Became, therefore, engrossed in feverish search for any approximately level, unobstructed surface on which stood remote chance of setting down relatively intact before unwinding altimeter closed off debate.
Search not instantly productive. Nothing visible beyond what already described. Nothing anywhere but vast, unyielding sequoia trunks above; smaller trees, bushes below, all capable of snatching fragile plane from air, smashing to ground out of control.
Finally looked straight down and — behold! — Heaven-sent solution…!
If pilot enough to bring off.
(Heaven apparently not big on sweeping, all-encompassing fixes. Maybe concerned that doing too much for supplicant erodes self-respect, destroys incentive, is somehow demeaning. Perhaps. But at that moment trading self-respect for tangible assistance would have seemed bargain.)
Hole through which descended, plus clearing, both created when enormous sequoia toppled sometime in recent past. Carcass sprawled along ground for hundred yards, splintering smaller trees, crushing other vegetation beneath incredible bulk. Resultant clearing possibly 100 feet wide at crown end, 50 at root.
Trunk diameter uniformly at least 35 feet from base halfway to top; first 150 feet unobstructed by branches. If could line up approach, would be ample room to land flying flea on fallen giant’s curved upper surface…
If could line up approach:
Room to circle available in widest portion of clearing only: over crown, lowest, most massive branches of which projected upward, blocking glide path to trunk from that direction. Impossible to descend steeply enough after clearing branches without building up prohibitive velocity before touchdown. Never get stopped before colliding with gnarled roots.
However, to land other way along huge log required approach from out amidst trees: First entering forest, completing 180-degree turn amongst Brobdingnagian sequoia trunks, reentering glade on final — all without becoming oversize bugspot on tree trunk…
Hoped Adam would take good care of Terry.
Well, no point dwelling on possible unpleasant side effects; obviously only solution at hand.
Eyeball reconnaissance, strategy review, subsequent conclusion, occupied only couple plane lengths after clearing opening; greenery still almost in reach overhead as juggled what probably would be last relatively unhurried decision before reaching ground: Selection of left- or right-hand approach pattern — euphemistic description of brief-but-agonized nail-biting over where trees more closely spaced.
Bore off toward monster tree’s root end. Intended to set up basic 180-degree approach. Hard to beat for simplicity, plus should minimize exposure time in forest. Would parallel log; penetrate forest just far enough to execute 180-degree turn; emerge from trees on final, right over root end, ready for flare-out, touchdown, routine quick stop.
Debated briefly, unhappily, before settling on airspeed of 35 knots, 13 over normal stall. Would have proceeded even more deliberately if had druthers; but cushion essential safeguard against accelerated stall should circumstances require sudden high-gee vertical bank or the like. As well might.
But ought to be all right. Only about twice flat-out running pace, after all; slow enough to permit noting trees as approached, evaluate separation, make deliberate go/no-go decision, take evasive action as necessary. Sure. Probably. (If alternate route accessible.)
Besides, 35 knots efficient airspeed: Optimum glide angle; maximum flying time available before ground intersected glide path. Maybe several whole minutes.
Had time for single deep breath as exited clearing; then learned whole new meaning for word “busy”:
Glided between first two massive columns with room to spare. Bore slightly right to clear still another monolith; then initiated gentle left bank to circle it — when bark-covered wall unexpectedly materialized in path, appearing suddenly from behind one already using as pylon.
Huge trunks separated by 12-15 feet. Barely.
Slammed stick against left stop, then yanked back hard. Craft jerked upright on wingtip, warped violently into turn, structure trembling under gee loading. Skimmed inner tree so closely, wondered briefly why rudder tip didn’t drag. Shot through slot like watermelon seed; then leveled, angling toward wider gap visible ahead.
Considerably lower now, of course. Elementary aerodynamics: Only so much lift produced at given airspeed. Turn increases induced drag, causing speed loss. Lower nose to get speed back, sink-rate increases. Turn steeper, sink faster. Straightforward energy exchange.
High-gee maneuvers grossly wasteful. Couple more episodes like that, find self on ground ahead of schedule.
Plus noted compass now useless: Violent maneuvers had it spinning merrily.
Glided straight ahead between two other trunks, watching compass with peripheral vision to see if might stabilize in time. Apparently not; dead-reckoning time for Kamikaze Kid — assuming own orientation not equally scrambled by now, as well could be.
Grazed safely past, between several conveniently placed trees, trying to get headed back toward where thought clearing lay. But before completed turn, had to duck around still another bole.
Suddenly mere passenger: Combat computer spotted impossibly closely-spaced cluster of gargantuan trunks immediately ahead; engaged. Sat helpless; watched as plane…
…stood vertically on left wingtip, tore through left-hander between first two trees, thence instantly — without reversing bank — into subsequent right-hander, pulling negative gees; reversed control inputs coordinating what amounted to inverted turn. Then…
…airframe bucked, buffeted, shuddered on verge of accelerated stall, as sliced left again between two columns so close together that actually felt bump as main gear grazed bark beneath fanny. And…
…emerged on final in clearing, wings level, lined up with log, heading straight for massive roots bulging from lower end — now too low to clear. But…
…throttle already jammed forward, stick back; engine howling deafeningly at full power. Plane ballooned upward several yards, clearing roots by fraction; staggered for timeless instant on brink of stall as engine sputtered again; then stick forward…
And suddenly back in control, easing stick back, yanking flaperons down to full drag/lift position, closing useless throttle, flaring out, feeling pounding as wheels bounced on rough, corrugated bark paving log’s upper surface. Braked to stop in matter of feet. Killed engine.
Silence echoed through forest.
Sat unmoving for indeterminate span, blinking fast, breathing hard, disbelieving.
Reviewed past 30 seconds’ events; speculated odds on anyone surviving. Concluded never find room to write all those zeros.
And suddenly in grip of giggles: Terry would have loved wild ride. Could almost feel manic twin clutching shoulder as careened amongst sequoia trunks, inches from disaster. Would be crouched, wings half-spread, bobbing head, yelling, “Wheeee-e-e…!”
Giggles intensified; shortly indistinguishable from hysteria. Shakes set in soon after. Quite some time before able to unlock quick-release buckle, shrug off harness. First attempt at standing garnered predictable results: Jell-O knees not useful when planning serious legwork.
Decided better deal with physical, emotional condition first:
Removed helmet. Extracted canteen from emergency knapsack mounted behind seat. Poured water on head, shook excess from hair, mopped face with sleeve. Leaned back against seat, closed eyes, took deep breath, held, released slowly. Triggered relaxation sequence; felt body gradually unwind as emotions subsided.