Good catch, LIPH---I'd forgotten...it was originally posted as "News". Anyone would naturally assumed it was new....so the misleading was surely not an accident....nor was it funny.LIPH wrote:[If it was meant to "share some historical facts" as brahmafear said in a subsequent post, why wasn't it posted in the JB Discussion forum? Something that happened 12 years ago isn't exactly "news".
(1994) Jimmy Buffett loses control of his plane.....
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Just thought I'd post a bit of this...from APLA50:
Now I dove down into the murky waters of Madaket Harbor that filled the cockpit of my plane and searched with my hands for the window and the latches. Finally I found them and was able to unscrew them and open the window. With what little air I had left in my aching lungs, I exhaled and followed those bubbles back up to the air pocket. On the next dive, I was out the window and up on the wing as my fishing buddies -- who had minutes before dropped me at the plane and waited to watch the beauty of a water takeoff -- rushed toward me, having just witnessed the crash.
I was still in condition red, pumped with adrenaline. I heard the fuel pumps humming away and thought about fire. After freeing myself from the wreck, I did not want to get suddenly barbecued sitting on the wing. I swam around to the pilot's side of the plane and managed to feel my way through the window and locate the fuel pump switches, which I turned off. Then I thought about the fish. Until just a few minutes ago, before the nightmare erupted, I had experienced one of the truly glorious fishing days of my life, catching and releasing four big striped bass. Now I found myself scrambling for release. I pushed back from the window and climbed up on the inverted wing as my fishing buddies appeared in the skiff expecting to have to drag me or my remains out of the plane. I climbed into the boat, and we immediately set to trying to salvage the plane, trying to keep her from sinking or flipping all the way over. I had no idea why I was doing what I was doing, and as I climbed up to the tail and tied the line off, the adrenaline started to leave me and I felt like I had just gone a round with Mike Tyson. Everything hurt as I swam to the boat and asked my friends to take me to the hospital.
Ambulance-chasing as a favorite late-twentieth-century pastime had unfortunately made its way to the shores of Nantucket. At the dock in Madaket I was met not by an ambulance, but by a photographer. I hurled a list of profanities at the guy as I tried to claw the camera from his hands, but I hurt too much. I sank back on the stretcher.
In the emergency room, I was the afternoon's only action. The doctors came in, poked around, asked a lot of questions, drew some conclusions. I was cut and scraped up pretty well but not seriously injured. One doctor told me that I would hurt like hell for the next few days, gave me a prescription for pain pills, and then had them wheel me down to the X-ray room for precautionary pictures. It was there, lying in the semidarkness, that I began to come out of shock and realize what had happened. It was there that I started to shake and cry. I wanted to see my wife and children. I wanted to go home.
Now I dove down into the murky waters of Madaket Harbor that filled the cockpit of my plane and searched with my hands for the window and the latches. Finally I found them and was able to unscrew them and open the window. With what little air I had left in my aching lungs, I exhaled and followed those bubbles back up to the air pocket. On the next dive, I was out the window and up on the wing as my fishing buddies -- who had minutes before dropped me at the plane and waited to watch the beauty of a water takeoff -- rushed toward me, having just witnessed the crash.
I was still in condition red, pumped with adrenaline. I heard the fuel pumps humming away and thought about fire. After freeing myself from the wreck, I did not want to get suddenly barbecued sitting on the wing. I swam around to the pilot's side of the plane and managed to feel my way through the window and locate the fuel pump switches, which I turned off. Then I thought about the fish. Until just a few minutes ago, before the nightmare erupted, I had experienced one of the truly glorious fishing days of my life, catching and releasing four big striped bass. Now I found myself scrambling for release. I pushed back from the window and climbed up on the inverted wing as my fishing buddies appeared in the skiff expecting to have to drag me or my remains out of the plane. I climbed into the boat, and we immediately set to trying to salvage the plane, trying to keep her from sinking or flipping all the way over. I had no idea why I was doing what I was doing, and as I climbed up to the tail and tied the line off, the adrenaline started to leave me and I felt like I had just gone a round with Mike Tyson. Everything hurt as I swam to the boat and asked my friends to take me to the hospital.
Ambulance-chasing as a favorite late-twentieth-century pastime had unfortunately made its way to the shores of Nantucket. At the dock in Madaket I was met not by an ambulance, but by a photographer. I hurled a list of profanities at the guy as I tried to claw the camera from his hands, but I hurt too much. I sank back on the stretcher.
In the emergency room, I was the afternoon's only action. The doctors came in, poked around, asked a lot of questions, drew some conclusions. I was cut and scraped up pretty well but not seriously injured. One doctor told me that I would hurt like hell for the next few days, gave me a prescription for pain pills, and then had them wheel me down to the X-ray room for precautionary pictures. It was there, lying in the semidarkness, that I began to come out of shock and realize what had happened. It was there that I started to shake and cry. I wanted to see my wife and children. I wanted to go home.
"Reading departure signs in some big airport reminds me of the places I've been"
50 countries and territories, 46 states...so far
50 countries and territories, 46 states...so far

