met hundreds upon hundreds of people who wanted to chat or to have a photo or my name scribbled on some form of clothing or picture.

  It slowly began to hit me just what this Teen World Flight had been about. Not the world record, but its effect on so many people individually. I had been so fixated during every waking moment on working towards a successful end that I had not seen past it. I had read the social media posts but had not imagined the flight from the perspective of those who were following the whole story. My own passion had been to inspire young kids to become involved in aviation; now there were hundreds, proving that I had been successful. There they were, all crammed up against a fence just waiting to have a chat. Far too soon I was dragged away by my manager Dave Lyall to fulfil media commitments. Dave didn’t want to end the fun either but there were television and radio interviews, and phone calls from journalists. We also had to finish up the filming with 60 Minutes.

  From there I parked the Cirrus with the help of a few friends and tied it down just as it was. I had one other job to do and I was running out of time. This was the day of the federal election. It had taken a lot of manoeuvring and hard work to move my arrival date back one week because of this, originally announced for 14 September by PM Julia Gillard. Annoyingly, once my date had been changed, the new PM had decided to do the same. Thanks for that, Mr Rudd. With my brother I went to the nearest polling booth, where for the first time in my life I was actually old enough to vote.

  From the polling booths we made our way to a local club. The day had grown old and a very patient group of Teen World Flight fans, including many young kids from
the local Air League Squadron, were waiting to say hello. The next few hours passed quickly in telling stories and catching up with family, friends and very important people, such as Ken Evers.

  After that I headed towards the motel. I had an early interview with the Today Show the next morning and planned to leave Wollongong after refuelling. I was flying to Merimbula where another party was planned, and where I would meet many more people who had played such a key role in the flight. I was also looking forward to flying over the Sapphire Coast once again.

  I sat back with a few friends and had dinner and a drink. Most of my family and friends had begun the drive to Merimbula where they would wait for the next day’s celebrations. All this was a little too much to take in, but there was no doubt that I would now have plenty of time to think about it.

  The Today Show interview was quite an experience. We had moved the Cirrus to the correct spot in the early morning light. The sound guy proceeded to wire some sort of microphone into the flight suit while I stood very still trying not to make the task harder than it needed to be. I had an earpiece, obviously stolen from the set of a Bond movie, in my ear. They counted me in and before I knew it I was being spoken to. I looked into the camera just as I had been told, constantly pretending that I was actually looking at somebody and not into the dark black lens. The conversation had turned. I was no longer the kid with a dream, I was no longer hovering on the edge of success or failure. Now I was successful. I had broken the world record, I had succeeded in the first phase of promoting youth in aviation and I had met our fundraising goal with our partner charity, World Youth International.

  Once the crew had packed up and gone home it was almost time for me to do the same, to take off and fly south to Merimbula. I pre-flighted the Cirrus and left it sitting out the front of the Southern Biplane Adventures hangar in Wollongong. The owner Chris and the crew, led by their marketing whiz Andrew Musgrove, had been a great help by looking after me and the aeroplane each time we needed to meet up with media. Even better, Chris had cooked an early morning BBQ to mark the moment. Just before we began to eat I mentioned how dirty the Cirrus had become; the underside of the fuselage was covered in oil and flying with the helicopter at a lower level had brought along its fair share of bugs. After we had finished eating I said goodbye and walked outside to the Cirrus to find two young lads, Riley and Dylan, rolling around underneath it with a handful of now oily rags. I could see they were fixated with flying; the aviation bug had bitten them now too. They were working hard and helping out where they could at Southern Biplanes, including giving the Cirrus a clean for me. I was blown away and excited to see young guys with such a passion.

  With the help of the boys we pulled the aircraft away from the hangar and I clambered in, started up and taxied for a departure to the south. I stayed low as I left Wollongong. I had been looking forward to flying stress-free down this coastline for a long time, and that’s exactly what I did.

  We had another planned ‘welcome home’ event in Merimbula, and after saying hello to the familiar sights of the Sapphire Coast once more, I met up with two other aircraft. Along with Ian, who had visited me in Alice Springs in the Falco, was Drew Done, who also had a Falco. Drew was a member of the Aero Club and one of the hard-working supporters who had put so much work into Teen World Flight. Both Ian and Drew turned their planes around and we flew the remaining distance to Merimbula together. As we neared I heard over the radio the voice of Ian Baker, a supporter and manager of the Merimbula airport. We chatted away to keep the waiting crowd amused and descended a little further before making an inbound radio call. I flew the Cirrus over Merimbula and along the airstrip, a quick glance at the ground showing a large gathering of people waiting on the tarmac.

