Pilots generally remember their landings, sometimes for years. They come in two basic flavors: best ones and worst ones. Everything else tends to fall into a memory-based black hole. My best ones are too numerous to mention, naturally, but my worst ones stick around in my memory like poor weather at the beach. One bad landing in particular stands out.
The days mission was to transport the girlfriend and another couple to a beach for the day. We had chosen my flying clubs Cessna 182 and a no-services paved strip right on the beach. The flight down was uneventful, and I planned the approach from over the water as suggested by the windsock, which was showing an onshore breeze. Up to the touchdown, everything was perfectly normal.
