Going Solo – Part I

I really struggled on what to title today’s blog. “Strawberry Fields” after the song by the Beatles came to mind. A few years ago my immediate family went on an East Coast trip. During a leisurely evening stroll to see Central Park, we came upon “Strawberry Fields.” We took a family picture by the sign, and proceeded to a sidewalk embedded memorial to John Lennon. There were lit candles, and a dozen or so people sitting around smoking dope. They paid no attention to us even with my kids’ mouths more than slightly agape. None of this has anything to do with today’s blog except “Strawberry Fields.”

Another song also came to mind as the title of this hastily written blog. “Running on Empty” was a song by Jackson Browne. Although I have “run on empty” many times, I have only run out of gas once (that I recall). I learned my lesson that one time. Now I watch the gas gauge closely.

Memorial Day 1975 “was a day that will live in infamy” – maybe not for the world or the United States, but for my parents and me.

The day started off normal. I had to be at the airport about 4:30 AM. My flight instructor and I filed my flight plan: BFI (Boeing Field International) to Auburn, Bellingham, Olympia and back to Boeing. I planned on completing my solo cross-country flight that day. My instructor, John Richardson who worked with my father at Boeing, was taking another student to Yakima for his “instrument rating.” You have to wear a hood and can only see the “instruments.”

I am shortening this story, and adding details not contained in “Air Scare,” published in Campus Life Magazine in the summer of ’75.

I left Bellingham after a hearty breakfast. Heading south toward Olympia at about 7500 feet altitude I was traveling in and out of cotton balls of clouds, trying to piece together the trail to the next airport.

I passed over Bremerton International. It looked small from that height. My gut told me I needed to drop lower. Although I had worn the hood, I was many hours from an “instrument rating.” I called into Seattle Flight Service and informed them of the weather – broken clouds at 5000 feet. I began my decent to 3500 where I had an unobstructed view of the ground.

Within moments, my engine sputtered and died. Shit. I set my flaps at 30 percent and began a glide path for 70 mph, and started a turn for Bremerton. I had just passed it!

I turned the key and pulled the engine to idle, setting the choke in one smooth motion. The engine started. I began calling on the radio “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.” “This is November One One Seven Five Eight. I am going down.” There was no answer. I tuned the dial to Bremerton just as the engine died again. “Mayday, Mayday Mayday. This is November One One Seven Five Eight. I am going down.” I said aloud “God help me.”

(to be continued)

-Craig