Brilliant instruction must be one hundred percent accurate, comprehensible and easy to remember. It should result in an immediate change in the student's perceptions, actions, or reactions. I have seen lots of "how to fly" books through the years, but a picture in one of the books has stayed with me since the moment I saw it.

It was a full page picture, framed as properly as any other photograph might be, and captioned at the bottom. The entire picture within the frame was a solid, uniform and uninterrupted black. The simple caption read "Pilot's view as he approaches an unlighted field at night". One look at this picture explained all of the million reasons that night flight in little airplanes requires good equipment, good weather, good planning, and a measure of good luck.

A previous experience had prepared me to accept the wisdom illustrated by this brilliant picture. Almost on a whim, I had my friend shine the headlights of his car down the runway of the old Montour Falls airport, while I did a takeoff and landing. I still remember how quickly I learned things that evening. The swamp at night is a black abyss, and my friend's headlights were but a spot in the darkness. The spot had no up, down, right, or left because there was nothing else to reference it to.

It was a problem that would make a good intellectual exercise in a simulator, or in the company of someone who is experienced, yet foolish enough to accompany you while you learned. I had to rely on various instrument flying techniques while cross checking them with a rough sense of level established by the lights of the village in the distance. Hurtling through the darkness, knowing that the ground is close and getting closer is a poor place to be trying to figure what perceptions are accurate and what needs to be ignored. I was glad hear the rumble of the grass under the wheels.

I learned a lot that night, but it was a long time ago, and in so many intervening years, there are bound to be lapses of both judgement and luck. I have landed using reflector tape, moonlight, and by the fortuitous flash of a lightning bolt. There are lots of things I didn't do though, there are lots of times when I stayed on the ground and waited for silly ideas to go away.

A soft moonlit summer evening got the better of me last weekend, though. My plane was at my favorite hilltop airstrip, the moon was bright overhead, and all the singing nightbugs seemed to say that it was a good night to roll the dice. I gave it brief thought, and decided that they were right.

It wasn't all that foolish, except for the part about flying at night. The airstrip is unlighted, but the moon was bright. I also had my car at the Elmira airport, should a landing on the hilltop prove impossible. I had options.

I arrived at the airstrip and walked along the runway while my eyes finished growing accustomed to the dim light. I took note of how the familiar features looked in the moonlight, and made recollection of where my choices were if the engine were to quit just after takeoff. Having set my plans and options, I started up, taxied out, and took off.

It was interesting right from the start. Full moonlight has always been adequate for me, but in an old tailwheel airplane I had trouble keeping track of the runway edges. I climbed up and made a lazy circle of that corner of Schuyler County while I assimilated my newly gained perceptions. I decided to go to Elmira, but thought that it would be worthwhile to take a look at a landing anyway.

To approach a narrow and unlit countryside runway is a challenge, even in full moonlight. The fact that this particular runway also goes up, over, and back down a hilltop makes the job unreasonable. Simply put, there is no level plane of reference on which to place such a runway as this. Maybe in a trusty Cessna 150 with its big flaps I could have achieved the slow speed and low nose angle necessary to see where I was going. Given enough time and necessity, I could have figured out how to get the job done, but it was late and my plane is loud. I climbed back up, did the smart thing, and headed south.

It was a pleasant hop over the dark hills to the lights of the city. I thought it would make a perfect picture, a lone pilot in his little bubble of dim red light, sharing some quality time with his engine.

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