King's LynnFlying, for me, is an almost shamanic experience. My occasional flights on commercial airliners have often brought home to me the tiny scale of our globe. In 2014, for example, I flew from England to Egypt, via the Mediterranean. The experience of flying over the vast patchwork of continental Europe, the Alps, the Albanian and Greek coasts, and the Greek Islands triggered a shift to a wider consciousness. I fully understand, then, why so many astronauts experience what Frank White terms an 'overview effect,' or cognitive shift in awareness that comes from seeing the whole Earth in space.
This April, I was lucky enough to be taken up in a Cessna for a more modest flight, by a friend who's just received his pilot's license. The flight was from Rutland to Norfolk, but it was enough to get the same sense of this shift in consciousness. I hope that the accompanying photographs are enough to convey some of the wonder of the experience.
Our flight path was over Spalding, Wisbech, King's Lynn and the Norfolk coast, to Wells-Next-the-Sea. Wells was once the home of my Grandparents, and very familiar to me from childhood holidays. It's a different experience from the Air.
The Norfolk beaches are wide, and fringed by mudflats that have many arterial river channels carved in them, and they go on for miles.
Viewing the Holkham estate from the air was also a novel experience, very different from the beach and pinewood rambles of my childhood. Afterwards, we followed the Norfolk coast, over the wildlife reserves and past the RAF bombing range over the North Sea.
Wells channel showing the caravan park,
pinewoods and beach.
The Lifeboat station at Wells
Mud flats and meanders
Flight is a nice example of what philosopher Mario Costa called the 'technological sublime.' Suddenly, you're working on a larger scale, as the houses, fields, woods, streets, towns and roads below dwindle in scale and individual people become almost invisible. Because of your increased speed, the cars and trucks on the roads crawl along at a much slower pace, almost as if you're on a relativistic flight.
It's so easy, living inland in England, to forget that you're living on a tiny island in the Atlantic. I think that the wider value of flight is to remind us, subtly, of the larger background on which our little lives play out, of which we are still largely unconscious.