Our pilot lived in San Diego, California in the early 1950sand spent his extra money feeding his Ryan PT22 fuel. He worked the swing shiftat Conair at the time. That gave him a lot of available time that he used for flying.Friends would say to him “next time you’re going flying on a nice day, I’d loveto go.” If the weather was good and their schedule permitted, our pilot gavefriends an open invitation to fly that they could take him up on by calling ifthey wanted to fly. 

Our pilot lived in San Diego, California in the early 1950sand spent his extra money feeding his Ryan PT22 fuel. He worked the swing shiftat Conair at the time. That gave him a lot of available time that he used for flying.Friends would say to him “next time you’re going flying on a nice day, I’d loveto go.” If the weather was good and their schedule permitted, our pilot gavefriends an open invitation to fly that they could take him up on by calling ifthey wanted to fly.

One day, a co-worker did just that so they made plans to gofor a ride the next day. The weather over San Diego was broken clouds and windfrom the west about 15 mph. It seemed perfect. Our pilot planned to go toBorrego Springs in the dessert just over the mountains. It would be a beautifulride in a PT22.

Borrego Springs was just starting to develop. The salesoffice even had a dirt runway at their site. Upon landing they would send alimousine out to pick you up, bring you to their office, and try to sell you alot in the dessert. After the two underwent the sales pitch then had lunch atthe restaurant when our pilot realized the time. It was getting a little lateso they rushed back to the airplane. This is where the tale really begins.

Taking off from Borrego Springs, the mountains climb veryfast. Our pilot didn’t want them to be late for work so instead of climbingover Borrego for some altitude, he chose to fly up a wide canyon where hethought he could go into a gradual climb.

Well, the mountains were climbing faster than the PT22could. The oil pressure was dropping and the cylinder temperature wasredlining. Our pilot hugged the side of the canyon with hopes of making a180-degree turn.

“I felt I could reach out and grab a handful of dirt androck,” our pilot recalls. “Air speed was slowly disintegrating. I didn’t thinkI had enough room to do a 180. I had a little more throttle left and did achandelle.”

“I’m still here, it worked!” thought our relieved pilot. “Ialways wondered for what purpose those maneuvers were taught.” He continues,“Coming out of the 180 I could clearly see the small pebbles on the ground. Atthat point there was a sigh of relief. My friend was not aware of any problems.I cautiously gained altitude to clear the mountains and now see scatteredclouds. The closer I got to home the less scattered they were and the tops weregetting higher. Panic started to set in again.”

Our pilot with map in hand began to lose sight of land.Occasionally he would spot a hole in the clouds at about 7,000 feet. At thetime that he calculated that at that point they should be just about over theairport no such holes existed. If he couldn’t get down they would be over thesea.

Just then appeared a small hole in the cloud. Our pilotcould see the airport from 7,000 feet. “I did a tight spiral, almost a spindown to 2,000 feet hoping the clouds wouldn’t close up the hole and suck mein.”

“We made it. My friend Nelson couldn’t stop talking aboutthe beautiful ride he had.” Our pilot concludes, “Nelson never knew there was aproblem. After landing, my knees could not stop shaking. I never told Nelsonthe truth. Nelson from Detroit, if you read this, you are lucky to be alive.”

Fly safe(r).