This is an old story, but it’s one I still think about often. In January 1960, I found myself in the right seat of an 85 hp Luscombe 8F on top of a thick layer of smog blanketing the infamous Los Angeles basin, the setting sun perilously close to the western horizon. The pilot, my dad, known for his casual attitude toward the weather, had pushed our return flight from Oakland beyond the limit of our combined abilities.
I Learned about Flying from That: Vanishing Earth
Key Takeaways:
- A father and his newly-soloed son flew a Luscombe into rapidly deteriorating VFR conditions, encountering thick smog and dusk over the Los Angeles basin.
- Attempting an emergency landing in the fading light, the father mistook a runway marker and landed in an alfalfa field with irrigation dikes, destroying the plane and suffering a concussion.
- Both survived the crash, which led to the plane's replacement, and the son eventually became the pilot-in-command for future flights, as his father never flew as PIC again.
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