Real Survival Stories - Deadly Descent: Power Outage at 18,000 Feet

Episode Date: October 9, 2024

A private flight to Scotland runs into serious trouble. With his passengers safely on board and sipping bubbly, pilot Jonathan Moss takes off on what should be a quick and easy job. But when the weather takes a drastic turn and his aircraft loses power, the situation quickly becomes anything but routine. Without lights, navigation, radio or heating, Jonathan will have to estimate and improvise his way through an unfolding disaster in the skies… A Noiser production, written by Fiona Ford. For ad-free listening, bonus material and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Click the Noiser+ banner to get started. Or, if you’re on Spotify or Android, go to noiser.com/subscriptions Jonathan got in touch after listening to the show. If you have an amazing survival story of your own that you’d like to put forward, let us know. Drop us an email at [e-mail] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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It's Friday, December the 3rd, 1999. Evening. The sun has set. High above the rolling countryside of northwest England, a compact twin-engine Cessna cuts a striking figure at 18,000 feet. The small, six-seater aircraft, driven by the steady whir of its two propellers, slices through dark skies. Outside, the world is cold and colourless, the clouds dense and heavy, a typical English winter's evening. But inside the aircraft, the cabin is warm and lively.

The hum of the engine, the clink of glasses, and the cheerful conversation of four passengers fills the small space. A champagne cork pops, causing more laughter as the bubbly is poured between cut glass flutes. This small group of wealthy individuals having to care in the world. But then, quite suddenly, the weather takes a turn. Hailstones begin to pummel the little plane. The sharp rattle reverberates through the cabin like a thousand relentless drumbeats. Conditions outside have transformed. It's now a furious blur of snow and wind battering the aircraft.

Dark foreboding clouds close in, filled with rumbling thunder and flashing lightning. A swift burst of turbulence shakes the passengers in their seats. Monitoring the situation from the cockpit is 40-year-old pilot Jonathan Moss. He drinks in the situation calmly. His aviation training has equipped him to deal with uncertainty in the air.

It's just not comfortable when you're getting bounced around. As a pilot, you're sort of used to it, but you are concerned about your passengers when it's turbulence. As to my passengers, they're high net worth individuals. They're used to flying in private aircraft, so they weren't concerned either, I don't think. Not until the lights went out, anyway. From nowhere, the cockpit is plunged into total darkness.

Jonathan scans the flight deck and sees that the plane's electrical systems have failed. Absolutely black, inside and outside outside apart from when lightning flashed and then it lit up the cockpit very eerily you can see a sort of silhouette of all the instruments and this snow and hail coming down on the aircraft suddenly you can't see where you're going and you're trying to control an aircraft which you have no means of being able to ascertain whether you're upside down or in level flight. The storm outside is intensifying by the second and Jonathan can't see anything beyond the cockpit. Worse still, the plane's vital navigation equipment is broken. It's the literal definition of flying blind. Jonathan has to act fast to somehow work out a way through this,

or he and his passengers are going to perish. The odds are firmly against him. There's a good chance we could die. Percentage 60-40 chance of dying. 50-30 maybe. I was wondering what it would feel like to fly into a mountain. We would all be killed instantly. Ever wondered what you would do when disaster strikes?

If your life depended on your next decision, could you make the right choice? Welcome to Real Survival Stories. These are the astonishing tales of ordinary people thrown into extraordinary situations. People suddenly forced to fight for their lives. In this episode, we meet Jonathan Moss, a former paratrooper turned commercial pilot. Jonathan is at home in the air. In December 1999, he agrees to fly a group of high-profile passengers from the north of England up to Scotland. It's a quick, easy job, just another day in the skies. But when the weather takes a drastic turn and the aircraft loses power,

the situation quickly becomes anything but routine. Jonathan will have to adapt, estimate and improvise his way through an unfolding disaster. We've got no navigation, no radios, no lights on the aircraft no heating 18,000 feet in the middle of winter but I've got a job to do I want to stay alive I want to see my family again

and I focus I'm John Hopkins from Noisa this is Real Survival Stories It's 3.15pm on Friday, December 3rd, 1999, at Blackpool Airport in the northwest of England. Just a few miles from the Lancashire coastline, a solid sheet of grey, murky cloud hangs over the tarmac runways. The overcast sky seems to press down on the landscape. Inside the cockpit of a twin-engine Cessna 421 Golden Eagle, Jonathan Moss is preparing for a straightforward flight. Today's task is to safely deliver a group of clients to Perth Airport, a small airstrip nestled deep in the heart of Scotland.

