A PEAK EXPERIENCE

Flying from Cable Airport, Upland, on what began as a beautiful afternoon in November, I headed

over The Cajon Pass to Victorville Airport. Victorville Airport is now a ghost town airport, where the strategic George Air Force Base once was. It is a fine place to land, with long runways to accommodate F-104's, F-16's, and the like. Landing there is fun, because there are several good choices of runways for the unusual desert winds. There were small clouds accumulating over Mt. Baldy, to the south, by the time I reached Victorville's landing pattern. I had planned on flying over Old Baldy (Mt. San Antonio) on the way back to Cable. That is an inspiring trip.

From Victorville's pattern altitude, about 4,000 feet, the climb is relatively easy and the Cessna 172/ makes the grade to 10,064, the height of Mt. Baldy's summit, climbing at 500 feet per minute. Because it is a Habitat area, thus protected, planes are supposed to be 2,000 feet above ground (AGL) in that area, making the flight altitude over the summit 12,064 feet, a difficult height for a Cessna 172 under the best of conditions. So, I usually go one side or the other of the summit, in order to be legal over the Habitat terrain.

There is an old saying, "Mountains climb faster than airplanes." So, it is wise to give plenty of room to the mountain because of drafts and also so as not to disturb the animals and birds of the area.

Returning to the south, towards Mt. Baldy, I noticed some very smooth clouds forming at the top of the mountain; lenticular clouds. These clouds indicate high winds. One stays well clear of them, because winds can be well in excess to 100 knots where these clouds are being shaped. So, I turned right to 200 degrees, giving myself plenty of margin, and continued to climb. My intention was to go over the lower ridges west of Baldy. These ridges are north of the Glendora/Azusa area. I like flying over the Dalton Canyons, north of Glendora, because I've adopted the Glendora Mountain Road for my trash and graffiti removal project. It is possible to spot trash on my road, even from an airplane. The visibility below and to the southwest was fantastic. From 8,500 feet, I could see Mt. Orizaba, Catalina's highest point, the shimmering Pacific, and the lengthening shadows on the desert below. It was beautiful. Listening to the radio, there was no air traffic reported in my location and I saw only two planes far below. But, as I approached the mountain range from the north, high above Table Mountain, where NASA and Pomona College have observatories, I began to encounter turbulence. It was not too difficult to fly, however, except I noticed the plane was beginning to gain altitude at over 1,000 feet per minute in a normal climb attitude. Already at 8,500 feet, sufficient to clear the ridge ahead, I was ascending rapidly in an updraft. The winds were picking up and I was being bounced a bit more than I liked. I tightened my harness to keep me in the seat and began a 180 degree turn, thinking I would take another route to Cable.

Quickly, however, it was clear my controlling the plane in a turn was now impossible. I began to realize a turn would put me in a position to be rolled by very strong winds. These winds are similar to ocean waves, but invisible. Keeping the wings level was becoming an increasing problem. The winds were carrying me higher and even closer to Baldy's summit, obscured in a great lenticular cloud. Even with full power, my ground speed was decreasing rapidly, the plane all the time being lifted, higher and higher. My altimeter was now reading 14,250, and still the updraft was in full control of the craft. No matter how I attempted control, I was riding a leaf, caught in the winds. It reminded me of The Wizard of Oz, where the cyclone takes everything into the air. All I could do at this point was to hang on and struggle to keep the wings level. It took everything I had, just doing that. Also, I was being blown into the cloud. Nothing I knew to do could prevent this. I was thankful for my Instrument Rating and all my practice, but also knew it was of little value now, except for my trusting my instruments with no visibility outside, known as IMC conditions (Meteorological Conditions). It occurred to me to let Approach Control know what I was experiencing, so someone would have the report after the crash, I suppose. I radioed SoCal Approach on 125.5 and let them know the blip on their screen was my rented Cessna 172, somewhere above Mt. Baldy. They gave me a transponder squawk code, 4717, as I recall. I thought the sevens would help. They told me my Mode C was showing me to be at 15,300 feet. That was reassuring. If the barometer were dropping, I could possibly be below Baldy's summit. The crash would be inevitable and soon. I was completely at the mercy of the winds with no plane control, except for keeping the wings level and struggling to avert an unusual attitude, a possible stall or spin.

