Since we were coming in from the southeast, slightly off her right, I took over the communications again and told her to change to a heading that should have taken her to the airport. I was guessing at the wind correction angle to apply, but I was only a few degrees off her inbound course, so I had a fair idea of the course she should fly. Karen turned to the new heading and was settling down somewhat, getting over her earlier panic.

With my head turned left and brain focused on starting the descending turn to base, I reduced power a little more and all hell broke loose. The Mooney, with two of my loved ones onboard, flew into a wall of water. The sound was deafening and the surprise factor indescribable. My heartbeat probably jumped to over 200 in the matter of a millisecond. And worse, the bottom dropped out in a strong downdraft.

I eventually compiled a list of 176 on-airport aviation museums in the U.S. and some in Canada – all of which can be accessed without the need to rent a car or pay for a ride. I contacted most of the museums to confirm that a pilot could land at the airport and either park at the museum or walk to the museum.

General aviation is growing. That simple statement would have been unremarkable to a pilot in the 1960s or 1970s, as surprising as saying the sun rose in the east that day. But for anyone who learned to fly after about 1990, and especially between 2008 and 2016, it’s a shocking thing to admit. Yet that is exactly what is happening right now, as data from a wide variety of sources show. 

The landing went smoothly. As I taxied the Cub toward where I wanted to park, we hit a patch of quicksand that I hadn’t spotted from the air. Within the blink of an eye, the bushwheels sank, bringing the plane to an abrupt stop and sending its propeller into the sand and tail into the air.

I touched the wheels down in the soft green grass, and all I could think about was Jim Richmond looking down on me. Smiling with his soft grin, as I, the youngest Carbon Cub builder, had just landed back at the same airstrip where I developed my love for aviation.

I rolled into a turn to the right to line up with the drop point. We were hit by ground fire and the sound did not resemble a rock hitting a tin can that we normally heard. The round had come through the window of the right front door of the aircraft and hit a litter stanchion. After continuing the mission and landing back at Saigon, one of the Vietnamese kickers came up and handed me some shrapnel.