From there, his passengers are heading off for a weekend of golf at the famous Glen Eagles Resort. As Jonathan runs through his pre-flight checks, his hands move with the ease of experience, adjusting dials and switches, ensuring everything is as it should be. Not long later, he's received clearance to take off. And his little aircraft is soaring towards nearby Manchester Airport, where he'll collect his waiting passengers. Conditions today aren't ideal. Drizzle is turning into heavy rain, the clouds morphing from light and grey to thick and black. It all suggests the journey may not go quite as planned. But with two years' experience as a commercial pilot under his belt,

Jonathan is no stranger to unfavourable conditions. Besides, his passengers today are high-profile individuals who he doesn't want to disappoint. A little gang of four, headed up by someone Jonathan refers to euphemistically as the boss. I won't give his name. He is a local, very, very high net worth individual who used me on a lot of occasions. This was just one of those occasions. I was monitoring the weather for day or two before because it wasn't looking good.

And I was wondering whether I may have to cancel the flight. Now, cancelling a flight is something you don't do lightly. They've planned something they want to do, whether it's business or pleasure, and it may be very important for them to get there. But the weather was, it was looking iffy, but it was always looking doable. As he navigates the skies on the mini-hop to Manchester, with no co-pilot today, the controls are all in Jonathan's hands. Especially in a small aircraft, when you're going where you want to,

it's just a sense of freedom, a sense of isolation. You're in control of your own destiny. And if things do go wrong, you have to deal with it. And I do sort of like that situation. Jonathan's love for flying began during his school days when an RAF helicopter landed with a thunderous roar in his playground. The spinning of the blades, the rush of wind, and the scent of fuel captivated him.

I would have been about 12 maybe. A helicopter, RAF helicopter came and landed on the playing fields. I thought, God, this is cool. And the pilot, I think, said, does anyone want to come up and sit in the cockpit? I was up there like a rat up a drainpipe. And I was there, sat in the cockpit. This guy showed me all these instruments, and he was like amazing. Later, inspired by the Falklands War, Jonathan joined the British Army's Airborne Infantry Unit, the Parachute Regiment. But a serious accident, which resulted in a broken neck,

meant he was discharged on medical grounds. Back on Civvy Street, Jonathan put his degree in quantity surveying to good use and transitioned to a career in construction, working for the family business. But his passion for aviation never faded. He became a private pilot based out of Blackpool, regularly transporting small groups of people wherever they needed to go. It was great fun, great fun. I had been qualified as a commercial pilot for a year or two.

I had three children. The oldest would have been nine years old, nine, seven and six. So I had three youngish children and I was in the family business and doing the flying. Despite the inclement weather, Jonathan's initial flight to Manchester is relatively smooth, taking just 15 minutes. As he waits for his passengers to join him, reports of thunderstorms and heavy snow along the route to Perth filter in.

That's the unpredictable British winter for you. In situations like this, all a pilot can do is be ready. In aviation, to fly by instruments means to rely on the aircraft's gauges, meters, and indicators to navigate, especially when visibility is poor. Mastering instrument flight, rather than using visual clues from the outside world, is a necessary skill for any aviator. It's not a concern because that's what you do. You're trained to fly. I mean, every time you go on a flight on your holidays or wherever you go to, part of it will probably be flying in cloud. You're sat there in the back and you can't see out because there's cloud there. The pilot't see he's flying an instrument or she so that is not a concern it's what we do it's normal

absolutely normal and you're prepared for it as soon as you take off you could be in cloud so you train for it and you expect it you're a podcast listener and this is a podcast ad heard only in Canada. Reach great Canadian listeners like yourself with podcast advertising from Libsyn Ads. Choose from hundreds of top podcasts offering host endorsements or run a pre-produced ad like this one across thousands of shows to reach your target audience with Libsyn Ads. Email bob at libsyn.com to learn more. That's B-O-B at L-I-b-s-y-n.com. The last of the daylight is fading as the excitable passengers board the plane,

