By Barry Broughton, EAA 1513703

This piece originally ran in the March 2026 issue of EAA Sport Aviation magazine.

You’ve probably heard the adage, “Any landing you can walk away from is a good one,” and, “There are no bad landings, just happy little impacts,” but those are only partially true. Besides the sting to our ego, what hurts most about hard landings, especially if you happen to own the aircraft, is that any damage during a little impact is a visual affirmation you somehow misjudged your landing.

I experienced such an impact recently while flying my Badland Aircraft, affectionately known as Thor. I wanted to get a few more hours in my logbook before heading off to the September fly-in at Alkay Airport (51G) in Clio, Michigan, home of the Michigan Ultralight Association (MULA) Flying Club.

The final approach at my home airport (OLE) in western New York appeared to be spot-on. I’d anticipated the updraft that rolls up from the steep 500-foot-deep ravine just off the end of the runway threshold. With the airport situated on the plateau of a 2,135-foot mountain, the winds get a bit sporty as they gust along the top of the Allegheny Mountains. As I leveled out and began my flare, the touchdown occurred a bit sooner than expected. Nothing notable, just a bit firmer than I had anticipated. But I wasn’t concerned. I continued my rollout and taxied to the taxiway and back to my hangar. As the engine idled and cooled down, I sent my usual “I’m back at the hangar” text to my wife and then shut down the engine and climbed out of the cockpit.

As I walked around the opposite side of Thor during my postflight inspection, I spotted a slightly bent vertical tube extending up from the main landing gear to the corner of the windshield. A deeper inspection inside the cockpit revealed a kinked horizontal chromoly tube under the floor pan between the control stick cluster and the front of the main landing gear.

I felt sick and was bewildered how it could have happened. The landing didn’t feel that hard! I hadn’t even noticed the bent tubes while taxiing nearly half a mile back to my hangar from the opposite side of the airport.

After kicking dirt and releasing a mouthful of expletives, I pulled Thor into the hangar and locked the doors behind me, neglecting my usual postflight rituals.

The following morning, I sheepishly texted a brief explanation along with photos of my mishap to CFI John von Linsowe, EAA 127832. He replied back, “Congratulations! You are becoming an experienced pilot! Always fixable.” But could I get Thor fixed in time to make the Alkay Airport Fly-In in early September? Determined not to let this mishap deter me, I called Chris Deuel, EAA 1269069, owner of Badland Aircraft and builder of Thor, to schedule a two-day visit during the last week of August to repair my airplane.

Thankfully, my Badland Aircraft has folding wings and can fit in an 8-foot-wide truck or trailer, or in my case a U-Haul moving truck. I made the two-day drive from New York state to Minnesota and then spent two days at the Badland factory getting a first-rate education while Chris and his team repaired Thor. They used the FAA and EAA guidelines for repairing welded chromoly tubes. To cut out the kinked tube and reweld a new tube in its place, the aluminum floor pan needed to be removed from inside, and the Oratex fabric needed to be cut from the bottom of Thor’s belly. Despite their attention to detail and their precise repairs, it was painful to watch! The level of care Chris and his team took, even with such a minor repair, was vastly reassuring.

With new tubes and sleeves welded into place and the area thoroughly cleaned and painted, it was time to reapply the Oratex fabric to the bottom of the airplane. As we looked through the cockpit doors, seeing the concrete floor below the welded tubes and the nonexistent floor pan, someone said a plexiglass floor would be cool. My immediate response was, “Let’s do it!”

Using the previous aluminum floor pan as a pattern, we fabricated a new plexiglass floor for inside the cockpit and also for the bottom of the fuselage. By the time the final rivet was popped into place, it was midevening of day two in Minnesota, and time was getting short for me to make it to Alkay. We loaded Thor back into the U-Haul truck, and I hit the road at 4:30 the following morning.

The weekend weather for the Alkay Airport Fly-In was less than favorable for lightweight airplanes but provided a great opportunity for camaraderie and hangar flying. Sunday morning gave us a reprieve with favorable weather, and I was finally able to get Thor back in the air. Bill Piche, EAA 1376940, in his blue and green Quicksilver MXL Sport, Bill Darnell (EAA 576650) in the MULA club’s MXL Sport, and I in Thor took to the sky for almost an hour of flying. The new see-through floor on my Badland Aircraft opened up a whole new field of view for me!

As a consummate Quicksilver pilot, Bill Darnell had been ribbing me about not being able to see anything directly below me while piloting Thor. But now, as I flew around the familiar terrain surrounding Alkay, Dalton, and Zehnder Field airports, the view couldn’t have been more amazing. Being able to look down between my feet and see the roads, intersections, and landmarks was remarkable.

As the wind began to pick up again, it was time to head back to the home field of MULA. To execute a slower, yet more stable and shorter landing, I introduced one notch (15 degrees) of flaps while on my base leg for Runway 21. The fields, trees, and ponds northeast of the airport were clearly visible through Thor’s belly as I executed a slow final approach of 40-45 mph. The grass runway passed below as I flared and made my STOL-type landing. Another successful flight for the logbook.

Back home two days later, Thor and I flew again. Departing the same runway that had bitten us almost two months ago, I could see the grass strip directly below us, growing smaller as we climbed to pattern altitude. I left the pattern heading south with no particular destination in mind. Just an evening of sightseeing. As I relaxed back in the seat, I spent an hour viewing the early autumn foliage of the dense trees below me until the sun began to touch the evening horizon. It was time to head back to OLE and vanquish the updrafts from the ravine at the end of Runway 34.

Determined to avoid another hard landing, I turned base to final and found my visual mark further up the runway than I’d targeted in the past (thank you, CFI John, for the advice). I used zero flaps this time and a faster approach speed of 50 mph as the ravine passed below. I could see water at the bottom of the ravine through the plexiglass floor before turning my gaze toward the end of the runway. I lightly flared yet remained active with the throttle. The grass slowly rose up and began nipping at the tires of the main landing gear. No thump, no bounce, no firmness felt. Just a slow hush as I cut the throttle back and slowly rolled to a stop. I thought about my last landing here and how defeated I’d felt having damaged my airplane.

Now I see that experience as part of my education because it has made me a better pilot, and Thor received an uber-cool update I would have never considered. So maybe we’re both better for that hard landing.

Since sharing the details of my incident with others, I’ve heard similar stories. Unfortunately, some pilots are so mentally devasted by their mishap they consider not returning to the sky, and others quit altogether. I feel fortunate to be part of such a supportive MULA community that immediately assured me that hard landings can lead to happy endings and more adventures.

See you in the sky.

Barry Broughton, EAA 1513703, became interested in ultralight aviation after taking a discovery flight in 1993. Finally receiving training 30 years later, he is an active member of the Michigan Ultralight Association Flying Club (MULA) even though his home airport is OLE in western New York state.