Every pilot always remembers their first solo flight.

It only happens once in your flying lifetime, and it's incredible.
 
On a balmy August evening in 1991, Simon, my flying instructor, did something that put the fear of God in me.
 
Taxiing back to the Aero Club after another successful lesson, Simon called the control tower and said, "Jersey Tower, Golf Bravo Papa Hotel Bravo, student first solo".

I glanced over to see if he was joking. He wasn't. Holy Sheeeeet!

With only 11 hours of flying experience, he was sending me up on my own? That can't be right. I don't have enough skills, and I'm not ready, I thought.
 
"Simon, we haven't had enough lessons yet. I'm simply not good enough right now," my call fell on deaf ears.

"You're ready, Andy. Just repeat everything you've done in the last hour, and you'll nail it, and FFS, enjoy it!" came the reply.
 
As he got out of the plane, I felt tiny. There seemed to be a huge space beside me where he'd been sitting since I began learning to fly.

Now I was on my own as he closed and fastened the door. A tap on the window, two thumbs up, a big grin and he was gone.

This was it; all my training so far was riding on the next 30 minutes.

I started the engine and nervously called for taxi clearance.

The first solo brief was to do one circuit (take off and fly a rectangular pattern around the airfield, land, and taxi back to the Aero Club).

It sounds easy enough, but I must have completed my check three times.
 

I was about to take an aircraft into the sky without anyone there to help me if something went wrong or I forgot what to do.
 
Our self-limiting beliefs can be almost paralysing. If Simon had given me an out that day, I'd have taken it, telling myself that I wasn't yet ready for this huge moment in my life.

Final checks were complete(for the 4th time), and I was rolling down the runway.

"Airspeed alive, RPM good, temperatures and pressures good, 50 knots, 60 knots, rotate…"

Half terrified, I began to climb out at 80 knots.
 
One of the most precarious phases of flight is the takeoff. We're low, slow and often heavy with fuel and passengers, so an engine failure at this point is not on the list of good things, particularly on a single-engine aircraft.
 
Our pre-takeoff brief always includes where we might be able to land if we have an engine failure after take-off (EFATO). We train for and practice this all the time, but it's always a nice feeling to reach initial cruising height.
 
The two most useless things in aviation are the runway behind you and the sky above you. On this mission, it was so far, so good.
 
My first turning point in the pattern was Noirmont, an old Nazi gun emplacement left over from the second world war when the Germans occupied the Channel Islands.
 
Then it was a straight' downwind,' flying a parallel track to the runway. This is where we started making our pre-landing checks before the second-to-last turn.

At this point, we call air traffic control and tell them we are 'downwind for a full stop' — which means we are landing after this circuit.

I was hoping for the standard ATC reply when things are quiet, which would be: "You're number 1; call short final for runway 09"

This means that there are no other aircraft in front of us to land, so we have priority to make our approach and call ATC about half a mile from touchdown.

No such luck today…
 
"Golf Hotel Bravo landing traffic is a Boeing 737 on a 10-mile final. Hold at Corbiere and report the traffic in sight."

Things just got a bit busier for me.
 

It's the funniest thing, when you have an instructor sitting next to you, a hold before landing (basically flying around in circles for a bit) whilst looking out for other aircraft seems like the easiest thing in the world.
 
But on your first solo with sweaty palms and adrenaline off the scale,I was like, "Really? Today of all days?"
 
I rolled the aircraft into a left-hand turn, trying my best to keep straight and level at 1,000 feet while maintaining my airspeed.

Once British Airways had graced us with their presence, I was cleared to land.
 
"Golf Hotel Bravo cleared to land runway 09, surface wind 010 at 10 knots"

At least the wind was being kind, blowing almost straight down the runway.

Now the tricky bit.
 
I'd struggled in the early days with my landings, but Simon had got me sorted out, so now was the ultimate test. Could I get this thing safely back on the ground on my own?
 
The approach wasn't my best — a little high and a little low — but I crossed the threshold and gently touched down on the long runway.

From Air Traffic: "Congratulations on your first solo, Hotel Bravo taxi back to the club".
 
I think I had tears in my eyes, but I know my grin was bigger than Simon's when I shut down the engine.

The first beer in the bar tasted very good indeed.

My solo was the most exciting and exhilarating thing I'd done in my life.
 

The feeling of going from being a passenger to being a pilot in command was immense. All the fears, doubts, and little nagging voices in my head were gone. 

At that point, I realised what taking control was all about.

It had been about finding the belief that I could do something worthwhile, taking action, putting in the work, and pushing through my comfort zone.

I would take this forward into the rest of my life.

It had also been about having someone else believe in me. Simon had trained me well and had total confidence that I could take that aeroplane up and bring it back safely.
 
It's a massive decision for a flying instructor to send their student on their first solo, but Simon believed in me.
 
There is nothing quite like being in control of an aeroplane. No matter how small or large it is, being in control of your own destiny (and others') is the most exciting thing in the world.
 
I love any type of flying; even being a passenger is fun. But when you make that decision to commit to being in control, it's absolutely liberating.
 
I always have a few nerves whenever I walk out to the aircraft I'm going to fly, but once I'm up there and when I land at my destination, the feeling of accomplishment is incredible.

And here's the parallel of being a business owner...

When you commit to becoming a business owner, you must become the pilot. The days of being a passenger in your life are over. You are going to take control, push through your comfort zone, and have total belief and an unwavering vision of what you're going to achieve.

 
Side Note: My flying instructor was one of the kindest, most honourable people you could ever meet. After building up his hours as an instructor, he went on to his dream job as a Fleet Captain, flying 146 jets out of London until one Saturday evening when he was on his motorbike.
 
In a freak accident, two other motorcycles heading in the opposite direction collided with Simon, and he and one other were killed instantly.
 
I still, to this day, cannot believe it, and I was utterly heartbroken when I heard the news.
 
When people fly so many hours in their lives, you think that the one thing which may take them early is an aircraft accident. The fact that Simon was killed on the road at only 41 years of age still doesn't compute with me.
 
Simon lived life to the fullest and grabbed it by the horns every single day. He followed his dream and created his perfect day with his beautiful wife. Sadly, he flew west far too soon.
 
If there's anything we can take away from this tragedy; it's for us to have the same ethos as Simon; go after what you want, don't settle and take that damn aeroplane into the air.

RIP Simon, you're with me every time I fly.