chatting, chortling, and taking their seats. With everyone happy and strapped in, Jonathan does his announcements, makes his final checks, and takes off from Manchester at 5.55pm. Heading north towards Scotland, the Cessna climbs steadily to a cruising altitude, where the clouds cling closely to the wings. From the cockpit, Jonathan can hear his clients laughing, their voices full of anticipation for the weekend ahead. He checks the controls and instruments, all indicating normal operation. As the darkness grows and the weather worsens, his flight deck becomes essential.

As soon as you enter the cloud at 200 or 300 feet, you'll then transfer from visual flying to instrument flying. The instruments are telling you which way up you are, whether you're climbing or descending, are you turning left or are you turning right, and obviously speed and everything else, altitude. You do learn to scan very quickly the instruments. And you're doing this constantly and talking to air traffic control and navigating the aircraft to where you want to go. That's fairly normal. That's fairly routine. Just then, there's a crackle from the radio and a message fizzes through from air traffic control.

Perth Airport is closed due to heavy snow. Unsurprised, Jonathan promptly asks the controller to find him a slot at Edinburgh, 40 miles from Perth. It's a scenario he's anticipated before takeoff. His passengers are also aware that the poor weather may force this slight detour. They'll likely be at Gleneagles a little later than planned. For the sake of safety, this reroute is a very small price to pay. We're flying from Manchester Airport to Edinburgh International Airport. Now, both airports are international airports. Now, both airports are international airports. They have all the necessary equipment to enable you to land in takeoff in poor conditions. They have all

the emergency equipment if something goes wrong. I was quite happy to fly to Edinburgh. I was not happy flying to Perth because Perth is not equipped to the same level. Despite the deteriorating weather outside, the cabin remains calm and relaxed. Champagne is sipped, anecdotes are swapped. But then the atmosphere begins to change, both inside and out. Heavy bullets of hail start to hammer the plane's wings, tail, and fuselage. The aircraft bumps and dips through stomach-churning turbulence. Inside the cockpit, Jonathan tries to fly as steadily as he can. But then suddenly, the lights go out, and the plane is swallowed by an eerie blackness.

The various lights of the flight deck flicker and die. Jonathan stares at the blank panel in front of him. Things just got a whole lot more serious. Nonetheless, he remains calm and remembers his training. First things first, he needs to try a reset. There's an emergency procedure you have to follow, electrical failure. So I had my mag lights on a belt, got it out, shined the torch, click, click, click, did the emergency procedure, lights came back on again. Great, happy days, I thought.

So I just checked where I was, checked all the instruments, thought we were okay, we were. I've reset everything, it should be okay. But the relief is short-lived. Suddenly, a sharp bang reverberates through the cabin, and the aircraft goes dark once more. Jonathan quickly tries another reset, but this time there's no response. The system remains dead. He pulls out his torch again and meticulously checks everything, ensuring he's followed protocol to the letter. But the plane remains unresponsive. The power has completely disappeared. Suddenly, you can't see where you're going,

and you're trying to control an aircraft which you have no means of being able to ascertain whether you're upside down or in level flight. We've got a problem. I've got no navigation, no radio. I've got nothing apart from two instruments, which is my airspeed and my altimeter, which were both working. These are both crucial tools. The airspeed indicator shows him how fast the plane is flying

and whether it's climbing or descending. The altimeter tells him the plane's height above sea level. Jonathan carefully tests these instruments. When he pulls back on the control column, the altitude goes up and the airspeed slows. When he pushes down, the altitude drops and the speed increases. Both instruments are still operating normally. He also has the turn-slip indicator, which tells him if the wings are level. Right now, Jonathan can see that the wings are fine, but with the storm gathering pace outside, he has no idea how long they'll stay that way. He doesn't have much, but what he does have should be enough to keep them airborne.

At least for now. He doesn't have much, but what he does have should be enough to keep them airborne. At least for now. I think pilots generally, they're not a panicky type of people. There's no place in the cockpit for someone who's prone to panic. The situation is pretty serious, very serious. But I've got a job to do. I want to stay alive. I want to see my family again.

