Yesterday I finished my last flight for the year. I parked the aeroplane, shut down the engine. Heat ticked out of the engine, and I closed the door knowing that this year of flying was completed.
On paper, the numbers look good:
40 hours for the year
33 flights
25 flights with an instructor beside me, teaching and watching.
23 hours alone, the quiet kind of flying where every decision was mine.
2 hours ICUS1. A small number, but certainly a significant one.
Across my flying journey, 80 hours now sit in my logbook. 40% of the hours needed for my CPL. Numbers that look modest until you remember that behind every single one of them was hours of study, time found, money earnt and saved, and weather waited out.
This year, the real milestones don’t show up neatly in the columns of my logbook.
April 20th. Passing the Recreational Pilot License flight test. Not a celebration flight. A measured one. Calm hands. Steady voice. Proof that my foundations were solid.
May 25th. My first flight as Pilot in Command. Same aeroplane. Same airport. Same airspace. Entirely different kind of responsibility.
June 1st. Beginning my Private Pilot License training. The point where flying stopped being learning to fly and started becoming learning to think.
June 3rd. My first passenger carrying flight. Suddenly I could share my passion with others.
November 11. Passing the Private Pilots License theory exam. No propeller turning. No avgas smell. Just quiet confidence, countless hours of study and learning, and a result earned the hard way.
Then there are the places I have flown this year.
Camden – my home base, familiar.
Shellharbour – stunning coastline, challenging winds.
Cessnock – vineyards to admire from the air, and the best airport cafe.
Orange – high altitude, and a very long taxi.
Bathurst – busy, cold and framed by the country.
Bankstown – controlled airspace, requiring discipline and professionalism.
I’ve often heard people describe flying as a series of small moments that only later reveal their importance. For the majority of the flying this year, nothing felt overly historic at the time. They felt ordinary. And that is the point. Progress in aviation is rarely dramatic. It is cumulative.
So this year of flying closes not with fireworks, but with a quiet satisfaction. The knowledge that when the engine stopped today, it stopped with a pilot that had more understanding than it had at the start of the year. More judgement. More patience.
The logbook closes for 2025. Here’s to another fantastic year of flying in 2026.
- ICUS = In Command Under Supervision – in other words ‘under examination’ ↩︎