I'm not very good with holidays. Beaches drive me crazy, resorts I find dull beyond compare, organised glee the depths of banality. But give me an aircraft to fly in and an airfield to bum around, and I am as happy as can be. I was in Florida after a visit to America, and since my love of seaplanes is well known I decided to treat myself to a course at Jack Brown's seaplane base and the 'single sea' rating. It had been raining solidly for two days when I arrived, big heavy rain drops that you get in Florida that pummel the surface of the lake into a grey mist. Even the ducks were staying indoors and the student pilots at Winterhaven (where Mari was learning to fly) were off in Orlando buying cheap Levis.

The rain stopped abruptly one night - rain can be measured in days, here - and the sudden quiet woke us up. The morning was clean and fresh and warm and I hurried down to Jack Brown's seaplane base where a waterlogged runway is a prerequisite, not a nuisance. JB_s is built on stilts on the lake so you can hear the water gently lap beneath the decking, and is equipped with seat to watch the sun go down, student pilots wobble into the sky and alligators cruising around like submarines in a Scottish loch. (yes, true - no-one goes swimming here and dogs are routinely eaten if not careful) I was introduced to Maurice Roundey, who turned out not only to be my instructor but also the owner of not one but three Lockheed Constellations - the newest of which is airworthy. It seemed a bit unfair, him owning three when some of us don_t have any, but after he told me that his ‘Super Constellation_ burned about 500 gallons an hour, I told him I didn_t want one after all. He keeps it over at the Kermit Week's museum and is slowly emptying its tanks to feed his little Cessna 150 runabout. Over the next hour we talked float planes. Idle taxi, plow taxi and step taxi, the use of water rudder, glassy water operations and the technical issues surrounding attaining the seaplane rating.

There was a lot to learn but as is so often with flying, the complexities ease away when the earth slips away and practical demonstrations take place. Once done we walked out to where the Sea cubs were docked at the slipway. Jack Brown's has four of these, all charmingly shabby converted 40_s J3 cubs with an 85 HP engine and slightly oversized floats for a margin of error. They look more like bath toys than aeroplanes, bobbing at their moorings and a more simple aircraft it would be harder to imagine as they are, incredibly enough, simpler than a standard J3. They have no wheels, suspension, or brakes. The only complication to the braced floats are two water rudders which act from the air rudder and are raised and lowered by a simple toggle and hook affair rigged up next to the rear seat. The floats themselves are riveted aluminium and are compartmentalised, again, for safety.

After instructing me to strap in the rear seat and pushing us off, Maurice flicked the engine into life, climbed aboard and with water rudders down we taxied off to the downwind end of the lake, taking careful note of the waves and the 'glassy water band' to make sure I took off directly into wind. Once at the downwind end of the lake we weathercocked into wind, set carb heat to 'cold', checked the area ahead and above, made sure the water rudders were 'up', then stick aft and full power. The nose rises steeply, pauses, then rises another couple of degrees as we start to move forward. After a few seconds the nose tends to drop again and the stick is allowed to move forward as we gain speed and start to rise on to 'the step'. This is where the really exhilarating fun bit starts as the aircraft starts to gain speed and the floats make a slap-slap-slap noises as they ride the little wavelets. A slight back pressure is needed to keep it on the step and avoid any danger of the floats digging in, and pretty soon we are planing happily across the surface, the aeroplane feeling more like a motorboat on the water. We are past 40 MPH airspeed by now and the acceleration increases, until, quite without warning, the aircraft flies itself from the water. I push the nose down a tad and we climb out straight ahead, over the lakeside properties, across the highway, past the threshold of Winter Haven's 11 runway and above another lake. I had expected to turn left at 300' to continue the circuit pattern as per the briefing but no, the training is carried out not at Jack Brown's but at any one of the thirty or so lakes that dot the countryside within the ten mile radius of Winter Haven. From the air I can see now why it is known as 'Lakeland'. There is a lake at least every two miles in every direction, most with lakefront properties, all of which have a jetty, most of which have a boat, and sometimes a floatplane, too.