And I focus. At 18,000 feet above the English countryside, Jonathan is flying largely on instinct. With all but three of his instruments down, thunder, lightning and hail rage outside. He cannot speak to air traffic control the radio is out and his phone won't work up here he's got to work this out all by himself just then jonathan's main client the man who has chartered the flight approaches him in the cockpit

boss popped over his shoulder and said, what's happening? What's going to happen? I said, do you really want to know? There's a good chance we could die. And he was a bit quiet, as you would imagine. I said, but I've got enough and I can get out of this. Leave me to it. Don't disturb me, please. The boss obeys Jonathan's request. He returns to the other passengers, reassuring them that the pilot has everything under control and that this is just a minor hiccup.

Jonathan, meanwhile, formulates a plan. With no light in the cockpit and his navigation systems down, he needs to exit controlled airspace. It's regulation procedure, designed to keep other aircraft safe when a pilot loses communication and navigation abilities. But first, he must try to work out exactly where they are. Just minutes before the plane lost power, Jonathan remembers passing over what's known as an Airways Reporting Point. These are like invisible markers in the sky, guiding pilots and helping them to relay their position to air traffic control.

We had just passed a reporting point, which are just theoretical points on a map, basically. It's like, imagine a pole going up from the earth through the sky you cross over that pole and this one was called shop sh a P so-called eyes would imagine because it's near a village called shop in Cumbria shop is the last location air traffic control will have tracked before the plane went dark. Jonathan can roughly guess they're still somewhere over the northwest of England, near Cumbria, with the Lake District probably to the left and the Scottish border somewhere up ahead.

From here, he's going to have to rely on memory and instincts to continually re-estimate his position as he flies through the storm. It's extremely high-stakes guesswork. I turned 90 degrees left, which would indicate to air traffic control if they had a radar trace on me, which I didn't know if they had or not, what I was doing. So I turned left. I got my little map out and I decided we were near Schapp. Ooh, how long ago was that? Was that a minute ago? Was that two minutes ago?

Ooh, not sure really, quite honestly. The unanswerable questions pile up, but Jonathan has to be decisive. After exiting controlled airspace, his aim is to then navigate back to Blackpool, maybe 60 miles away, where he hopes to somehow land. He steers the plane west, or what he believes to be west, towards Keswick, a scenic town in the Lake District. This part of the world is known for its stunning mires, glaciers, and rolling valleys. In treacherous weather, with no visibility, it is a huge

risk heading towards its hilly landscape. But flying west will take them towards the coast, which should be safer, and will make it easier for Jonathan to navigate, using the shoreline as a guide. The reason I decided to head back to Blackpool was Blackpool and the Irish Sea was in relatively clear weather. I knew that. The clouds, etc., were basically over the land

which we were flying over, effectively, right up to Scotland and in Scotland. Hoping against hope that he is now heading towards the coast, Jonathan's next problem is working out time and distance. When he reaches Keswick, that will be the moment to turn south and fly down the west coast towards Blackpool.

But when should he turn south? With no instruments to guide him, it's time to employ an old pilot's trick. Quite literally, the rule of thumb. Grabbing his torch and a map, Jonathan holds his hand up to the paper. Tracing a line from Schapp to Keswick, he estimates that the width of his thumb equals roughly 10 miles of distance. So I just put on the map, thumb, thumb, two, three, four, whatever it was, decided, you know, 10 miles, that would take me about four or five minutes or so.

My estimated position to Keswick was about 30 miles. So that would take me 12 minutes. I started the stopwatch. There's no knowing whether he's right, but experience and intuition are guiding him now. Stopwatch ticking, the plane continues to race through the storm, weaving and wobbling through pockets of turbulence and relentless rain. It's almost 12 minutes now since Jonathan turned west. According to his thumb, at least, they should now be over Keswick.

