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 newly soloed pilot and his father encountered perilous VFR-into-IFR conditions (smog, dusk, no night flying experience) during a return flight to Los Angeles.
- Attempting an emergency landing at a private airstrip, the father misjudged the runway, crashing their Luscombe into an irrigated alfalfa field, causing significant damage and his own concussion.
- The incident, though survived, led the father to cease flying as pilot in command, with the son continuing his aviation journey and eventually becoming his father's pilot.
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