November 1969: I am returning from a cross-country flight in my Cessna 150 to my home runway which was 2,000 feet long. I had all of about 20 hours flying experience and was proud of how well I flew. My approach was to the side of the runway that overhung a cliff.
Everything was normal unit short final approach when someone pressed the down button on the elevator. Everything rose in the windshield until I was looking OUT, level with the runway instead of out and down at it. I was about 100 feet out and the side of the cliff was approaching at 65 miles an hour.
I was caught in a severe downdraft.
I pulled back on the yoke and slammed the throttle into the firewall. The plane shuttered, the stall warning horn wailed in protest and the wheels punched down on “brick one” of the runway.
I was glad I had 1,999 feet 11 and a half inches of runway left because my knees were shaking too much to apply the brakes. It was as close to an involuntary bowel movement as I’ve ever had at the controls of an aircraft.
I should have died that day.
I had two takeaways from the experience.
The first was to fly a steeper approach and aim further down the runway.
The second was that every day since, all over over 20,000 of them, are a gift. All I have done, everyone I have loved since then has been precious to me.
November 1969: I am returning from a cross-country flight in my Cessna 150 to my home runway which was 2,000 feet long. I had all of about 20 hours flying experience and was proud of how well I flew. My approach was to the side of the runway that overhung a cliff.
Everything was normal unit short final approach when someone pressed the down button on the elevator. Everything rose in the windshield until I was looking OUT, level with the runway instead of out and down at it. I was about 100 feet out and the side of the cliff was approaching at 65 miles an hour.
I was caught in a severe downdraft.
I pulled back on the yoke and slammed the throttle into the firewall. The plane shuttered, the stall warning horn wailed in protest and the wheels punched down on “brick one” of the runway.
I was glad I had 1,999 feet 11 and a half inches of runway left because my knees were shaking too much to apply the brakes. It was as close to an involuntary bowel movement as I’ve ever had at the controls of an aircraft.
I should have died that day.
I had two takeaways from the experience.
The first was to fly a steeper approach and aim further down the runway.
The second was that every day since, all over over 20,000 of them, are a gift. All I have done, everyone I have loved since then has been precious to me.