Unconventional Landings

Good training—and split-second decisions—can mean the difference between disaster and survival.

I once bailed out of a burning F-14—at night.

The year was 1983, and the commanding officer’s call-sign was Snake. Mine was Brownie. Snake was the pilot, and I was the F-14’s radar intercept officer (RIO). We had launched from our carrier around 11 pm, about 200 miles north of Puerto Rico. It was a normal launch, but as we proceeded to our area of operation, I saw sparks shooting out from the underside of our aircraft. Systems started to shut down and circuit breakers began popping.

The aircraft did a roll. And, then, another one. I asked, “Snake, have you got it?” He said: “No, jump,” and I didn’t wait to hear, “out.” We both knew the airplane was on fire, and at that point, you don’t know what’s going to happen. So it was, as I said, time to give the F-14 back to the taxpayers.

I ejected. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the ocean—aboard my absurdly small life-raft some 50 miles from the carrier. I got on the radio. A rescue helicopter approached, and dropped flares. A rescue swimmer jumped out, came over near me, and said: “All right. You’ve got to deflate your raft, because you don’t want the raft without weight in it and getting sucked up into the blades.” We deflated the raft, and into the helicopter we went.

My experience earned me a necktie. Martin-Baker—the manufacturer of the ejection seats Snake and I had used—sends pilots a tie and tie clip when they successfully use one of their seats. Martin-Baker’s gift is reminiscent of another tradition. During World War II, military pilots who had parachuted or made emergency landings in the ocean received a badge, an embroidered insignia of a goldfish with angel’s wings. Those men were known as the Goldfish Club. 

You can read about their experiences—and those of other pilots—in David Kindy’s article, “Survival Instinct,” in this issue of Air & Space Quarterly. Kindy tells the story of forced emergency landings over water—colloquially known as “ditching”—across the decades. The military aviators who found themselves “in the drink” during World War II didn’t have ejection seats, electronic beacons, or access to rescue helicopters. Indeed, when the war had broken out, transoceanic flights were still a rarity, and the protocols for ditching aircraft and retrieving pilots were very much a work in progress. 

But with the United States actively involved in a two-ocean military campaign, war became a swift teacher. Air-sea rescue squadrons equipped with Consolidated PBY Catalina flying boats were deployed and submarines were assigned to lifeguard stations. Pilots and aircrews were regularly schooled in how to execute ditching procedures. A 1944 training film declared that every man on a U.S. Army Air Forces bomber needed to practice “ditching drills in his own ship until it becomes automatic.”

Today, the Federal Aviation Administration requires all commercial airline pilots in the United States to complete training on how to land on the water in an emergency. Thankfully, ditching is a rare event that becomes rarer with each passing decade. Typically, there are 12 to 15 emergency water landings per year across all categories of aviation: commercial, general, and military. That’s a significant drop from the 1980s, when the aviation industry averaged some 30 ditchings a year. “Statistics show that 90 percent of controlled ditchings are survivable,” says Dorothy Cochrane, the curator for general aviation in the National Air and Space Museum’s aeronautics department. “So don’t panic. Your ditched position should be readily pinpointed for rescue even if you have complete avionics failure. An ELT, or emergency locator transmitter (required on most aircraft), will automatically broadcast your position, as will your cellphone—even if you’re not in a voice service area.”

Given the billions of air miles traveled by people each year, the odds of getting wet during a flight remain almost infinitesimal—unless, of course, you spill your drink.

Christopher U. Browne is the John and Adrienne Mars Director of the National Air and Space Museum.

This article is from the Spring 2025 issue of Air & Space Quarterly, the National Air and Space Museum's signature magazine that explores topics in aviation and space, from the earliest moments of flight to today. Explore the full issue.

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