I get that some will not be particularly interested in reading about this, so to that end I offer it in two versions. The first is kind of a "just the facts, mam" police report version.
I went flying one day last month but had an engine out and glided to a perfect landing in a farmer's field. The problem was fixed and I took off from the field only to have a second engine out within seconds causing a stall with no good options to land. The plane augured into the field from 50-75 feet, nose first upside down. I was taken to the hospital with relative minor injuries and am on my way to a full recovery but my plane was destroyed.
The end.
For those wanting the full story with all the lip smacking gory details, I offer this second version.
I have wanted to fly for decades but kept putting it off because there was always something that we decided was a higher priority. When I finally took the plunge 10 years ago, it was a major withdrawal from the marital love bank. A boy has to do what a boy has to do and I was like a dog chasing a bone.
Besides the financial hit, there was a much greater time commitment involved than I would have expected and it never really let up. First, it was 4 summers of building the plane. Then it was flying lessons. Then it was gaining enough 'seat time' to be a safer pilot. Then it was adding floats. Then it was getting my passenger carrying rating, float pilot rating and finally my certified instructor rating. Then it was endless maintenance. Then there were two accidents (one mechanical, one entirely my fault) with their attendant major repairs. Then it was time to rebuild the engine, more maintenance, yada, yada, yada. I did the work, but it was at great cost to Janice too but she never wavered in her support.
Building your own plane and flying was like getting married. You have a good idea what you're getting yourself into without having a clue about the details. And, as we all know, the devil is in the details. I had gone to the nth degree to get everything ready for the grand finale.... 48 hours away from bringing my baby home to the island at last. I had built a floating aircraft carrier for it, had a refueling station in the works and was constantly asked by all "when are you going to fly it home?"
Finally, on July 24 th I flew for a final systems check and to double check that the retracting landing system would perform properly (an amphibious airplane has wheels that can retract in the floats for water landings) and treated myself to a nice long flight. At about the half way point after doing a couple of touch-and-go landings at an outlying airport just for fun, I set out for another airport on my return home.
I was at 1500 feet when the engine just stopped. Never a welcome lack of sound at altitude, but one I have experienced a few times before. The purpose of a propeller is to cool the pilot. If you doubt that, watch as he begins to sweat when it stops. As unwelcome as the experience is, training and hundreds of practice forced landing runs prevented panic. So, I picked a decent field, glided over towers and high tension wires nearby, threw the plane in a mad side slip to lose altitude and airspeed and landed in a farmer's tilled field with knee high grass. No muss, no fuss and textbook perfect. Except for being where I did not belong, there was nothing worse for wear.
As I have always done when caught in a pickle away from home, I got on the phone to my buddy (and stellar mechanic) to come to my rescue. And as always, he and another pilot friend hooked a trailer to his pick up and drove to my rescue. Hours later they arrived and immediately found and fixed the problem on the engine. After a serious test to ensure all was well and towing my plane to the end of the field, I decided that if possible (the field being real bumpy), I would try to take off. If it was too rough or I got airborne too late I would simply abort.
So, off I went. The field was rough but I managed to get off the ground and airborne. This was a field, not an airport so it had limited length with tall trees around it and a big ditch and the farm house at the end. The plan was to simply turn through a large opening in the trees and keep climbing. At the exact moment I got into the turn, the engine quit... again. I was in the exact spot and position that for only a few seconds left me with no good landing options. People sometimes talk of home built or amateur built airplanes. I prefer to describe it as handmade or custom built. The irony is that the only part(s) that have ever failed on my airplane were purchased from manufacturers. Any part I ever built operated flawlessly.
In spite of dropping the nose to maintain airspeed, the plane stalled and I augured in from 50-75 feet up at about 35+ MPH nose first, upside down. I was hanging from the wreckage by my right leg with my foot caught on something so I worked my foot free from my shoe and dropped to the ground. Within seconds my friends were there and I got a free ride in an ambulance to the hospital. The paramedic asked me how high I was when I crashed. I said "Well, when I crashed I was at zero feet". She turned to the doctor and said "We have a comedian on our hands".
The next 6 hours involved x-rays, blood work and checking me from head to toe. The nurse asked me if I wanted her to call my wife. I said no, that I would call her myself "In about 3 months, right after I get her the number of a good divorce lawyer". Bandages were liberally applied but the worse were the 5 stitches on one leg. I was badly bruised from head to toe, had multiple minor cuts, contusions and abrasions but not a single puncture or broken anything. I didn't remember undoing my seat belt and harness but I had gotten out on my own. It was later I learned that one of the seat belt attach points had broken with the force of the impact and I had slid out. That would explain the black and blue striped bruises on my chest.