I heard myself thanking God for the updrafts at this point and kept the power at full throttle, having no indication of ground speed. I thought to myself how strange it was to be thinking of God in this situation. My DME (Distance Measuring Equipment) was tuned to the Pomona VOR, 110.4, and it seemed to be telling me I was making no headway whatsoever. Fuel had been heavily taxed by this time. I had been watching it, having been twice as long in the air as the whole trip should have taken in good weather. I hadn't counted on this situation. There had been no pilot reports of turbulence prior to my departure from Cable. Approach Control and I conversed from time to time. They questioned my ability to stay in one spot at over 13,000 feet and asked if I had oxygen on board, which I did not have. My explanation to them must have raised doubts. I simply told them I had no aircraft control besides staying level. Even successfully reversing my course didn't help. I seemed to remain in the same place no matter what I did, being rotated by the winds, according to my compasses. Fuel was getting very low. I had been fighting this wind and updraft for over three hours. It was getting late, almost dark in the clouds. I noticed if I decreased the throttle I seemed to be just as well off. So, I did that to conserve fuel.

It occurred to me, again, to pray. But, I've never thought prayer could make any difference in situations like this. It was like asking God to reverse the laws of nature and physics. That seemed just too absurd. In my mind, it is impolite to ask God, if there is a God, to alter the course of the universe just to save my insignificant butt. But, alas, I found myself doing some bargaining, feeling a bit foolish all the while. I was saying things, without being on the open microphone, like, "Dear God, if You're there or here, how about getting me out of this alive?" Nothing seemed to make any difference, except my altimeter was dropping. SoCal Approach came on the earphones and suggested I change course immediately. They told me I was directly over Mt. Baldy and was descending at 100 feet per minute. I knew from my own instruments I was descending. I knew from the DME my forward movement had not changed. As I attempted to rotate the plane in various compass headings, nothing made any difference in headspeed.

My adrenaline was pumping endlessly and so were my prayers getting more desperate. All the misgivings I had about praying had long since disappeared. I was not even telling God what should be done to make this nightmare end with a happy ending. I knew, of course, that God doesn't really care about these things, if there is a God. I knew God to be like sunlight or electricity or gravity. All the anthropomorphic things about God, I knew, my believing in psychology, were simply wishful thinking and projections of our wishful thinking, desires, and frenzied pleas to make life ways we want it to be. That even comes into our praying to win the lottery, for those who are materialistic. But, all this is beside the point of my altimeter=s dropping steadily.

The sudden sight, just below my left wheel, terrified me. Rocks and the gray gravels of a clouded mountain top were just feet below. The plane bumped to a precarious landing, with my throttle at 2200 RPM. The plane sat planted on the rough slope, in the thick cloud, with the wind whistling through the cabin vents. It rocked back and forth, but stayed put just long enough for me to tell SoCal Approach of my predicament. They told me I was located directly on top of Mt. Baldy, at 10,064 feet. I told them the plane=s engine was sputtering. I was running out of fuel. The engine quit as I was making that radio transmission. With the severe winds, the plane jerked and rocked back and forth, but it stayed put for just long enough for me to tell SoCal Approach of my predicament. They confirmed I was located on top of Mt. Baldy, at 10,100 feet. (There is often a slight error in the altitude encoder.) "SoCal Approach, Cessna 6629E, is out of fuel, except for a few gallons in the downhill port tank." The downhill port wing tank had lost fuel flow to the engine. Except for the wind, everything was now very quiet.

I sat, strapped in, at this precarious angle, with my heart racing I did say some things to God, which I thought was almost funny. Then, it occurred to me, it might be necessary to get out of the plane. It was my fate to leave the plane and begin the long hike in the dark and high winds down to Baldy Village, about a four-hour hike, as I recalled. It would be nearly midnight by the time I reached the Village. I would be abandoning the Cessna on top of the mountain. I knew I would be in trouble with the flying club that manages the plane. I knew the FBO, Lloyd, would chew me out for leaving a plane on top of Mt. Baldy. I was sure that would be worse than crashing.

It was very cold and the wind was merciless. I could barely stand. Although the plane was rocking severely, as though it could be swept away at any minute, it remained on the ridge. I had nothing with which to tie it. It was very light, being nearly without fuel and with my not being in it. I had turned off the Fuel Selector Valve and the switches. I had installed the control lock at some point, not even knowing when I had done that. Again, in desperation, I prayed to the God I doubted. Of course, there was no answer. The only thing that came to me was to wait until the wind died down enough to hike down the mountain. So, I crawled back in the left hand seat, out of the winds. As darkness enveloped me, I noticed the clouds around me were thinning. In the distance, far below and to the south, there were glimmers of lights. It was evident the winds were subsiding, except for very strong gusts now and then. In talking to God about this, which made me chuckle, I suggested there might be a way to fly this plane home to Cable Airport. Of course, that was utterly ridiculous. I could imagine, this God I have always doubted, laughing and making the universe quiver when the divine belly shook.

