Kay and I had been visiting my folks in Shreveport, Louisiana. We flew down for the weekend, but we were weathered in right after we arrived. The weather had kept us grounded for a week. I had been working for a Cessna dealer in Springfield, Illinois, only a month as a salesman and charter pilot, and being away unexpectedly for so long had me worried.
When it cleared up and we could head home, I checked the weather and found out we were in for some strong headwinds. At least it would be clear all the way home. After I filed my flight plan, we said our goodbyes and took off.
I leveled off at 2,000 feet because the headwinds were even stronger at higher altitudes. Watching the terrain below, I became uneasy flying that low over a countryside that offered few options for an emergency landing.
“Honey, I think we’d be better off if we were higher, but it’ll be rougher,” I said.
I leveled off at 4,000 feet just as we passed over the El Dorado, Arkansas, VOR.
As we approached Smackover, Arkansas, the engine gave a loud pow. Then it sounded like 15 threshing machines coming through a wheat field.
“I’ve got a Mayday,” I told flight service, trying not to scare Kay.
I was already turning 180 degrees to try and make it to the Goodwin Airport outside El Dorado. “I’m almost smack over Smackover, and I’m going to try to get back to the airport. I haven’t seen any place to set down. Doesn’t seem to be anything between you and me except 150-foot pine trees and oil derricks. I see a little road snake out of the trees every so often, but not near enough to land on.”
My training told me I should shut the engine down before I had a fire or the engine froze up, but something wouldn’t let me. I started evaluating my situation and remembered the glide ratio of the Cessna 180 was 10:1. We could glide 10 miles for each mile of altitude.
After a quick check of the map, I could see we were a little over 11 miles from the airport, and at 4,000 feet, less than eight-tenths of a mile high. But those pine trees below looked like 150-foot spears sticking up. I knew if I tried to make an emergency landing there, we’d go in nose first as soon as the airplane started clipping the trees, with virtually no chance of survival.
I kept watching those trees get closer and closer. Every once in a while I looked over at Kay and gave a reassuring smile, and she would smile back. Her composure was exactly what I needed to keep cool and focused.
The trees were tickling the airplane’s belly, and the airport runway still looked miles away. I wanted to lurch forward and try to get some extra distance out of our glide, but I knew that was stupid.
After what seemed like hours, I was on straight-in final approach—downwind. As we came over the edge of the field, we cleared the pine trees by about 20 feet. I thanked God under my breath as we landed on the very end of the runway. I immediately cut the engine and we rolled to a stop.
I got down out of the airplane and then helped Kay out. Kay seemed to be as calm as ever. “Were you scared?” I asked.
“No, you always told me if we had an emergency we’d just land in a field or the highway. I did say a few Hail Marys, though.”
I thought, Where did you see any fields or highways?
After the mechanics pulled the engine, they told me they found a piston had cracked from metal fatigue and the bottom half had dropped down into the crankshaft. The engine oil looked like silver metallic paint.
When I checked the distance on a map, my quick estimate of 11 miles to the airport when the emergency happened turned out to be exactly right. At 4,000 feet, I would theoretically be able to glide 7.5 miles. I estimated not killing the engine gave me about 10 percent of the engine’s power, which probably accounted for a little over a mile. One helluva tailwind after I made the 180-degree turn made up the balance of what we needed to get 11 miles to the field.
Having Kay next to me was the added incentive I needed to do it right the first time. I’m sure that was as close as we ever came to buying the farm.
And I do believe in guardian angels.
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