In aviation, when air traffic control (ATC) alerts you that there is traffic (other aircraft in the vicinity of your flight), your radio response should include whether you have spotted that traffic, whether it is in your way or not, whether you need to move to avoid it, or whether you do not see it. For the last option, you can tell the controller, "We do not have the traffic in sight," or something similarly wordy, but another option for conveying that you do not see the other aircraft is to say, "No joy," which is an old expression indicating that you do not have your target in sight.
I would argue that the expression "No joy" could also be used during flight training, when trying to capture a new certification or endorsement and not quite getting it, or better yet trying to capture the happiness and excitement about flying in the first place. I'm bringing all of this up because, although I turned in consistently good tailwheel landings today, I was not able to capture that feeling of joy from flying that I usually get when I do it. When I popped up in the air in the Super Cub today, the thrill was gone and it felt more like work, like an unattainable goal, like a Sisyphean task, except instead of pushing a boulder up a hill and having it repeatedly roll back down, I bounced those bush tires down on the grass strip just to take off and bounce them down again. Maybe I'm being punished for thinking this was something I could be great at?
Things that could have contributed to my continued but ultimately futile search for my target, joy:
- Hassles encountered upon getting my car out of the parking garage and driving it from the city out to rural New Jersey: Before I even had the opportunity to enter the fray that is the traffic heading towards the Lincoln Tunnel on 9th Avenue, one of the parking attendants yelled at me for politely asking for my car. For once I yelled back (kind of; he was meaner).
- Gusty winds making me work harder for good flying: The winds scared me a bit as my wings got bumped up and down, but that just made the consistently good landings that much more rewarding. But it wasn't fun. I wasn't enjoying anticipating when to put in more aileron for crosswind correction on takeoff, when to crab, or anticipating shear as I came in past a cluster of tall trees. Okay, I did start to enjoy the crosswind correction on takeoff, especially when the Cub leaned on the right tire.
- Negativity from other pilots: Someone I have seen hanging around the airport but not actually flying was intent on criticizing my home airport, Lincoln Park (N07). I myself have written on this blog about feeling intimidated by the tiny strip, but have always been focused on feeling confident to land there (which I finally do), and I don't think negativity or scare tactics help. This pilot continually brought up crashes there, even warning me not to stand too close to the woods near our airplane hangar because I might get hit by a crashing plane. The only upside to this conversation was that for once I said exactly what I would have wished to have said later when ruminating about it, simply responding: "You're intense about Lincoln Park, aren't you? I think we should all be proud of our home airports and we should all try to fly safely."
- Wishing I had the sign-off in my logbook already. I know, I know: "You can't hurry Cub, noooo you'll just have to wait..." [sung to the tune of "You Can't Hurry Love"]
I sure hope the thrill isn't gone away for good for me and the Super Cub, and that in the coming weeks instead of saying, "No joy" about the elusive thrill I can say "Tally ho!" (meaning I have my target in sight).
