It was just over 27 years ago - November 9, 1977 to be precise. And I was
feeling precise! I had a brand-new instrument ticket in my pocket, not 24
hours old. Hot ****, I was.

My buddy had the use of a well-equipped 250 Comanche. Full stack of radios,
ILS, ADF, MB - all the bells and whistles of the day except for DME. We were
sitting in the hangar at Renton airport and he wanted to hop over to
Boeing's to see a guy. Ceilings were right down on the deck, so he figured
we'd just drive over.

"No way!", I sez. "We'll just file IFR and run over in the Comanche."
Shouldn't take more than twice the time as driving. So we hauls the bird out
of the hangar and go through all the obligatory drill to get it in the air.
This'll be my first *actual* IFR approach!

We headed South out of Renton and Seattle Approach is just going to vector
us across Seatac, up the Sound and a 180° to the BFI localizer. Piece of
cake. As we come across the outer marker, we're solid IFR, although it's
nice and smooth. Doesn't even look like we're moving. I pull the power back
for descent and, as we cross the glideslope, I call for my pal to drop the
gear to keep us "on the beam". He kind of shrieks at me, "You can't land
here! You're at 2200 feet!" I look over at him and he's got a drop of sweat
on the tip of his nose. Hmmm...

I drop the wheels while trying to explain to him that the drag will give us
just the right rate of descent to stay on the glideslope. I don't think he's
buying it. About that time I realize the MM light is flashing and I haven't
called the tower to report outer marker inbound. Somewhat embarassed, I key
up my stopwatch and call in. Hmmm.. they don't answer. Oops, I drop the
watch and pick up the mike. "THERE you are!", sez the tower with a little
chuckle.

I know we should be crossing Spokane street and we're down to 400' or so.
Should see the lights by now. DH is 213'. I keep the plate handy in case we
have to go around. Never done that for real. My partner is really getting
fidgety. Maybe I should give him somthing to do. "Hey, Karl. Keep your eyes
peeled for the approach strobes up ahead. I'll stay on the gauges, OK?" If
eyes could bore holes through the clouds, Karl's would have done it then.

Everything is going fine except we're running out of altitude and it's still
as thick as grey cotton out there. Suddenly Karl screams (He should do
something about that yelling), "I see the strobes!". A glance down and I can
see the old Georgetown City Hall pass under the wing. Right on target! The
clouds thin out ahead and there's runway 13R - 10,000' of nice, wide
concrete.

We touch down and taxi over to the terminal. I reach up to shut things down
when I notice that they are doing so all by themselves. The rotating beacon
slows, grows dim and then goes out. One by one, the radios turn themselves
off. The nav lights and the panel lights slowly fade to nothing. The only
thing left running is the engine, slowly ticking over. I pull the mixture
out and the plane is silent, the exhaust ticking slightly as it cools.

We leave and go in search of a new battery. Sure glad the alternator didn't
decide to pack up too.

Rich S.