We have no radio although we operate within Winterhaven's airport. They explain this away due to the fact that a) They have never operated a radio since the base opened and b) water operations should be as simple as possible. This is all fine to me so after a bit of stalling, slow flight and steep turns with the floats on, Maurice chooses a lake for me to practise a standard approach. This consists of a circuit at 500' once the wind direction is established, carb heat opposite the touch down point, area checked clear and water rudders checked up. By the time we turn base we are at 300', over the shoreline on finals at about 50. Approach fairly steep, cut power when we have 'made the water', round out at ten feet and a gentle flare to something not unlike the climb out position, and hold. The water gently moves up to greet us, the floats skim the surface and the aircraft settles into the water, decelerating off the step and coming to rest in quite a short distance. We cut the power and bob happily on the surface. Pure bliss. Can it be possible to have any more fun? I start to think about the 'Twinbee' amphibian on the ramp at JB's and think that quite possibly there might be - but not for this trip, nor this wallet.

Maurice now shows how the aircraft can be sailed with the water rudders up and pointing the stick in the direction we want to go and giving opposite rudder. I do this and we move backwards down the lake, watching the wake of the floats to gauge direction and speed. I try it the other way and that works quite well, too. After a few minutes of this Maurice climbs out and restarts the engine so we can try 'plow turns' and step taxi which is a bit like being on a speedboat. The step stage is reached and the power reduced to about 2100 to stop the aircraft flying off. This is used to taxi long distances and is good silly fun - quite steep turns can be achieved in this manner although care has to be taken when turning from downwind to upwind as the combined effect of centrifugal force and wind can tip one over, so you minimise this risk by pointing the stick into wind. We zipped around the lake twice in this manner, Maurice explaining that in a small lake you may need to step taxi once round to be able to have enough flying speed to get airborne in the limited space available. So we tried that too, doing a quick circuit, straightening into wind, selecting full power and lifting off very quickly.

For the next two hours, and for two hours after lunch, we practised the various forms of taxi, landings and takeoffs. This all great fun and a lot easier than I thought - if you can imagine a 40 acre area of flat asphalt on which to land your nosewheel aircraft, you get a good idea of what it is all about. Next we tried glassy water techniques. This, in seaplane terms, is the killer. On a glassy water landing you have no idea where the surface of the water is, and looking into it to gauge your landing flare is useless as all you will sea are the clouds or a deep blue sky. The technique is simple and ingenious : you pick your last 'Last Visual Reference' or 'LVR' which is usually the shore but can be reeds, weeds, fishing boat or even, it is claimed, a previously dropped rubber duck. As you pass this point you pitch the aircraft up to the landing attitude, wait a few moments to get rid of excess speed, then select 1700 RPM, thus setting up the aircraft into a 100 FPM descent. The far horizon on the lake is kept rigidly against your own visual reference on the cub (to me, the front windscreen supports) and is maintained until the floats gently touch the surface of the lake. This takes some concentration as it is very tempting to look out of the side to see where you are, but once the technique is rigidly observed, is quite satisfying - the only wheeze that helps you is to be as low as possible when you pass your LVR - otherwise the slow descent can last twenty seconds or more. Glassy water take-offs can also be tricky as the smooth water is much more sticky and can, on occasion, actually hold the aircraft onto the water. In this instance the aircraft is moved to the left hand float once on the step and flown off from there, the stick moving a gentle 'box' pattern as you go left to rise on the left float, back to take off, central to level the wings and forward slightly to gain airspeed.

So that's what we did for the four hours, practising these approach and landings, more taxiing skills, alligator spotting and generally having fun. And it is fun, really good fun. Cub flying in the bright sunshine is hard to beat anyway, but Sea cub flying in the sunshine with the doors open and a 12' float obscuring your view below is better still.

On day two we went over the approaches again and I was given a check ride and oral examination - a US peculiarity and something they do for the FAA licence which is an excellent idea. The check ride all went well and after we landed, or alighted, to be precise, there was nothing left but to fill out all the details and issue me with an FAA pilot's licence, now complete with seaplane rating.

And the funny thing is, I don't either need one or have an aircraft to use it on, nor will fly one again until I return to America. No matter. Money well spent. A holiday most highly recommended.