From there, it's a straight line south to Blackpool. But there's still no break in the clouds. Jonathan remains in the dark, flying through a chasm of nothingness. I was still at 18,000 feet or thereabouts, and the time ran out. I turned south. Now, this was when I thought, oh, right, I need to start descending sometime. But when do I do it? If I was at Keswick, as I thought I was, I could start descending in about five or six minutes. And I'd be over Windermere, and then I could start descending past the Lake District towards the open sea, Morecambe Bay. And you think, well, what if I was a bit further north? These doubts start coming to your head, don't they?

What if I was past Scotland into Dumfries? If I come down too early, I'm going to hit the mountains. No room for doubts. He must make his move. Jonathan turns the plane and starts heading due south. He hopes. The Cessna hurtles through the night sky at a rate of 250 knots, the speed bumping and shaking everybody on board. The wings are still level, knots, the speed bumping and shaking everybody on board.

The wings are still level, but the weather is now so violent he needs both hands to grip the plane's controls. He takes his torch and clamps it between his teeth to illuminate the murky cockpit. The altimeter still reads 18,000 feet. It hasn't budged. Jonathan frowns. This might actually be a sign that something is wrong. That this instrument may now be broken too.

This information actually caused me to worry a little. I didn't think that it was possible to keep the aircraft reasonably level in the conditions we were in. Thunderstorm, buff buffeting wind turbulence hail freezing rain i had to be sure so i pulled back on the control column gently the altimeter did not move the altimeter still reads 18 000 feet jonathan cannot be certain of their true altitude and that's an enormous problem. On top of that, without heating, the body and wings of the plane are now blanketed in a thickening layer of frost and ice. The aircraft is becoming heavier, harder to control. The aircraft was covered in ice, which is a very dangerous situation. I had no means

of removing the ice accumulation on the wings, which reduced severely their aerodynamic performance. Ice has been the cause of many fatal aircraft accidents. It's also affecting the temperature inside the plane. It's positively freezing, making it harder for Jonathan to concentrate. Cold is a problem, and it was a problem. Cold can lead to hypothermia, of course. And hypothermia does reduce your mental and physical abilities quite considerably. You're certainly below freezing.

But again, I don't think I had the mental capacity to deal with the cold as well, so I just ignored it. You have to. You can't do anything else. He tries to stay focused. He doesn't know how much fuel he has left, but the window of opportunity to land is closing rapidly. The biting cold in the cabin sharpens, generating another concern. There is a real possibility that the plane's pitot tube could be about to freeze. And that would turn a desperate situation into an insurmountable one. I've been up here for quite a while now with no heat on the pitot tube. The pitot tube is a little metal tube which sticks out from the wing of an aircraft.

That is heated and it enables the instruments to read the pressure, which then fix into the altimeter and to the airspeed indicator. So I thought, crikey, if that freezes, I've got nothing. I really am in the mire. I was wondering what it would feel like to fly into a mountain. There was some comfort to be had in that, as we were flying at 250 knots, we would all be killed instantly.

The giant storm continues to batter the little plane. Every roll of thunder vibrates through the cabin and the cockpit. In such moments, a pilot's continued cool head is vital. One of my sayings is, panic, you die, you have to remain calm. So remain calm, don't panic. Jonathan can't stay in the sky forever. He has to trust his instincts. It's time to start lowering the plane.

He tests the controls again, pushing the nose of the aircraft down. And finally, there is a bit of good news. The altimeter moves. It seems to be functioning again. Jonathan slightly reduces the throttle, easing the Cessna into a controlled descent. The nose dips gently as he checks once more for any signs of failure. It still seems to be working, but he can't afford to descend too far or too fast. There is a distinct possibility they are now near Scarfell Pike,

the highest peak in England, at 3,210 feet. If the altimeter is now accurate, Jonathan could descend to 5,000 feet, knowing the plane will be safely above the treacherous terrain. To be extra cautious, he decides to level off at 7,000 feet. Now, at this lower height, the storm seems to be easing off slightly. The clouds feel marginally less thick and angry. And then, after what feels like an eternity of flying blind, Jonathan finally spots something. A faint glow appears on the horizon, the lights of a power station. A landmark that signals they might just be edging closer to safety.

