They say flying is still the safest way to travel, but after binge-watching Air Crash Investigations for a few weeks, I’m a little sceptical.

True, there haven’t been any commercial aviation disasters involving a South African airline since 1987 with the famous Helderberg, but these things do happen.

I have, however, decided two things when it comes to flying: no turbo-props and no night-time flights (this might not always be possible, but I have my seat planned in the rear of the plane and I’ve perfected bracing).

Aviation accidents are always terrifying, and almost always tragic. Every now and then, though, there is a miracle. The plane landed safely, no one died, the pilot is a hero. Some geese may have died but they deserved to, right?

Reeve Aleutian Airways was founded in 1947 and named after the founder Bob Reeve and the Aleutian mountains in Alaska, cleverly imitating “revolution” in pronunciation. It operated a small number of DC-3’s until the 1950s, when it upgraded to larger DC-4s. By the 1970s, it had incorporated the Lockheed L-188 Electra into its fleet, which remained the mainstay of the airline until the launch of the Boeing 727.

Reeve Aleutian’s most popular service was between Cold Bay, Alaska, and Seattle-Tacoma. It was on this route in 1983 that something went terribly wrong.

The Lockheed was carrying only 10 passengers that day, with a crew of five. As the plane travelled across the northern Pacific, the crew heard an unusual vibration, but couldn’t find the source. The flight engineer, Gerald “Moose” Laurin, left the cockpit to take a look out the window, didn’t see anything wrong, and returned. A little later, a flight attendant came in to discuss the noise, and just as she looked out the window, the propeller of the number 4 engine detached.

The plane was cruising at 19 000 feet (5 800m) at a speed of around 600km/h, so I’m not even going to try to guess how fast those propellers were spinning. Let’s assume very fast. Number 4 came loose still spinning, briefly hovered in mid-air powered by its own momentum, then went flying at the aircraft and the stunned flight attendant. It sliced through the belly of the fuselage and was lost in the ocean.

The gash of about 2.4m long quickly led to the depressurisation of the aircraft. As pressurised air rushed out, a thick mist formed in the cabin and cockpit, making it difficult for the crew to see what they were doing. They managed to descend to a lower altitude where the air was breathable, realising in the process that they had lost important flight and engine controls.

An emergency landing was undertaken at Anchorage, but the crew had several problems to deal with. They were flying too fast for the distance they had to cover to the airport. Number 2 engine was shut down to reduce the airspeed. Near the airport, they lowered the landing gear to slow down even more.

Flight controls like the airbrakes were jammed, so little could be done to slow down even more. They couldn’t shut down another engine, because then the airspeed would be too low and the aircraft would stall.

Captain James Gibson had to abandon his first landing attempt as they were still going too fast and would not be able to stop before the end of the runway. On the second attempt, he decided to shut down all the engines as soon as they were on the ground.

This was a risky move. It meant that they would not be able to do another go-around, and if they didn’t manage to stop in time, they could all be killed.

On landing, the crew shut down the engines and put all their weight on the brakes, which caught fire. They only blew one tyre. But the ordeal was not over yet. There were some injuries on board, and the flaming brakes could very well ignite the damaged wing, which was carrying the fuel. They had to evacuate immediately.

As the passengers evacuated, the flight crew still had to complete a checklist. Meanwhile, the outside of the aircraft was foamed.

The reason I like this story so much probably has more to do with the way it was portrayed on Air Crash Investigations (Mayday). First Officer Gary Lintner was a very entertaining subject to interview, but the role of Captain Gibson in the retelling was superb.

Apparently, after a six-hour ordeal with a crippled aircraft, landing it safely and completing a tedious checklist, Captain Gibson had one final order: “Hats, coats and ties, boys.”

And the image (dramatised, but still) of the flight crew strutting out of the aircraft after having fought with it for six hours and won, is my favourite moment of all.

No one really pays much attention to the actual investigation after all that, but the aircraft was repaired and put back into service.

Reeve Aleutian went out of service in 2000, after having been in the business for more than 50 years.