The Tale of A Plane, A Power-line, and Me

Harper

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Author’s Note This narrative is about a particularly harrowing experience my aunt once had with a crop duster. In the summer of 1977, my aunt Hazel, whom had always possessed a love of flight, decided to gain some flying experience taking a job as a crop duster pilot. Crop dusters are small, lightweight aircraft, which spray, or ‘dust’, crops with pesticides and chemicals from tanks mounted inside the fuselage of the aircraft. These diminutive aircrafts often flew extremely close to the ground, so as to ensure that the maximum amount of chemicals were distributed on the crops. At such a low altitude, reaction time to potential threats is extremely short. It is a testament to my aunt’s focus that she only ever had one accident in her two years as a crop duster pilot. While prevalent in the 1970’s-1980’s, the number of crop dusters worldwide is on the decline, due to the rapid spread of technology, such as automated systems that will distribute quantities of chemicals to selected crops if certain requirements are met. However, they are still in use in rural areas, and accidents such as these are fairly common.

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Although it was a relatively dangerous job, my Aunt’s love of flying overcame any initial qualms. After this incident occurred, my aunt continued to fly crop dusters for several years, before she was offered a job in helping the army dispose of nuclear missiles. Eventually however, she succumbed to the irresistible call of the sky, and accepted a post as a pilot of a commercial 747 for United Airlines. This narrative is based almost entirely on fact, although I did take a few creative liberties, in the name of making the story more engaging. Finally, I would like to thank all of the people who helped make this narrative possible.Hazel Thomas: Foe providing me with the information necessary in the construction of this narrativeMy Parents: For arranging the interview for me. And of course, Ms. Bradshaw, for being there to providing support and guidance.

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The Tale of A Plane, A Power-line, and Me

The sunlight glints gently off the yellowing grain

stalks, lending them a golden hue. Between that and the cool air blowing on my face, I couldn’t help but be soothed. This was my home. This is where I belong; in

the great blue expanse we call the sky! I swooped low over the field with pesticide, and insecticide, and who knows what else, spraying out of rear of my small crop-duster onto the raw produce below. I banked to the left, and swerved to the right, determined to spread the

chemicals as evenly as possible over the crops. As I climbed once more, an errant ray of sunlight bounced off the polished dashboard of the cockpit, throwing glare into my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I blinked twice, and when I opened them again, I almost wished that I

hadn’t. Dead ahead, was an unforgiving iron pole, looming out of the sky.

I yank on the joystick, flinging my aircraft into a wild climb, desperate to evade my impending doom. I

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threw my plane into an upwards spiral, determined to

cheat death. And I did. But only just. I whizzed by the pole, missing it by mere inches. I panted with relief, but immediately realized that I had escaped one danger, only to be confronted by another! In my direct trajectory, were the thick metal power lines! I wrenched the joystick

towards myself, trying to climb over the threat, but it was too late. My plane crashed into the charged tendrils at over 100mph, snapping them free of their pylons, sending the diminutive aircraft plummeting towards the ground. The last thing I registered as I spiraled towards

the earth was the ominous screech of metal being torn apart, before everything went dark.

I regained consciousness some time later to the smell of oil and broken machinery. I felt something wet dripping from my forehead, and when I put my hand

there, I was surprised to see it come away red and wet. I must have scratched my forehead on the shards of shattered glass from the dashboard. Groggily, I sat up, and began to survey my surroundings. I was in a grain

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field, several meters away from the pylons. Judging by

the pieces of metal lying on the ground around me, my aircraft was not flightworthy. The aircraft was on its side; one door was pinned against the ground, while the other faced skyward. I tried the handle, but it wouldn’t give. I swore, angry with myself. Something in the

mechanism must have been damaged in the fall. The only way out of the cockpit would be straight through the windshield, which was constructed of specially strengthened and reinforced glass. So now how was I going to get out of this wreck?

Slowly, as I was still rather dazed, the solution came to me. Searching under my seat, it took me several tries to retrieve the item I was searching for. My bloody hands slipped on the smooth metal casing, but after a few tries, I succeeded. Heaving the bulky fire

extinguisher up with a grunt, I slammed it against the windshield, once, twice, three times. For a moment, I thought that the toughened glass might be able to weather the onslaught, but on the fourth try, it shattered

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with an almighty ‘CRACK!’ Giddy with success, I

climbed out of the wreckage, once again feeling the sunlight dancing on my face. Spreading my arms out, I gave a loud ‘Whoop!’, unable to contain my delight at being free. Now, all I had to do was find my way back to the airstrip.

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InterviewQ1. My father explained that you made many exciting flights. What sort of situation led to you crashing your crop duster into the high voltage power lines in Oklahoma? Eg. Did something distract you?I Just didn’t see it. I was distracted.

Q2. What was it that distracted you?I can’t really remember. It was so long ago.

Q3. What were you doing and thinking at the time?Thinking about my next job.

Q4. Tell me what your job as a crop duster entailed?Applying herbicides and pesticide to plants and increases.

Q5: For how long were you a crop duster pilot?For about two years, from 1979 to 1980-ish.

Q6. Describe what happened immediately after the plane crashed?My aircraft crashed into power-lines. It severed the power-lines, ploughing into the edge of a field. A strut was damaged.

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I blacked out, and my forehead slammed forward into the altimeter, braking it, and gashing my forehead. A Damaged strut.

Q7. What was your first reaction when the plane crashed? What did you do?I was calm and collected. I escaped by breaking the windshield. There was. No time to panic.

Q8. How where you rescued?I walked back to the airstrip!

Q9. What were the immediate consequences of this event?I had to get stitches on face, due to my face being scratched on the altimeters.

Q10. How has it affected you? What have you learnt from it?To watch out for power-lines, be more more careful.

Q911: How did this event change your perspective of the world?It definitely made me more careful and attentive.

Bibliography-Hazel Ellen Thomas

-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crop_dusting

-http://www.airliners.net/aviation-articles/read.main?id=144

-http://hildeagaviation.com/cropdusters.php

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Family Tree

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Reflection Projects such as this have multiple beneficial applications.

Learning more about your family, how to manage your time better, and how to write in first-person more successfully, among others. I, however, regret to say that while I have indeed learnt many more interesting bits about my family, and have definitely become a better writer of first-person narratives, my time management stills leaves much to be desired. Between French tests, SLC’s, Math homework, and Art projects, time was my greatest adversary in writing this narrative. It was a thoroughly horrid experience having to stay up until 10:30 pecking away at my keyboard, all in the name of trying to complete my identity portfolio, something I could have done days ago, if only I had managed my time more efficiently. However, as stated before, this project definitely had its share of positive aspects. It has greatly increased my ability to use sensory details in my writing, and has allowed me to discover new things about my family. While this project had me burning the midnight oil, the fault is my own, and overall, the benefits outweigh the negative aspects of this project.

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