At 7,000 feet, I then suddenly saw a gap in the clouds and I could see what I thought was a sea and some lights. I thought, okay, I'm going for it. Close the throttle and I went down towards this gap in the clouds and I broke through the clouds and great. It was exactly where I planned to be, in Morecambe Bay, just north of Haysham Power Station. This is such a relief. With ingenuity, instinct and clear thinking, Jonathan has guided them to the precise spot he intended. It's like hitting a hole in one with your eyes closed.

The shimmering lights of Hayshham Nuclear Plant confirm their location. They're now only about 15 miles from Blackpool Airport. The passengers begin to murmur, their voices breaking the tense silence, as they spot land on the horizon. But the danger hasn't passed. They're not on the ground yet. The cockpit windows are almost completely encrusted with ice. Visibility is still hugely restricted. Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Jonathan steals himself, opens a side window, and sticks his cigarette out. It's a little quarter light, a little triangle of the window. So I opened that and just scraped a bit of ice off my side so I could see where I was. Because of where we were, Morecambe Bay, you can see the coast on my left-hand side. That's all I needed to see. I could see the sea below me and I could see the coast. Jonathan continues to follow the coastline south. Along the way, the lights of coastal towns are dimmed by the storm.

And then, at last, the iconic silhouette of Blackpool Tower emerges from the gloom. It's a beacon, guiding him towards the safety of the airport. But with no radio, it's impossible to contact those on the ground to alert them of their arrival. And the runway, usually a well-lit strip cutting through the darkness, is nowhere to be seen. Jonathan scans and squints, and finally he just about discerns it. But its smooth, straight lines blend into the surrounding grass. The lights are completely out, leaving the airstrip an ominous empty void. I thought, okay, yeah, hadn't thought of that one. Blackpool's shut. Okay, no worries. I'm based there, I know the airport, I know the vicinity around it, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

So I carried on, turned left into what's called the downwind leg when you're flying parallel to the runway. And then I tried to pull the landing gear down. With the storm above and darkness below, Jonathan starts the landing procedure. But there is yet another problem to contend with, and this is a big one. The landing gear, essential for a safe touchdown, is electrically operated. Without power, Jonathan will have to manually release the plane's wheels. But he won't know for sure whether or not they are properly deployed and in place. We have emergency procedures, which is basically you release a catch

and you pump a handle and the landing gear should go down pneumatically. And then normally you get three green lights, which are the nose wheel and the two rear wheels, light up when the wheels are down. When they click into place and activate the lights, but I don't know because there's no lights, no electric. So you wiggle the wings of the aircraft, which if the undercarriage was a bit loose, it should just click into place.

You can imagine just wiggling it and the legs click into place. I assume they did. I don't know. You can't possibly know. I assumed they did and I hoped they did. If the landing gear has not properly locked beneath the plane, then Jonathan is speeding towards the ground without the means to cushion their landing.

But there's nothing else for it. And so he starts his final descent on a wing and a prayer. The plane continues to drop lower and lower, the ground creeping ever closer. With both hands on the controls, his torch gripped between his teeth, and cold running through his bones, Jonathan is totally drained. His knuckles are white with tension. One last push. Aside from his little side window, scraped clear of ice, the rest of the glass in the cockpit remains frosty and opaque. With just moments before they land, Jonathan again has to stick his arm out of the plane and reach around this time to the front windows.

So I'm trying to fly the aircraft down on the runway, got my left arm out of the window, trying to scrape a bit of ice off so I could see. And I scraped about a hand, a palm's width, just enough so I could see pretty well what was what. Couldn't confirm that I was seen the wrong way, but I thought I was, I'm pretty sure. Jonathan begins to line up the aircraft as best as he can. He reduces power, slowly and deliberately, every move as precise as he can make it.

The faint outline of the painted white line at the center of the runway becomes clearer he is ready to land the rule is don't spill the champagne so you tend to land very gently if you can main reason why i was so gentle on that landing was because i couldn't be sure if the landing gear was down. So I gently, very gently, very, very gently, inch by inch, inch by inch, put her down. And it was one of the most gentle landings

I've ever done. As smooth as you like, the Cessna makes contact with the ground. Jonathan has done it. Everybody is safe. Such a relief just falls off you. We've been put through a situation where we could well have died. We could well have died and I'd have been responsible,

not necessarily my own fault, but for killing four people. Their families would suffer, my family would suffer. As Jonathan rolls to a stop at the end of the runway, he reaches for his phone and turns it on. He contacts air traffic control, informing them of the successful landing. They congratulate him, telling him that Manchester radar has actually been tracking his approach, anticipating he might head either to Blackpool or to a military airfield nearby. He's told to wait on the runway.

