W. CORBIN HOWARD, Attorney at Law
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| A MIRACLE IN THE MOUNTAINS |
The value of 20 years of life: Watching the transformation of Nick and Anna into young adults.
Cradling Paul, our third child, at his birth two years after we should have died. Watching him soar to 6’
2” in 18 years. Being loved back by the woman I love. It was and is a remarkable gift.
Cradling Paul, our third child, at his birth two years after we should have died. Watching him soar to 6’
2” in 18 years. Being loved back by the woman I love. It was and is a remarkable gift.
First Backpack for Nick & Anna. It was Saturday, August 5, 1989. My wife Joyce
and I had just taken our children Nick and Anna, ages 2 and 4, on their first
backpack. It was a single overnight trip 4 miles up the Little Horn River Canyon with
a well defined trail hugging the clear cascading stream. With us were my brother
Hayden and his three daughters, all young adults. We had a wonderful time, hiking,
fishing, eating smores, watching the stars come out as our campfire burned to a
bed of coals.
Over Flight. Hayden had flown up to Montana from his Baton Rouge home in his
Beechcraft, a low wing, four place private plane. When we all returned to Billings, he
offered to fly us over our backpack route. Joyce climbed in the back with Kirsten,
Hayden’s youngest. I strapped into the right front seat with my video camera. Nick
and Anna stayed behind with my parents. By air, it was a quick trip down to the
trailhead. As we banked and started up the Little Horn Canyon, our wings were
lower than the limestone cliffs on either side.
Boxed In. It was a great view. The river and winding foot trail were clearly visible
below us bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The plane began to slow,
however, as we encountered a headwind. Once in the Canyon there was no way
out except up and over the crest of the mountain in front of us.
and I had just taken our children Nick and Anna, ages 2 and 4, on their first
backpack. It was a single overnight trip 4 miles up the Little Horn River Canyon with
a well defined trail hugging the clear cascading stream. With us were my brother
Hayden and his three daughters, all young adults. We had a wonderful time, hiking,
fishing, eating smores, watching the stars come out as our campfire burned to a
bed of coals.
Over Flight. Hayden had flown up to Montana from his Baton Rouge home in his
Beechcraft, a low wing, four place private plane. When we all returned to Billings, he
offered to fly us over our backpack route. Joyce climbed in the back with Kirsten,
Hayden’s youngest. I strapped into the right front seat with my video camera. Nick
and Anna stayed behind with my parents. By air, it was a quick trip down to the
trailhead. As we banked and started up the Little Horn Canyon, our wings were
lower than the limestone cliffs on either side.
Boxed In. It was a great view. The river and winding foot trail were clearly visible
below us bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The plane began to slow,
however, as we encountered a headwind. Once in the Canyon there was no way
out except up and over the crest of the mountain in front of us.
Stall Warning. As we flew higher up the Canyon, I heard the stall
warning go off. We were at 8,500 feet with at least another 1,000 feet left
to clear the ridge. That was the first indication I had that something was
wrong. But Hayden had realized shortly after our turn into the canyon
that we were in trouble. He kept his cool. Instead of stalling the aircraft,
he made a gentle turn into the tops of a dense stand of Douglas fir off
our left wingtip to set us down.
Any Landing You Can Walk Away From....The “landing” was brutal
and short. The left wing -- ripped off at the root -- was up in the trees.
The entire tail assembly was yanked off. In the blink of an eye, we spun
180 degrees knocking down trees as we fell through the forest to the
ground. In the sudden silence we found nothing left intact – except the
four of us and the fuselage that held us. We spent the night on the
mountain huddled under a space blanket and seat covers. The stars
came out. Deer wandered by in the adjoining meadow. A satellite silently
picked up our automatic emergency signal from far overhead. The
Sheridan Sheriff’s Department and search and rescue folks found us
shortly after sunrise. They were amazed we were alive. It was August 6th,
1989, the dawn of a new day.
warning go off. We were at 8,500 feet with at least another 1,000 feet left
to clear the ridge. That was the first indication I had that something was
wrong. But Hayden had realized shortly after our turn into the canyon
that we were in trouble. He kept his cool. Instead of stalling the aircraft,
he made a gentle turn into the tops of a dense stand of Douglas fir off
our left wingtip to set us down.
Any Landing You Can Walk Away From....The “landing” was brutal
and short. The left wing -- ripped off at the root -- was up in the trees.
The entire tail assembly was yanked off. In the blink of an eye, we spun
180 degrees knocking down trees as we fell through the forest to the
ground. In the sudden silence we found nothing left intact – except the
four of us and the fuselage that held us. We spent the night on the
mountain huddled under a space blanket and seat covers. The stars
came out. Deer wandered by in the adjoining meadow. A satellite silently
picked up our automatic emergency signal from far overhead. The
Sheridan Sheriff’s Department and search and rescue folks found us
shortly after sunrise. They were amazed we were alive. It was August 6th,
1989, the dawn of a new day.
Click to Read Gazette Articles:
On Crash
On Corbin Turning 40
On Crash
On Corbin Turning 40
Revisiting the Scene.
Last summer, Kirsten – now happily married with two young sons –
asked me to go with them for their first family back pack. We
returned to the Little Horn Canyon.
We hiked up to the same campsite. The boys fished the cool, clear
water. We built a fire, ate smores and watched the stars come out.
They loved it, just like we knew they would.
But this time we did one thing different: We skipped the plane ride
after.
Last summer, Kirsten – now happily married with two young sons –
asked me to go with them for their first family back pack. We
returned to the Little Horn Canyon.
We hiked up to the same campsite. The boys fished the cool, clear
water. We built a fire, ate smores and watched the stars come out.
They loved it, just like we knew they would.
But this time we did one thing different: We skipped the plane ride
after.
First Backpack: Max & Milo, 20 Years Later