BY RICH CASIAS AS TOLD TO RACHEL RABKIN PEACHMAN: For Complete Post, Click Here…
t was a beautiful afternoon in southern Oregon in the summer of 1989, and I was 33 years old. After a picturesque four-day fly fishing trip with three of my buddies, we were all ready to hop into our small rented plane and fly home to California. As the pilot in command with more than 15 years of flying experience, I was prepared for an uneventful takeoff, especially since we were much lighter than when we left California with full fuel and provisions. What I didn’t anticipate was the unseen challenge at the little airport, which was surrounded by 90-foot-tall pine trees. Although I was aware of possible downdrafts and crosswinds, I could not anticipate how unusually strong they were that afternoon, because as we attempted to lift off, the plane couldn’t develop enough lift to overcome the wind shear and clear the trees. With the tree tops grazing underneath our wings and slowing our forward progress down even more, it was clear I wouldn’t be able to maintain flight.
