Romi, Part 2

The Chief Instructor met with Paul and me to discuss Romi. Paul had spent the most time with Romi, and worked hard and long to get her to solo.
"I see some improvement, but it's marginal," he said.
"She will never solo," I said.
"This is a career school for career pilots, and we need to maintain a minimum standard," the Chief Instructor said. "If you have the aptitude, you should solo in less than 20 hours."

Romi's father came into town, and he and Romi met with the Chief Instructor behind closed doors. When they came out, they had come to an agreement. Romi would fly 10 more hours. If she did not solo, she would be out. Romi asked me to be her instructor.

"You said I have a knack for flying," Romi said. I don't remember saying that, or anything close to it.

I scheduled her to fly with me every day for the next week.

The first day we took off and Romi performed one of her signature take-offs: heading for the weeds. I saved the day and we climbed up, heading for the practice area. I had talked to Paul about her training, and he told me the tactics he had tried. He tried soft. He tried tough. He tried encouraging. He tried scary. He tried a half-dozen other approaches, but nothing seem to move Romi.

I watched her fly. She had no sense of the airplane. I covered the airspeed indicator, artificial horizon, tachometer, and altimeter. We practiced engine settings by how loud the engine was. We practiced airspeed by the sound of the wind and adjusting for pitch. We practiced rudder control by aiming at Mt. Everest and steering using only rudders. There were so many areas she was lacking, I decided to concentrate on one area at a time. First, we would work on the rudders.

We headed back to the airport and flew a couple of low passes over the runway. There was a 10-knot crosswind, so she got a good feel for the rudders. We tried a few landings, and she started to get the idea.

The next few days, the visibility was too low to go out into the practice area, so we stayed in the pattern and did touch and goes. Here they call it "Circuits and landings."
"Stay on the centerline," I told her as we took off. She jammed in too much right rudder and I cringed, thinking about the side loads we were creating. She reacted by jamming in the left rudder, and we careened the other way.
"Forget the centerline," I said. "Just keep the airplane straight." My standards were lowering.

For the next 4 days, we did nothing but touch and goes. I kept the instruments covered. She kept improving. The last day, I got into the airplane and decided to say nothing. I wanted to see what she would do.

Her take-off was actually good. On downwind, she asked, "Add flaps now, ma'am?"
I said nothing.
She thought for a moment and added the flaps. She stopped asking me what to do.
Her landing wasn't great, but for the first time I didn't feel my life was in danger.

That day she did 10 landings and take-offs unassisted. She was ready to solo, but the direct crosswind was around 12 knots - too much for a solo student.

That night I mentioned to the Chief Instructor that Romi was ready to solo. I also informed the Dispatcher, because he had to prepare the paperwork. The news spread like wildfire. The Chief Ground Instructor found out. The Kathmandu office found out. Romi and the other students found out. Romi's father found out. The tower controllers found out.

The next morning, I met Romi at the airport. It was hazy and winds were light. We got in the airplane together so I could make sure she hadn't forgotten how to fly overnight.

She did three passable take-offs and landings. Not great, but not dangerous.

I got out of the airplane and she went up to the tower to file her solo flight plan. After she climbed the four flights of stairs, she found the controllers had all locked themselves in the tower and wouldn't open the door. She persisted, and they finally let her in, accepting her flight plan.

The entire hangar crew were seated on the ramp ready for the show. Paul and the Chief Instructor came to watch. Her fellow students came out to give her support.


I gave her the usual pre-solo advice and told her to make 3 landings to a full stop, and to taxi back to the end of the runway for each take-off.

She started up the airplane like a pro and taxied out.

Her take-offs were all great. Her first landing was OK. Her second landing was perfect (even on the centerline). Her third landing was wobbly. At each landing, her normally timid voice became stronger and louder over the radio as she acknowledged the tower.

I realized I had been holding my breath. My heart rate was going back to normal. Others were chatting in that happy, nervous way they do when averting disaster.

She called me from the airplane.
"Please, ma'am, can I do one more?" She didn't want to end on a marginal landing. I said OK.

Recalling my prediction, I swore I would never pre-judge anyone again.

Her approach this time was a little fast, and she landed hard, bouncing 10 feet into the air. At the peak, she added full power and climbed out.
"Good job, Romi," said Paul over the radio. He was proud of her.
"Thank you, sir," we heard her say, no hesitation in her voice.

She came around for one last landing, which went perfect.

It was Valentine's Day, 2008. The day Romi became the first woman to solo an airplane in Nepal.