- Quentin Carter, 49, from Sunshine Coast, Qld was performing circuit training with a junior instructor
- During descent, the wheels made contact with the grass strip at an odd angle, causing the plane to bounce off the ground
- The plane crashed into a tree just moments later
Here Quentin shares his story in his own words.
Staring out the window of my two-seater plane, I took in the views of the rolling hills of the Noosa hinterland.
It was August 2024, and working as a flying instructor, I was performing circuit training with a junior instructor.
No matter how many times I’d flown since getting my pilot licence aged 25, it was always such a thrill.
However I could never convince my wife Tamara to tag along, as she was a little nervous of flying.
‘Great job, mate,’ I said to my colleague, as he flew through the air.
We then approached the private property where we were set to touch down.
The descent had gone smoothly, but the wheels made contact with the grass strip at an odd angle, causing the plane to bounce off the ground.
‘Time seemed to stand still.’
Back in the air, at around 10 metres up, I noticed a large wall of trees just beyond the landing strip.
If I don’t do something, we’re going to crash right into them, I thought, as I took over the controls.
Applying full power to the engine, I hoped to climb high enough above the treetops to avoid a collision.
But despite being full throttle at 93kmph, and climbing up to about 20 metres above the ground, it wasn’t enough.
As we got closer to the trees, time seemed to stand still.
‘Brace yourself!’ I screamed as the nose of the plane crashed into a large tree branch, flipping the aircraft upside down.
Opening my eyes, my stomach dropped as I realised we were falling towards the earth.
The engine cut out and every crack and crunch of the branches breaking sent shivers down my spine.
As we plunged around 20 metres, every millisecond felt like an eternity.
But there was nothing I could do to stop us falling to our deaths.
‘Blood was pouring from my forehead.’
We landed with an almighty crash, and my head banged violently against the roof as the window glass smashed to smithereens.
Hanging upside down from my seat belt, I was fading in and out of consciousness.
When I came to, I was dazed and confused.
Blood was pouring from the cut in my forehead.
Peering down at my legs, I saw blood gushing from my right shin, which had been degloved in the accident, while my left shin bone had snapped in half and was poking out.
Still hanging upside down and blacking out, I was unable to move.
‘Hang tight!’ the junior instructor said. Despite breaking his left femur, he was able to unbuckle himself and crawl out the passenger door.
Unable to free me, he used his mobile phone to call for assistance.
‘Help is on the way,’ he said, warning it might take a while for them to reach us in this rural location.
Blood rushed to my head and, upside down for 90 minutes, I felt woozy.
Finally, a helicopter arrived and paramedics worked to free me before bandaging me up.
I was airlifted to Princess Alexandra Hospital, Brisbane, while the other instructor was taken in a separate chopper to Sunshine Coast University Hospital.
When I arrived, doctors confirmed I’d fractured my hip, broken my right femur and had a compound fracture of my tibia.
I’d also suffered internal bleeding and had smashed the cuboid bone in my right foot.
Tamara had been called and she rushed to the hospital to be with me.
‘I love you,’ my darling wife said.
During emergency surgery, a 40cm metal rod was inserted in my lower left leg to help reposition my fibula and tibia, and a metal plate was put in my right foot.
‘Only time will tell if you’ll be able to fly again,’ a doctor said when I woke.
I’d also sustained a brain injury and I was left with short-term memory issues.
But I was very grateful for my wonderful wife being there every step of the way.
‘I’m making small improvements every day.’
‘Since your wings have been clipped, here’s a new pair,’ my mate Brent said, bringing me a pair of rainbow fairy wings when he visited.
After almost five weeks, I was moved to the rehabilitation centre where I learned to walk again.
‘You can do it,’ Tamara encouraged, as I took my first wobbly steps since the accident.
Once I was able to walk 15 metres without my moon boot, I was finally discharged after 11 long weeks in hospital.
Tragically, my father passed away while I was in hospital. Aged 82 he’d died due to an infection.
Six months on from the plane crash, I’m still restricted with limited movement due to nerve damage, but through regular physio, I’m making small improvements every day.
The junior instructor has gone back to working in retail.
Though I’m unsure whether I’ll ever be able to return to flying in the skies, I’m just grateful I made it out alive.
To help, you can visit Quentin’s GoFundMe here.
