Written by Mike Morris
I have been wanting to document this for years. And now that we have the “drinkers” forum, I thought there’s no better way to share this experience with everyone than this.
There was a time when anyone telling a story like this would have been thought of as a nut. Not that some family and friends don’t already think this, but I must press on to get this “off my chest”. You will be reading a lot of verbiage to bring you up to date and current with my life situation at the time prior to revealing what I have been wanting to document for a long time.
Shortly after grad school, I was hired as an Associate Professor in the Engineering and Technology department at Western Carolina University in a little mountain town known as Cullowhee, N.C. My wife Brenda, our young son Robert and I lived in the nearby town of Waynesville which is nestled in the Great Smoky Mountains. I commuted daily to teach in one of the most beautiful parts of our country. It was “over the mountain” and the drive was always great, even when it snowed…and my little VW Beatle never failed to make it.
I have always been an airplane nut. It began with dime store gliders, to wind up rubber powered gliders, to stick and tissue models, to gas powered planes. Later I built and flew radio control models.
Shortly after moving to N.C., I discovered a local airport with a grass landing strip… something in rare supply in the mountains. Even better, there was a flight instructor there in his Cessna 150. I later fondly named it a Cessna one-five-nothing. But it was a good stable platform to begin flying lessons.
After many negotiations with my sweet wife, she relented and I began to do something I had often longed to do. And about 6 months later, after accumulating the required flight instruction and hours, and passing my written exam, I was off to Asheville Airport to take my flight test.
My flight examiner was a crusty individual who talked very little only to ask me to wear an instrument flight simulator hood as soon as we lifted off. Gulp! This hood you wear like a ball cap restricts your ability to see outside…you see only the instrument panel, so you must control the aircraft without any reference to the outside. I told him I wasn’t there for an instrument rating exam, and he said “just fly the airplane”. He gave me compass headings and altitudes to fly, but he kept us circling to the right, then to the left for about fifteen minutes. We did a few more maneuvers without the hood and then we returned to the airport. After signing me off for my license he said, “Now go out and learn how to be a pilot”. The longer I flew, the more his words became golden. Oh yes, the repetitious circle flying was for him to observe a championship golf tournament being held nearby.
Fast forward about two years. I was now flying a classic aircraft known as a Stinson Station Wagon 108-3. A very stable airplane with a reputation for carrying heavy loads. It was used early-on in Alaska as a bush plane and had a 3/4″ marine plywood floor for the heavy loads. The interior was wrapped in maple and mahogany to emulate the ‘woodie’ wagon automobiles of the time.
Brenda and I became good friends with a couple in Waynesville, Sandy and Linda Hudson. Sandy had flown to Winston – Salem for an interview for city secretary, a job he later was offered. Besides being good friends, we were both pilots, and were always looking for a reason to go flying. Wives and friends of pilots are aware of this common trend (illness?). So, Sandy called asking if I could fly down and pick him up. Bet you can correctly guess my answer.
I was to meet him at the W-S FBO flight center around 6pm the next day.
Sure enough, next day I arrived in W-S flight center to see a smiling Sandy ready to go flying. After topping off both fuel tanks, we were soon airborne looking into a setting sun that still took a bit of squinting before it finally sat. Weather was ideal and the ride was the proverbial smooth as silk.
Night flying is really beautiful. Ease of navigation because town lights and an aerial chart called a Sectional make it easy to know where you are along your route. Also, there was this nice highway below us with car lights heading directly to our destination. But the cardinal rule while mountain flying is to always find the highest point along your flight path and add about a thousand feet to it for your flight altitude. This is what we did.
Navigation devices in the 70’s were cave man compared to today’s. We had a thing called Omnirange back then for guidance, but it was a line-of-site system, so it really didn’t work that well in the mountains. Now everything works off satellites. In fact, most of the new navigation flight systems (airlines) allow pilots to punch in the required correct data, and all they have to do is keep the seat warm until they land. Well, not really.
We were about two thirds along our way and were approaching the town of Black Mountain N.C. in the heart of Pisgah National Forest. So far, all was well. We had plenty of altitude, and we were headed in the right direction . The steady rumble of the engine, the smooth ride and the soft, steady red glow of the instrument back lights were all adding to flight confidence.
Not many airplanes at that time had intercom headsets so pilot and passengers could carry on a pleasant conversation. With little soundproofing and lots of prop and engine noise, shouting was the norm to be understood. Consequently, Sandy and I did little talking. Although, in a bit, Sandy leaned in to say something to me, and that’s when it happened! Instantly, the cabin was filled with a light as bright as a giant spotlight like the ones seen scanning the skies at some big event.
We both turned toward the light source coming from the right rear window! It looked like a 747 airliner was on final approach for our right wing! My God! We were dead! Where did that come from!!? Such a bright light that it made you squint to the point of closing your eyes.
I immediately took evasive action by steeply climbing up and to the left. Maybe it would miss us! The light stayed right with us! You could not see a light source…just all brightness all around…not like car lights where you see two distinct lights coming towards you. I really thought we were dead!
I turned to check our airspeed to make sure we weren’t stalling in the climb, but we were ok. As I returned to look at the light source, I noticed Sandy had turned in his seat with one hand holding onto the seat back and his other arm was over his face. I shouted “What the hell is that?” , and Sandy yelled back, “Hell, I don’t know!!”
I attempted another evasive maneuver by diving and turning in the opposite direction. I leaned all the way over in front of Sandy to see if the light looked any different from that view. It was still a wall of solid light with no apparent movement, just stuck in the same spot. I pulled the throttle back so we would slow down, and Sandy shouted “No, it might run into us!”. So I throttled back up. And the bright light got even brighter! Oh shiπ! I remember glancing back at my instrument panel and was amazed that, since the panel was painted white, I had to squint to read the instruments. Then the light went out! Nothing! We saw nothing where the light used to be.
Everything turned back to normal. The soft red glow of the instruments, the steady hum of the engine and the twinkling of city lights below reinforced the feeling that all was ok…and we were still alive! I can still remember feeling my heart pounding.
I called Asheville Approach tower and asked if there was any other air traffic in my area. Since I had no Transponder back then, they asked me to press my mike button a couple of seconds so our airplane would show up on their directional finding equipment. It did, and Asheville reported we were clear of traffic by about 20 miles. An airliner out of Charlotte at about 15,000 feet.
I turned to Sandy and asked him if he thought we should let the tower know what had just happened. After a couple of seconds, we both slowly moved our heads left and right. Nope. They would think we were nut jobs. No telling how long we would have to stay at Asheville airport. And writing up the incident would take hours, and no telling what else we may face.
But we had survived “IT”, whatever it was. Sandy told me he just never wanted to talk about it to anyone it scared him so bad…and he didn’t.
Before arriving at my house, I contemplated telling Brenda about what Sandy and I had experienced. I decided I couldn’t keep it from her.
About half way through my explanation, Brenda smiled and asked if Sandy and I had cooked up this crap to see if she and Linda would believe us.
She still thinks I’m a nut, but I love her anyway….and it is STILL THE TRUTH!
