Let's spin a yarn about a foolish pilot who went flying five years ago today. First, to prove how carelessness can get you and an airplane in lots of trouble. Second to demonstrate that no matter how rugged the circumstances, they do not necessarily mean disaster. Third because I've "ribbed" a lot of other guys in this column--but did I ever tell you about the time I landed on a lake?

There was only one things wrong. The plane had wheels instead of pontoons. I blush every time I hear that song, "Drip, Drip, Drip!"

On a grand afternoon, a day like today--with fleecy white puffballs playing tag with the wingtips, I was doing aerobatics at 5,000 feet near Rochester. The sun was warming the earth below as it smiled through the blue, and the ice had just gone off the lakes. Water in Manitou was still very cold, but I didn't know it --yet.

Up for precision spins and serious practice, I had the usual regalia for such a flight: cumbersome parachute, heavy flying boots and leather jacket.

 

The sun had started to drop in the west when I started a leisurely "let-down" toward the tiny patch of Rochester airport. From the cool, frosty air and in the vicinity of clouds, I throttled-back for the long twisting glide.

The wind was gusty from the north, necessitating an approach to the airport from the south. This made the final glide come smack over Lake Manitou. At Rochester they had some high wires on the south side of the field.If you come in high enough to clear them with ease, you land way out in the middle of the filed and have a long way to taxi.

I had developed the insidiously dangerous habit of gliding in over the lake, low. Then just this side "boost" my way in with a little power. Dragging-in over the wires, you can chop the throttle and ker-plunk in close to the hangar-side.

Nice, yes, but o, how foolish. For I had drifted all the way down and never cleared the engine. That is, raced the motor so it doesn't load up with raw gasoline.

Well, I didn't and it did! Only a few feet, comparatively, above the water, with trees and wires directly ahead and on the nose at the same level with the plane, I reached for the throttle and applied power. The engine sneezed, coughed and died, and as long as I live, I'll never forget what the propeller looked like standing still in front of me. Pointing, straight up and down, like an accusing finger, and I knew which way I was going. Down!

With trees and wires ahead and a lake below, sitting in an airplane with no motor--you would think the situation couldn't be worse. But, believe me, I would rather do it again than be driving a car fifty miles per hour and come to a dead end in the road, or have a semi sideswipe me, or hit a bus head-on--or even slide on the ice into the ditch--a deep ditch, that is.

For really it wasn't so bad. I tightened the safety belt as snug as it would go, unbuckled all but one parachute buckle, shut everything off in the airplane, and started to glide toward the surface of the lake.

In trying to get as close to shore as possible without shaking hands with the overhanging trees, the plane was gliding parallel to the shore-line and above ten feet of water.

When she was about ready to "pay-off" or land, back went the stick as far as it would go. The nose slowly pulled up, up. The little J-3 slowed down to twenty miles per hour, I expect, before it hit. The tail caught the water first and there was practically no impact when the rest of the ship slapped into the water.

The plane went under to the level of the wheels and water shot criss-cross through the cabin in dozens of places. Then the plane bobbed upward and the wind caught the tail flippers. She slowly (ten years at least) went up on her nose, twisted half way around and settled down on her back on the wings. I was high and dry, upside-down, hanging by the safety strap. Believe me, it didn't take two seconds to yank out of that heavy parachute, unbuckle the safety strap and step out on the wing.

From there on it was sheer comedy. I got my head wet hanging upside down over the water. Nothing else.

Some fellow came running down the shore to get a boat, and boy,how I cheered him on. The wing began to sink and I got my feet wet. Both wings finally went under and I had retreated up the fuselage to the tail when my sturdy oarsman arrived with his boat. And it was all over.

The sheriff of Fulton county slid-in to the tune of sirens about that time. Shaking like a Model T Ford on a cold morning, I asked the man if he would drive me to the airport.

His eyes had begun to stare at me thoughtfully, and his hand reached wonderingly. He felt my damp head and squeezed my soaked boots. He fingered the powder-dry clothing between these two wet extremities.

"Bud," said the sheriff, "if you'll tell e how in the h___ you did that, I'll take you anywhere in Indiana!"

So you see, you can make serious mistakes in an airplane and oft times come out on top. I tried the same thing in a automobile once--and got wet all over!

Warsaw Daily Times Wed. Mar. 24, 1948

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