(January 2011) — It was my good friend Paul’s second airplane ride. The airplane was a bright red Grumman AA-1 Yankee, my favorite of all the ones owned by the Orlando Aero Club at the time. Quick and responsive, it was my kind of airplane. On this particular flight, we were flying out of Page Field in Fort Myers, where we were staying for the weekend. We rolled down the runway, quickly jumped into the air and immediately turned toward the Caloosahatchee River, staying low, taking the scenic route onward toward the islands of Captiva and Sanibel. It was early morning, not much air traffic to be seen.
Few words were spoken as we took in the sites. We rounded St. James City, the opposite end of Pine Island and Bokeelia. Soon we banked right over the Sanibel Causeway, over the bay heading toward Upper Captiva and Useppa Island, then made a hard left to circle the island tip just offshore, heading back in the direction of Fort Myers Beach, now three islands away. I looked out for airplanes, knowing Upper Captiva has an airstrip — no traffic. We flew onward to Sanibel, just offshore at 200 feet, and suddenly, out of nowhere, all hell broke loose. There was a very loud bang! A vibration shook the little airplane and us violently. It was hammering so severely, I could not focus on the instruments. It vibrated so badly when Paul asked “What the hell was that?” that his diaphragm sounded like it was pulsating at a high frequency, like someone was beating on his chest as he spoke. When I responded with shock and fear, I was surprised; I sounded the same. “I don’t know!”