Events happened very fast. Violently, the plane cartwheeled to the left, careening from its position. The plane was tossed into the air nosing downslope on the south side of Baldy. I was suddenly slipping and crabbing into the air, descending at rapidly, down the dark side of Mt. Baldy. I gained some control. I had just experienced a "power-off take off." I got the wings level and aimed the craft towards Cable Airport at 65 knots. With the wings level, I attempted to start the engine using the few gallons of fuel in the port tank. Surprisingly, the engine caught with one prime. The turbulence was severe, but I was flying. The Ground Speed looked to be about 10 knots, with strong winds swirling around me, challenging me to manage the plane's attitudes, descent, and speed. It seemed, at times, I was almost hovering, then dropping, descending more slowly now, at about 150 feet per minute. It was dark, but I could see the rotating beacons from both Brackett Airport, La Verne, and Cable. I knew exactly where I was. I had plenty of time to plan a descent, unless the winds did something outlandish. Not thinking there was enough fuel to take me to the airport, I planned on places to ditch. I naturally knew I would crash, but thought I might have some control, especially if I could maintain sufficient air speed. I've been in one plane crash, two truck accidents, one motorcycle nightmare, and car crashes. When it all begins to happen, time slows down. There isn't time for the terror. Strangely, it is quite intriguing. My wings were level and my glide slope was still controllable. I aimed for Cable Airport, having begun at 10,000 or so feet and now, northeast of Claremont, at 6,500, at partial throttle into the winds, at times at 70 knots, with an apparent ground speed of 20 knots. I again talked to my mythical God. I suggested we get out of this alive. I heard a still, small voice in my head say, "We?" I continued heading for the closest end of the Cable Runway, Runway 6, knowing this wind condition could change radically at any moment. Several times, the engine lost fuel for a second in the turbulence, but sputtered back to life. I told God, knowing I was the fool, to please keep the wind just as it was now. Then, when I reached the airport, to change the wind to blow me right onto the end of the runway. My desperation seemed to grip me and I had to do a lot of talking to myself. My adrenaline pumps had been running for too long.

I thought how upset Katherine would be if I didn't come home. She was probably already disturbed, because by now I would have called her. I was descending now at about 300 feet per minute and down to Cable's pattern altitude, 2,250 feet. Suddenly, the plane lost about 500 feet, and I thought I was going to go into the rock quarry. But, at full throttle, air stability was achieved. Within two-hundred yards of the end of the Runway, the engine stopped dead. The landing on Runway 6 was very rough. I had not trimmed properly for a landing. Somehow, I'd forgotten that. Neither had I radioed Approach Control, nor had I turned on the transponder identifier, so SoCal had no idea I was anywhere besides on top of Mt. Baldy. Cable Airport had gone to bed, which was a relief. I would be embarrassed if anyone had witnessed my landing.

I rolled a short way off the runway, I knew I was going to have to push the plane to a parking area. That took some doing from this end of the airport, because it is uphill to the parking place. With all the adrenaline I had in me, I could have carried the plane to a tie-down. I shut everything down, put the Fuel Selector Valve on "Both," installed the control lock (Gus Lock). During this time of pushing the airplane on the taxi-way, I began to think no one would ever believe this story. The plane rolled obediently into place and I chalked and tied down. I took all my gear, headset, etc., and walked with rubbery legs to my car. I knew I need to change my pants before re-entering society. But, I did have the presence of mind to call SoCal Approach on the pay telephone and let them know I had landed at Cable Airport. They didn't need to send out a search party. I was a bit disappointed Approach seemed very unimpressed with my arrival at Cable. Perhaps I expected a brass band. I was also somewhat surprised my Emergency Locator Transmitter (ELT) had not sent a signal with the rough landing and the various violent maneuvers.

I called Katherine and apologized for being late. She was irritated and I knew she would not believe I had been stuck on top of Mt. Baldy in thick clouds and horrid winds. She would always know there must be some way I could have called her and let her know I was going to be late.

Driving home, it came to me that I should thank God for saving my life. Not only that, but my rented Cessna 172, appeared to be okay, too. I knew thanking God was ridiculous. It was all a matter of luck and, perhaps some skill. But, perhaps I should thank God for luck. I supposed it wouldn't hurt any to just drop a simple "thanks" into the great Cosmic voids. I seemed confused. Luck is Greek mysticism and paganism. Thanking God is for people who believe there's a deity. So, I simply felt elated, thankful, and knew I would continue to wonder if there is a God, maintaining my agnostic position. I could not help but be pleased I was alive and the Club's Cessna was not damaged at all. I would have to pay for a lot more time on the Hobs Meter than I had planned. That seemed a very minor problem from this perspective.

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