This story isn’t about narrowly averting disaster in flight, but rather a bone-headed mistake on terra firma that caused a lot of angst, self-loathing, repair charges, and a lifelong change of habit.
My career was in oil and gas operations, providing engineering and management services for small producing areas across the United States. A reason for choosing this career was to satisfy my flying habit. Flying backcountry instead of pounding the pavement enabled me to stretch my working day and fly to my heart’s content. Starting with a Cessna 120, I had worked up to a brand-new IFR Cessna 180 and had a Robertson STOL kit and Stormscope installed shortly afterward. I had arrived among the elite of backcountry fliers.
One summer day in 1982, I flew the Skywagon to a rural location in southwest Alabama to evaluate an oil well. My standard procedure at this location was to land at an abandoned crop duster strip, initially flat but going uphill behind Rudder’s General Store. It was one way in and out, but the hill was useful to arrest the landing roll and speed up the departure. Mr. Rudder was glad to see his airstrip being used again and kept it in good shape for me.
Before landing, I made a low pass over the local field operations office, and an employee arrived at Rudder’s to take me to the well site about 10 miles away. I had arrived at the airstrip in late afternoon, preparing for an all-nighter on the drilling rig, so we got busy taking well logs and rock cores to evaluate what was eventually a very nice oil well. Around 2 a.m., I saw lightning and heard thunder off to the west—in the direction of Rudder’s. There was no way to get back to check on the airplane at that time, and I had no tie-downs anyway, but the parking brake had been set so the airplane with its load of avgas should be enough to hold it in place—or so I thought.
Putting concerns about the Cessna aside, I continued to work through the morning, completed the paperwork, and returned to Rudder’s around noon to be greeted by a disgusting sight. During the course of the thunderstorm, which had obviously passed over the store, the Cessna had “walked” down the hill about 50 feet, backing into a small tree. It was sporting a neat U-shaped dent about six inches long in the trailing edge of the left elevator. So here I was with a bent bird, a long way from the nearest FBO.
With no cellphones available in 1982, I returned to the office and called Lawrence, the chief mechanic at an FBO I often used, and explained the situation to him. He asked if some two-by-four wooden blocks and a hammer were available. Well, yes, they were handy—so I followed his instructions, hammered the dent as flat as possible between the wooden blocks, and checked the elevator and its hinges for proper movement. Then it was time for the main event: flying it out of Rudder's. With some dread, I turned the ’Wagon around, did a runup, taxied up the hill, and launched. With no fuss it was flying, so I made a gentle left turn in Lawrence’s direction, gingerly moving the controls, and flew on with control-surface flutter in the back of my mind.
Nothing fell off, no flutter occurred, and no heroics were necessary to keep a barely controllable airplane in the air. After about 10 minutes of routine flying, I was calmer, the angst had receded, and I landed at the FBO about an hour later. Upon inspecting the damage, Lawrence said that I didn’t need to flatten the dent, as the Cessna probably wouldn’t know the difference. Did I overreact at Rudder’s? Who knows, but I was safe at the FBO, so nothing else mattered.
A repair was made in short order and we continued our backcountry flights for several years, until I replaced the Skywagon with a Maule M–6. I bought the best set of tiedowns available and always had them aboard just in case.
Some 30 years later and retired from the oilfield scene, my Piper J–3 Cub also carries a set of tiedowns in the luggage sack behind my seat, rarely used but ready if the wind comes up during one of the $50 pancake breakfasts we regularly attend.
So here’s the moral of my story: Always carry a set of first-class tiedowns with you and beware the “walking airplane.”
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