Feeling like a bus had run over me and looking like I had lost a serious bar fight, with great difficulty I walked out of that hospital wishing I could fly home. I spent the next 18 days in a La-Z-Boy at home. I even slept in it as turning on my side was too painful. I was so sore that even my hair hurt. I maybe bullet proof but that doesn't mean I can't take a hit. Ever so slowly, I have been getting back on my feet.
The obvious question is what now? It was a decision I made on my way home from the hospital. I am not afraid of flying and if I was single I would go back up in a New York minute. I have had 3 serious accidents, 2 of them mechanical and until now have always walked away without so much as a bruise. That does not count the hair raising 'experiences' I had along the way but I was careful to never share with anyone but fellow pilots.
I decided that I simply could not put Janice or my kids through this again. I flashed back years ago to when I had a motorcycle. I loved riding it, but one day someone hit me and I was out of work for a while my foot healed. I remembered the saying that having an accident - even if not your fault - was not a question of IF, but a question of WHEN. I had a year old daughter and did not want her to grow up without her dad so I gave up motorcycling. This time I said I would find a new passion and Janice suggested sky diving.
I have a friend who diplomatically told me that sometimes at our age we think and want to be 45. He is right, but I don't want to be our age and think and act like I am 95 either. No one who saw the plane afterwards would have believed that anyone got out alive, much less with few injuries. Yes I am terribly disappointed that I came so close to being able to do what I had spent a lot of money and an enormous amount of time and effort to achieve my goal. My flying adventures have totaled 377.25 hours while flying some 31,500 miles, involving 763 landings. They have unquestionably been a highlight of my life and I have no regrets. I devoured every hour in the air like you would buttered popcorn at the theatre. I only wish I could have had 1000 more. I have wanted a lot of things and accomplishments in my life. I got and achieved many of them, but not all. I am enormously grateful for the ones I did and have.
I lost my plane, not my sense of humor.
One of my kids tried to console me by reminding me that there is a lot to be said for reaching out of your comfort zone seeking to accomplish something extraordinary, and to some extent I had, but not everyone wins the gold at the Olympics, the Super bowl or scores the winning goal. Not that I am suggesting I am in that league, but you get the idea. Being a pilot is still seen as a special skill because you can wrap your car around a tree and no one will give a rip, but bend your air frame and you immediately make all the local papers and are the star of the 6 o'clock news.
Rest in peace my little airplane. You were certainly one of the loves in my life. I will always be in awe of how quickly you would take me to the heavens to dance with the angels, soaring between the puff ball clouds, hover at tree top level like Peter Pan to see and explore that which could not be any other way and to momentarily touch down on some remote airfield only to take to the heavens again......ahhh, what fun we had in your 55 HP open sleigh.
A week after my accident, Janice flew to Oregon to spend a month with daughter Cassie. This had been a planned trip to give her a break from the endless quarantines she was subjected to here as a result of her need to cross over to the US side for chemo treatments every 3 weeks. Each time she came back after spending a few hours in the US, she was required to quarantine for two more weeks. The Canadian Covid police would call us to ensure compliance, drop by by boat to verify and email reminders of the exorbitant fines for breaking quarantine. I stayed behind to keep up with my retinology treatments and to maintain our alternating quarantine periods so that one of us would always be available to get off the island to get groceries and perform other needed tasks.
This left me with having to put my big boy drinking pants on and fend for myself. Before leaving, she stuffed the fridge with all kinds of good stuff that I now had to figure out what to do with. I considered starting with the top shelf and working my way down to the freezer but was told that was not the best idea. She left me a massive casserole which at first I thought I should freeze and save for her return so I could thaw it and tell her that I made it. Unfortunately, I got too hungry and ate it because I got tired of corn chips.
Cooking takes a lot of time. If you don't believe me, try it some time. It cuts in to your day and prevents you from doing the things you want to do. Like sitting around. I was a quick study because even my first breakfast taught me that reheating hash browns in the toaster doesn't work. As I write this, Janice has been gone 312 hours and will not be back for another 15 days. I have offered her a substantial raise if she comes back sooner.
In the end, the winning combination in food preparation - like investing - is to diversify.
....while being careful to remain hydrated
You see, hon, I figured it out.
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A Facebook find. Our SS Honey Bee has 363 likes?
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And finally....
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