The Flight 70 Crash - A Memoir

The sound I had heard I rationalized out of a combination of exhaustion, cold, the muddying effects of altitude and simple cowardice must not have been what I thought it was. The glow of my headlamp sputtered momentarily as the batteries fought the cold. And then it lit up a pair of legs dangling from above the opening, legs leading up to a living torso belonging to a stranger sitting atop the plane. In an instant that shocking visual was gone. And I realized it wasn't legs I was looking at. It was only two deep scrapes in the fuselage forming an inverted V, which I had actually been aware of before. To the teetering jack-