Sometimes life offers you the nicest of surprises.

Mine came two weeks ago in the form of an email invitation to join some sailing friends on a pleasure flight over and around the Island in a four-seater Cessna.

I accepted immediately.

My lucky invite was a result of the efforts of 16 pilots who banded together to form Vector Ltd. in order to bring a Cessna 172 to the Island on a three-month lease arrangement.

My kind host being one of these 16 pilots, Stuart Clare, I headed to the Longtail Aviation hangar on St. David’s Road on a sunny Sunday afternoon — with the help of a lift from my fellow passenger (thanks again, Paige) — and tried to pretend to myself that I was not afraid of flying.

This was rather difficult as I am afraid of flying, although I have never found that a good enough reason to stay home.

I reminded myself that I prefer flying on small aircraft to jets — I know it is illogical, I am often very illogical — and that we probably would not be going up that high. I also reminded myself it would probably be my only opportunity to go up in a private plane and to check out the private plane area of the Airport — so fears be damned.

As we checked in with Airport Services Bermuda (ASB), as all pilots and passengers in that area are required to do, I have to admit I did feel pretty cool — I even wore my aviator shades for good measure.

When we walked out onto the tarmac, there were a few private jets around, and Stuart informed us — his flight crew for lack of a better word — that the first thing that had to be done was full check of the plane. I thoroughly approved of this course of action, but was a little unnerved when I saw the plane — it looked so tiny, it looked so fragile.

The pilot talked my fellow passenger, Paige Rouse, and I through what he was doing and I was amazed to learn that the fuel — regular jet fuel — is kept in the plane’s wings.

I was also amazed at how light the plane seemed. The Cessna 172 weighs just 667 kilograms when empty.

The reality of what we were about to do was setting in as we walked about the plane, looking at all its nooks and crannies. There were many places that looked as if they might be accessed by an inadvertent bird, causing havoc.

I had flown in small aircraft before — in Nazca, Peru and over Angel Falls in Venezuela — and I could well remember how terror inducing it was to simply hit a few fluffy clouds.

My hands began to sweat and tremble and then I got the good news — I was going to get to sit in the front seat.

The plane is equipped so that it can be flown from either the left or right side. Stuart opted for the left and I took my place on the right and tried to comfortably arrange my headphones with my aviators.

Stuart has been flying for 15 years, having received his first one-hour flying lesson as a birthday gift while he was in Florida.

From the first time he took to the air, he was hooked and immediately set about the process of qualifying as a pilot.

“Your first solo flight is so exhilarating,” he said.

By day, Stuart is a senior vice president of investment operations at XL, but every spare moment he can get, he likes to take to the skies.

“I really enjoy the feeling of independence that flying a plane gives you,” he said.

He seemed to know exactly what he was doing as we headed for take-off but I was a wreck.

My stomach was in my throat as we taxied along — which really feels just like driving in a highly unstable car — and I began to worry about the possible humiliation of vomiting in the sky in front of my sailing buddies. Very un-cool even in this season’s hot aviators.

Communications between Stuart and air traffic control crackled in my ear as we lifted off.

I am sure a normal person it would have found the take-off smooth — but in my highly agitated state, I was certain we were wobbling madly.

To fly around Bermuda, for security reasons, planes must fly at at least 2,500 feet.

As we climbed to just around 1,000 feet, I looked down and the Island seemed perilously far away.

I tried not to think about John F. Kennedy Jr. (sigh) and then began staring at the altimeter — of all the instruments before me, this one obsessed me.

After a few minutes of staring at the dashboard, I realised that in my terror I was missing the flight and forced myself to resume looking out the window.

The day was a perfect, warm, cloudless October wonder. The kind of day when you can really remember why you love to live here.

And that you are one of the luckiest people in the world to be able to do so.

From 2,500 feet, Bermuda looked much like it did from 1,000 and this relaxed me a little — plus a gentle reminder to myself that I had once jumped out of a plane at 3,500 feet. (Mind you I was 21 years old at the time and it took a lot of bullying on the part of the jumpmaster.)

The first thing that strikes you is, of course, the beauty but that is followed quickly by an amazement at how tiny the Island appears.

And the water is so clear, even from the plane, that you can see the reefs in such detail you might as well be bobbing in a boat on top of them. Next, is the haphazard appearance of the Island’s housing distribution — incredibly congested areas seem to be separated from large and luxurious expanses by mere feet.

It is very enlightening but makes one worry for the future in now building-obsessed Bermuda.

About 15 minutes into the hour-long flight, I began to relax a little. Our voyage was very smooth due to the absence of clouds. I was pretty much dumbfounded by the views and the experience and may not have been great company for Stuart and Paige, who did not get a lot of chit chat from me. But hey, at least I did not vomit.

As I grew more and more comfortable floating about in the sky, time started to zoom by.

We toured the Island thoroughly and tried to spot our own houses. Euphoria took dominance over my nervous state as we soared along the sparkling South Shore and I wondered how we appeared to those on the ground.

Having left the tarmac at around 1 p.m., the skies around the Airport were growing busy.

Private planes were arriving and commercial airlines were departing and there was a steady crackle of communication from air traffic control in my ear.

The traffic volume bought us a little more time in the air as we waited for the clear to land.

I definitely liked the descent more than I did the ascent, and while I expected us to land with a thud, Stuart brought us down light as a feather.

As we taxied back to the Cessna’s spot, we noticed a lot more private planes seemed to be on the ground now — some with engines blazing and seemingly about the leave.

It was very tempting to pop aboard and have a peek but I resisted the temptation and possibly arrest. But if any of those jet owners or operators is looking for a passenger, they can always call me at The Royal Gazette.

My aviators are still relatively intact and I promise not to vomit.