Challenge accepted

“Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go,” so sayeth T.S. Eliot.

A poet, literary critic, publisher, and recipient of the Nobel Prize for literature, T.S. often had something to say. Something of value, I’d wager. His well considered commentary is worth us taking note of, even now nearly 60 years after he left this earth.

There is a difference between a daredevil and an explorer. The daredevil takes risk specifically to realize a short-term reward — often in the form of money, or in our modern society, clicks on social media. Daredevils advance themselves. Their exploits do little, if anything, to advance society as a whole, or science, or technology.

The explorer, on the other hand, accepts risk willingly, but only after weighing the potential benefits against the severity of the hazard. Their goal may involve a monetary gain. But that’s a secondary consideration to the event itself. Anyone who pushes for more knowledge or skill in an effort to achieve a higher level of understanding for themselves and others is an explorer.

As a pilot you qualify. Welcome to the explorers club.

Joe Kittinger was such a man. Thought by many to be a daredevil for his most well-known exploit, which the public at large considered to be a stunt, he was in truth a serious, studied, cautious man who took note of the risk and reward calculus before stepping into the history books.

In Kittinger’s case, he rode an open gondola suspended below a gas balloon to nearly 20 miles above the surface of the Earth. Once there he stepped off the vehicle and fell into the void. He plummeted downward with the force of gravity for 4 minutes and 38 seconds. On his way he accelerated to over 700 miles per hour.

Joe Kittinger was not a daredevil. His adventure was the culmination of a series of tests intended to provide useful information to a nation that was preparing to launch humans into space. Understanding specific variables that might affect the recovery of those astronauts was worth the risk.

He went far, but not too far. His willingness to accept considerable risk for the benefit of others moved the goalposts in favor of technology.

In 2012 Kittinger was again involved as a technical specialist when Felix Baumgartner repeated the experiment from an even higher altitude. The capsule he rode in was far superior to the one Kittinger flew. It flew higher so that Baumgartner could fall farther and faster. Today the Red Bull Stratos sits on display on the floor of the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center in Virginia.

Both Kittinger and Baumgartner explored the limits of human understanding. The result was beneficial to the development of space suits and parachute systems. Important information was gained about the impact of extreme conditions on the human body.

Each of these explorers has been referred to as a daredevil. Nothing could be further from the truth. Their leaps of faith were based on a quest for knowledge, not cash or clicks.

Of course, there is a parallel between Joe and Felix and you. Any one of us could — and should — take a modicum of pride in that. Beyond the obvious point that all three are human beings with all the pluses and minuses that come with our species, as a pilot you have confronted the same issues they did in terms of risk, decision-making, success, and celebration.

Unlike Joe and Felix, most of us did not become pilots to expand the limits of science or technology. We took that leap in an effort to expand our own horizons. To learn new skills, adapt to new information, and accept the challenge of taking fate for a walk around the block to see if we could perform at a level few ever attempt.

Congratulations. You did it.

Somewhere in the memory banks of every steely-eyed fighter pilot, every high-time airline captain, and every calm and collected CFI is the memory of a first solo flight. The nervousness of that moment when we found ourselves alone in the cockpit with sweaty palms mixed with the elation that we’re finally going to go it alone. We recall the enhanced performance of our little machine, as it leapt off the ground more quickly with the weight of our CFI removed from the equation.

How could anyone forget the unrestrained joy as we climbed upward, turned crosswind, enjoying the view, the freedom, the absolute delight of being in control of an aircraft on our own.

Then the serious pressure set in. As we join the downwind and cross mid-field we got focused on the task at hand. Flying through the air is easy, we thought. Putting this beast on the runway without pranging the nosewheel, darting off into the grass, floating half-way down the landing strip, or doing something truly and unimaginable stupid — well that’s a different thing entirely.

That landing may not have been our best, but it almost certainly was our most important touchdown. We tested ourselves and won. We took on a challenge and found success. We learned with absolute certainty that we are more capable than we’d realized. We can learn. We can perform. We can fly.

It is my deepest hope that you will never divert from the path Joe and Felix set out for us.

While others may see us as daredevils who throw caution to the wind, we know a deeper truth. We analyze each situation independently. We anticipate issues that might arise. We develop a Plan B, and C, and D just in case Plan A falls apart. We calculate risk, recognize reward, and act accordingly.

As good old, T.S. Eliot suggested, we risked going too far (with a CFI on board), so that we could learn how far we could go, (on our own).

No regrets. Not one.

Game on.