It’s a warm, sticky August morning in Florida, and even the stiff breeze swirling in through the Cub’s open door fails to refresh. I wipe my brow and adjust my ball cap, then peer intently at the lake we’re approaching. It’s not just the climate making me sweat; I’ve been working hard, and things just aren’t clicking, though this is my 18th or 19th landing of the flight. “OK, Sam,” says my young instructor, Chris Taylor, from the front seat, “go ahead and set up for a glassy water landing.” It’s an apt choice; the conditions won’t be simulated this time, for the wind has very nearly died. Besides, my landings have been pretty ugly with depth perception. Perhaps I’ll do better without it.
I go through the “WLNOT” checklist,…
