Dave Michelin and I were parting the corn tassels off the end of the runway with the hull of his clapped out Lake Amphibian. We had just taken off. Dave was flying. I was instructing him from the right seat. It was our first flight in what was supposed to be his dream purchase of an airplane to fly to his cottage. The pusher engine was roaring mightily but the airplane was barely winning its tug-of-war with gravity. The City of Circus loomed beyond a row of trees straight ahead.

"Try a shallow turn to the left!" I yelled.

“Okay!”

Dave was working hard to hold the airplane in the sky. There was sweat running off his brow but he was doing a good job for someone who had not flown in 20 years.

The Lake arced across the corn field away from the trees gaining altitude in inches.

The tower controller called us. "I thought you were going west, Alpha Delta Uniform Delta?"

"We were," I replied, "but now we're going to land."

"You're cleared to land Runway 24. Are you declaring an emergency?"

It sounded like a good idea but declaring an emergency wouldn't make the airplane perform any better. There was no traffic in our way and the Circus Airport did not have crash/fire/rescue services.

"Negative," I replied.

"We're going to land this thing, Dave," I yelled, "and find out why it won't fly."

"Okay!" he yelled back. He stared out the windshield and hung on to the control wheel.

Buying the Lake without having it inspected had been Dave’s big mistake. Doing a check-out flight without having it inspected had been mine. I hadn’t appreciated how much a constant speed propellor could mask the engine’s tired horses. The airplane was all noise and no go.

Dave held the airplane in a five degree bank. We were easing away from the city. After two minutes at full power we were above trees but still under 100 feet.

“Keep turning Dave!”

“I am! I am!”

I continued to let Dave fly. It was easier to monitor what he was doing and what else was happening than it was to do it all myself. I scanned for landing spots while the overweight dentist eased the Lake back to the airport. I was ready to take over and pancake the airplane into a field if we started losing altitude.

Our wide arc finally had us heading toward the runway after four puckered minutes.

“Aim for the runway, Dave!”

“I guess we had too many donuts,” he grinned.

At least he was keeping his sense of humour.

“The problem is more than donuts!”

I selected the landing gear down when the beginning of the runway slid under the nose. Dave continued flying with full power. The airplane sank toward the asphalt from 100 feet up.

“Looks like we’re going to make it, Dave.”

The next series of roller coaster events started with our ignorance of the Lake Amphibian’s reactions to power changes.

Illustration by Francois Bougie

Dave reduced the power. With less thrust from the pylon over our heads, the Lake's nose pitched up. This killed some of our precious speed. The airplane started mushing toward the runway. Dave pushed the nose down. This increased the rate of descent too much. I put my hand over Dave's on the throttle and shoved it wide open again. The overhead thrust pushed the nose down further. I pulled back on the control wheel but Dave thought the nose was pitching up on its own. He pushed forward. He was stronger. The descent turned into a dive.

"I have control!" I yelled.

Dave didn't let go right away. We were going to crash nose first into the runway. I still had my hand over Dave's on the throttle. In desperation, I jerked it all the way back. This made the Lake's nose pop up suddenly. The airplane hovered over the runway for a split second, the airspeed died and we plopped gently onto the asphalt.

I squeezed the brakes with my toes and turned off the runway.

Dave's eyes were wide and the sweat was running hard.

"Now I know how a Kamikaze pilot feels," he said.