  After another round of the airport, I slowed down for the very last time and made a turn over what I will always believe is the greatest little town in the nation. I touched down on runway 21 at Merimbula airport, a runway that for me holds too many aviation-related memories to mention here, and taxied towards the final welcoming arch of water. The final marshal just happened to be Dad. I carefully followed his directions, as I always have, being such a wonderful son, and brought the Cirrus to its final stop. Although I had no wish to fly any further it was an almost sad moment to pull the mixture and cut the engine.

  I repeated the movements of the previous day, securing the inside of the plane before stepping onto the wing as the aircraft was connected to a tug and towed through the cheering crowd. I hopped down and walked to the stage, a small box trailer with a portable PA system.

  It is strange what effect little things can have. For someone who thinks maybe a little too much, the trailer was a prime example of what Teen World Flight had become. An achievement based on mateship, the result of the efforts of hundreds if not thousands of people, individuals, not taken over by a corporation, yet achieving all its goals. It wasn’t the size of the trailer that mattered. It was the stories, the memories and the lessons I had learned from all the people standing on that makeshift stage.

  I stepped down from the multipurpose entertainment and mulch-carrying platform and about five metres later was swamped by people who wanted to say hello. I soon learned that the flight had become a subject of serious interest within the local area. The Merimbula News was the source of news about the adventures of the Cirrus and me. I spent the next couple of hours just talking yet again and was blown away by the number of kids who just wanted to touch the plane.

  As the time approached for the lunchtime airline flight the public were whisked from the airfield. It had been so good to see people wandering about looking at the aircraft of various shapes and sizes, something that I think should happen at Australian airports far more often.

  I had a quick break before setting off for the Frogs Hollow airport; after all, it was Sunday afternoon and in my opinion a Sunday afternoon should be spent nowhere else. It was a very special few hours, a great way to end the flight. The caravan rolled on and we left Frogs Hollow and made our way to the local RSL club, the same club where I had spent many nights washing dishes while I was still at school.

  As every pilot knows, it takes airspeed and money to fly. The Merimbula RSL had been my source of money and had given me the opportunity to find the airspeed. We had dinner before gathering around a large TV to watch the 60 Minutes program. I sat among family and friends and watched the culmination of many hours of filming, emails and hard work by the entire 60 Minutes crew. Although every scene was new to those who watched it that night, I would never be able to see the story from their point of view; for me it ignited a million memories at once.

  We left the RSL and came back to our place. I unpacked my bags and sat them on the kitchen table. I had a shower in familiar surroundings and went to bed in an all-too-familiar room.

  At last, finally, I was home.

  EPILOGUE

  On 8 September 2013 I woke up at home in my own bed. No early alarm, no foreign motel room, no ocean to cross, no aircraft to fly. It felt very odd.

  Whether I liked it or not, a significant chapter of my life was over.

  I didn’t realise it then but I was playing a mind game, a ‘choose your own adventure’ where the paved four-lane highway that has had one direction suddenly and unexpectedly branches off into a hundred different back roads, some leading to a dead end but others right back onto that highway, destined for even greater adventures. It was up to me to use the lessons I had learned to choose the right road. Part of that was writing this book.

  I developed a headache from writing so many words, but those that have made it onto paper are simply the culmination of the thoughts whizzing around in my mind, the adventures and the moments that made me think, ‘I am going to tell someone about this one day.’ They have all come together to tell a story, one that I hope will be beneficial. This is the story of a normal kid. I hope your imagination will bring something to it and I hope you can truly take something away.

  I spent hours wondering ho
w I would finish this book, how I could bring the story to an end with the finesse of a storyteller, yet manage to pass on the lessons I wanted to. I wondered whether the best option was just to spill my thoughts into a final chapter, to share what was running through my mind, to have a one-on-one chat with you, the reader, to summarise.

  So here goes.

  I often wonder whether I think too much. In fact I am sure I do, but anyone who is mad enough to want to fly around the world alone probably does anyway. I want to pass on every little bit of advice, every lesson and every experience of the last few years to each and every person on the face of the planet. You shouldn’t have to fly around the world to learn these lessons and change your life in the way I have.

  I started off as a very quiet kid. I couldn’t speak in front of an audience, I was a nervous pilot under pressure and I had very little real world experience. I was a dreamer, often fixating my mind on one thing – the urge to fly, or simply to acquire a cool new toy – and not letting go for quite some time.

  I looked up to people, whether family members or the aerobatic pilot who just scribbled his name on my new favourite poster; I would see the positive qualities in a person and strive to imitate them. I was easily bored. School holidays could not involve simply playing PlayStation, I needed something to do, something to learn or something to build. I was a hands-on kind of kid. Regardless what other kids were up to, I needed something to set my mind on at all times and although time with mates is beyond important, regular weekend parties didn’t quite tick the box. I would soon find something that did.