Plane and simple

Most people can tell you a story about their experience with a control freak. Whether it's a princess who will wash her feet only in room-temperature Evian water or a back-seat driver who can't help giving his opinion at every turn, the control freak is ubiquitous in all walks of life. I have been told on numerous occasions that I am a member of this subspecies.

When I was offered the chance to take a scenic plane flight over Wollongong recently, I thought it would be a great idea, as long as I was allowed to take the controls.

The two-seater Cessna 152 sounds like a lawnmower flying 2000 feet above the haze. It banks hard, the wings tip like a see-saw and my stomach falls with the turn. The false horizon on the instrument panel is at odds with the lurch of the plane, giving us the appearance of a crucifix as we turn above the smokestacks of the Port Kembla steelworks. I can see the ocean hitting the rocks. “I often see schools of hammerheads out here on clear days like today,” says my flying instructor, Daniele Vicelli, in his thick Italian-Australian accent. Vicelli is a confident teacher and betrays no anxiety as I bring the plane level on my own.

I am the latest recruit in the NSW Air learn-to-fly program, which operates from the Illawarra Regional Airport, 22 kilometres from downtown Wollongong. Open to the public, this can be a one-off experience on a Sunday afternoon or the first step in acquiring a pilot's licence.

Part of Vicelli's job involves aerial patrols of the region's beaches for sharks during summer, search-and-rescue work and charter and scenic flights through the region. I'm taking the scenic flight option for control freaks and with Vicelli's permission I experiment with the pedals of the Cessna, adjust the trim of the flaps and allow the plane to dip towards the ocean.

I feel every bit the Top Gun flyer as we discuss the manoeuvres and circle back towards Kiama and its lighthouse. The tiny plane putters through the sky at a casual 100 knots (about 180km/h).

Out my window I see the blue wings of the Skydive the Beach plane above us. While we enjoy the sights from a modest altitude, the dive plane climbs to 14,000 feet before letting its terrified skydivers drop to earth with nearly 60 seconds of free fall. Neither Vicelli nor I can see any point jumping from a perfectly good plane.

We scan the coast for other flights in our path and turn around, heading south in the direction of the airport. I adjust the flaps along the wings and the Cessna gradually begins to fall: 2000 feet, 1900, 1700 and the cars and people along the streets become visible. We veer left for the circuit that must be completed before our landing. Each plane circles the runway coming in upwind for the final approach to prevent any congestion or mix-ups in the air.