Flight 143 made aviation history
as the Gimli Glider

This is the astonishing story of the Gimli Glider.

Skies were clear, the weather was good, and all was well as Air Canada Flight 143 passed over the lakes and forests of Northwestern Ontario on July 23, 1983.

No indication that anything could be wrong.

Nothing to suggest that this flight would go down abruptly in a small prairie town, and in the history of aviation.

When an instrument warned of low fuel, both the pilot and first officer assumed it was simply a fuel pressure problem. Nothing serious, but it should be looked at, when they landed in less than three hours in Edmonton, Alberta. Meanwhile, gravity would compensate.

They switched off the warning system.

Then, as they cruised at 41,000 feet (12,500 meters), Flight 143’s engines suddenly cut out. So did most of the instruments. The pilot and co-pilot had just three tools to avert disaster: they could still communicate with the nearest control tower in Winnipeg; visuals were good, and they had their own extensive experience.

It was the third benefit that proved to be the most critical factor for survival of the crew and their 61 passengers.

Pilot Bob Pearson was an experienced glider pilot (which is very rare, among commercial airline pilots); First Officer Maurice Quintal was ex-military (as are the majority of commercial airline pilots). This, plus cool thinking under pressure is what saved them.

Nothing in their training, nor in the pilots’ onboard manual, said anything helpful about what to do when you run out of fuel. No one thought it could ever happen.

With input from Richardson International Airport in Winnipeg, Pearson was able to calculate the slope of descent; but he realized that wouldn’t get them as far as Winnipeg.

It was Quintal who remembered there was an old RCAF base in Gimli. They could just about make it there, coasting in. What they couldn’t possibly know was that the broad former airbase runway in this small town north of Winnipeg had been converted to a raceway with a guardrail dividing it down the middle.

And there was another complication. That day happened to be Family Day at the racetrack in Gimli. Almost the whole town had turned out to watch the races or participate.

Even if Pearson and Quintal had known this, there was no way to alert the people below. To race-goers and racers, the silent Boeing 267 just suddenly appeared in the sky, like a mirage. Or a ghost.

Pearson and Quintal would have only one chance to land – or crash. They came in too fast and Pearson aimed for the guardrail that had been built down the centre of the former landing strip to slow them down, which it did.

But not enough.

They stood on the brakes and blew out the tires. The phantom plane literally skidded, belly grinding on the pavement, to safety.