There is an entry in my logbook dated June 13, 1949. This was the first day of the rest of my life — it was the day of the miracle, when I passed through the valley of the shadow of death! But the “remarks” column gives only a hint of what actually happened: It says, “Close call with Power Lines.”
I had turned my World War II military flying into a career as a crop duster with a war surplus Stearman biplane, a bank loan, and best wishes from my worried wife. This was now my second year of aerial spraying, and I was beginning to really enjoy it.
The day began like most other June days ... clear, calm and cool — ideal spraying weather. I was airborne in the predawn darkness and headed west over the Columbia River, passing slightly north of the sleepy lights of Portland. It was bitter cold when I leveled off at an altitude of 1,000 feet.
There’s an almost indescribable feeling of freedom when flying an open cockpit plane in the murky darkness that precedes the dawn. It makes you forget the cold and biting prop blast that digs its icy fingers under your goggles and makes your eyes run wet. You begin to feel a pulsing throb — your own heartbeat surging in rhythm with the throaty roar of the 450-horsepower engine in front of you, steady and powerful. It leads you into a semi-hypnotic trance that sends your spirit soaring heavenward. The universe is yours — the horizon is boundless — and the joy of it all is pure exultation! It’s almost sacrilegious to put it in words — they are so inadequate for describing the exhilaration.
But reality and the biting cold bring my thoughts earthward again. No more reverie now! Every nerve alert and ready. Eyes swivelling — back and forth — relying on my peripheral vision to probe the shadows above the trees. A firm, but light grip on the control stick, and feet planted lightly on the rudder pedals — everything under control.
Don’t let it hypnotize you, I remind myself. Take it in short, quick looks — eyes front, back, then front again. Keep your head on a swivel, and make shallow turns — the trees are too close to let you dip a wing very far. Let her skid!
A few minutes of this and the sky begins paling into sunrise. “Hmm, should be running out of goop any second now.” A small bridge flashes past beneath me — the edge of the control area. But I continue the run, glancing back more often to see the instant the spray stops.
And that’s when it happens! In the middle of a shallow turn my eyes sweep forward. I hit the throttle as I start to level off and climb. Something flickers at the corner of my eye, up there on the right. A quick flash of sunlight strikes the bright aluminum cables of the Bonneville power line. Swiftly my glance follows them down, right into the treetops in front of me, and in that split second I’m into them! No time to pull up over the top ... no room to go under ... I have to fly between them! Nine cables — three rows of three, each cable an inch and a half thick, and the middle row lies dead ahead of the plane. In that fractured second separating life from death, my reactions (if they actually were mine) are only automatic reflexes.
I barely have time to level the wings and head for the open space between the top and middle rows. I’m suddenly detached from reality and someone else has control of the plane. It’s as though I’m looking over my own shoulder from behind, and the huddled, paralyzed figure in the cockpit is not me. A wordless prayer engulfs me. My eyes stare in frozen fascination as those huge cables zap, zap, zap over me. Then I awake to the realization that the engine’s throaty roar is still full and strong and steady. There’s no explosion — no lightning bolts, no pieces falling apart. The stick is still in my hands. I’m still alive! I look back in disbelief. All nine cables are still there, stretching from tower to tower ... motionless and unbroken!
I pull up into a long climbing turn, out of the valley and into the full light of sunrise. And what a glorious sunrise! With a prayer of thanks on my trembling lips, I grab huge gulps of fresh air, turn the plane toward the airport, and try to keep my quivering feet on the rudder pedals. I’m still saying, “Thank You, God!” when I land five minutes later and roll to a stop near the hangars. I feel like jelly — bathed in icy sweat. I peel off my helmet and goggles and step out on the wing. My legs fold up like rubber bands, and I sprawl flat on the wet grass, shivering.
I lay there for a long, long time.
Several nagging questions troubled me. How far apart were those cables? How much clearance was there above and below the plane? Why didn’t the diesel fumes in the spray tank explode? I finally got some of the answers from a friend who had worked for the Bonneville Power Administration. He checked the archives and found the engineer’s drawings showing a vertical gap of nearly 18 feet between each layer of cables. The Stearman in level flight measures close to 12 feet from top to bottom. That gave me three feet of clearance both above and below the plane.
All of this lay quietly in my memory for 25 years. I was content to let it rest as a minor miracle, giving God 90 percent of the credit, with the other 10 percent going to my first flight instructor who drilled into me the “swivel neck” habit by saying, “A stiff neck is the first sign of rigor mortis.” If my head hadn’t been turning at that precise instant, I’d never have caught that flicker of reflected sunlight — that fraction of a second’s warning that enabled me to pull up and level the wings in time to go between the cables.
But one day I finished telling a friend about my miracle flight and he slowly shook his head. He was an electrical engineer for Bonneville and thoroughly familiar with power transmission. “No way, man! Even if you didn’t actually touch those cables, there’s no way you could come that close to them with a metal frame airplane and not turn into a fireball. That much voltage will arc across almost six feet! One set of cables, with lots of luck, maybe. But three sets of cables? Impossible!”
Then he took pencil and paper and drew a rectangle of four dots with a biplane centered between them. “Here you are,” he said, “almost touching four cables at the same time. Why, that’s about double the voltage!” The thought of what that much electricity is capable of doing stunned him into silence for a moment. Then he went on: “The only way you could have been that close and not be burned to a crisp would be if ... Say, can you give me the exact day and time? I know this guy who works where the archives are kept. He might check the records on that line and see if ... ”
So I dig out the logbook for that year and give him the figures — June 13, 1949, at 5:05 a.m. Later his friend comes back — that section of line was shut down that morning to fix a faulty relay. The repair was completed and power restored — at 5:15 a.m.!
But for me there was another source of power at that exact moment — a constant and uninterrupted source far, far greater than anything Bonneville produces! It was that power that led me safely out of the valley of the shadow of death! God says about the angels, “Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?” (Hebrews 1:1414Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation? (Hebrews 1:14)). While God may not have used angels to preserve my life, this Bible verse shows His intense care and love for each person who will believe on Him. It was His mercy, not my cleverness, that spared my life.
If you’ve ever been given a kind hug, a tender kiss, an amazing sunrise, the view of a beautiful flower or a pleasant “thank you,” then you’ve experienced a touch of God’s goodness expressed in His creation. Have you said, “Thank You, God”? Do you know Jesus Christ as your Saviour from sin as well as your Creator? Not turning to Him is a serious thing. “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him” (John 3:3636He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him. (John 3:36)).
God shows tremendous care for His creatures in this life, but He has even more planned for them. Find out more of His plan of salvation in Are You Related to Royalty?