A precautionary fire truck is already on its way. Mercifully, their role is no longer to deal with disaster. It's simply to escort the aircraft to the hangar. I followed the fire truck back to the apron and shut down the aircraft, got out, and, a bit like the Pope, kissed the ground. I was very, very relieved to be there. Very, very relieved. Feet on solid ground, Jonathan advises his boss not to disclose the gravity of the situation to his companions. The other passengers seem somewhat relieved, but mainly unbothered,

blissfully unaware of how close they came to disaster. My passengers just all said, yeah, well done, Johnny. Yeah, yeah, I agree. Good that. Didn't seem to be that bothered. So maybe they didn't think it was as bad as it was. And I wasn't going to enlighten them. I wasn't going to tell them how serious that was.

Let them make their own minds up. They seemed quite happy. Well, you would be, wouldn't you? You just landed not where you wanted to land, but you're still alive and in one piece. The passengers aren't going to let a slightly hairy flight ruin their weekend plans. They've got golf to play.

They make their way over to Manchester Airport, where they catch another flight to Edinburgh, totally relaxed about stepping onto another plane. As for Jonathan, he has only one destination in mind. He needs a pint. I went to the pub from there, from Blackpool. I was supposed to be meeting my wife and friends later on that evening when I got back from Edinburgh,

but I was there before them, and I think I'd already had a few drinks. Just a week later, Jonathan is back in the cockpit, undeterred by the recent close shave. He is rational about the statistical likelihood of getting into trouble in the skies, and his passion for aviation is unshaken. But the memory of that night does

linger. He returns to Manchester airport to review the radar trace of his fateful journey. He can see on the screen the precision of his maneuvers, and how he executed his emergency plan to the letter. He exited controlled airspace as required, heading west towards Keswick before making a sharp turn south. His ability to maintain altitude with such steadiness was remarkable. The line he traced through the sky was as straight as a ruler, a clear testament to his years of training and experience. I didn't let the idea of dying, apart from that one moment, enter my head.

I didn't have any experimental capacity to think about dying. I didn't allow myself to do it. I do firmly believe it certainly made me a better pilot. Let's put it that way. Questions do, however, remain. And one thing Jonathan never understands is why the power abruptly failed.

Never ever got to the root of the problem. Engineers crawled over the aircraft. The electrics, when they reset, worked again. They had it investigated, checked out. Just couldn't understand it. After some time, Jonathan decides to sell the Cessna. Meanwhile, his mysterious, high-profile boss purchases his own private jet and asks Jonathan to be his pilot. While it's clear his actions on that stormy night saved the lives of everyone on board, Jonathan insists he was just doing what any other pilot would have done.

Things go wrong. We train for things going wrong. We're not heroes. We're doing our job. A hero is someone who throws himself into the aviation crash and rescues people out of it, putting himself or herself in great danger doing so. In the end, the flight of December 3rd, 1999 lasted just 90 minutes. But it continues to be a reminder to Jonathan of the thin line between life and death and the importance of staying calm under pressure. Although he's no longer a pilot, it's a lesson he carries with him to this day. It's sheer determination to survive.

That's basically it, determination. Stubbornness. I won't give in. I never give in. I'll carry on and on and on until I've finished whatever it is I am doing. So it's just sheer determination. The will to survive is strong. student Els Visser. In 2014, as part of her training to become a doctor, Els takes an internship at a hospital in Bali. For a final adventure before she returns home, she signs up for a four-day cruise around the tranquil tropical islands of Indonesia. But when the boat starts sinking in the middle of the ocean, Els' final adventure could well become her final act on Earth. Along with her fellow shipwrecked travelers, she'll face dark, dangerous waters,

a life-or-death slog across a treacherous ocean, and seek sanctuary on a live volcanic island. And not everyone will make it through the ordeal alive. That's next time on Real Survival Stories.