"I couldn't get out of my seat. It felt like 15 or 20 minutes—it was probably only seconds." Jerry Healy

Perhaps Mauch Chunk Lake Park Chief Ranger Jerry Healy should have realized that Jan 19, 1991 was going to be a bad day when the landing gear on his Piper Arrow wouldn't retract as he took off from the Montpelier, Vermont airport for his return to South Jersey Regional Airport.

Healy, piloting from the right seat, had one passenger, Mark Moltz—a primary piloting student.

The four-seater Piper Arrow had a single controllable pitch propeller and retractable landing gear. Healy and his wife Elizabeth were owners of Aero Aviation in South Jersey. He was heading home and his wife would meet him at the airport.

The trip from Jersey was uneventful, as was their expectation of the return flight. Moltz wore a tee shirt, jacket and loafers. Healy, who planned to work in the hanger later that day, wore work clothes, work boots, and an insulated jacket.

Healy started Aero Aviation after retiring as a Philadelphia cop. He was good enough to train others to become pilots—and good enough to clear the jammed landing gear.

But good enough may not always be good enough. At 2 p.m., as he approached Mount Killington at 6,500 feet Healy ran into an unexpected ice storm.

"Ice was forming on the wings and the propeller," said Healy. "I asked clearance to go higher." He tried to climb but because of the accumulation of ice, the airplane was losing power and was losing altitude.

"I notified air traffic control and asked for lower vectors," Healy said. "They told me the minimum safe altitude was 5,500 feet. I was in the clouds in instrument meteorological conditions."

"I told then I couldn't maintain altitude. I was at the top of the cloud formation and needed to climb another two or three hundred feet to get out of the icing conditions," Healy continued. "It just wasn't there."

As Healy descended below 4,500 feet, "The next thing I saw was the mountain coming through clouds," he said.

He was in a valley and saw the Mount Killington Ski Slope. "I was going towards the ski slope to land upwind, but at the last instance, I decided not to do it because it was not a safe maneuver," said Healy.

Instead, he decided to take the airplane straight into the trees and picked a spot between the trees to take the wings off in order to leave the fuel load, stored in 25-gallon tanks in each wing, behind the airplane.

When Healy recovered from the crash, he saw that while the left wing successfully sheared from the plane, instead of shearing, the right wing folded over onto the fuselage, blocking the plane's only door.

"I heard an electrical arc and the airplane caught fire," said I heard an electrical arc and the airplane caught fire.

Moltz recovered from a blow to the head upon landing, but was surrounded by flames as he unfastened his seat belt, and with Healy's help, kicked out the left window and crawled out the opening.

Healy couldn't unlatch his seat belt. He had broken my right wrist in two places but didn't realize it until later. "The flames were inside the cabin and my adrenaline was pumping so hard, I didn't even notice it," he said.

"I couldn't get out of my seat. It felt like 15 or 20 minutes—it was probably only seconds," he said. "Finally, I got the belt undone. I scrambled out and fell on top of him into the snow."

Moltz and Healy had gone from fire to ice in the remote Vermont forest where the snow was over five feet deep and the high temperature of the day was 22 degrees.

The snow was a relief to the second and third degree burns Healy had received over 20 percent of his body—chiefly to his hands, face, ears and neck. Moltz was in far worse condition, with second and third degree burns over 70 percent of his body.

They cooled their burns as they watched their plane being consumed by the fire. Realizing the burning plane might signal their location, they added tires to keep the fire going.

They found the emergency locator beacon in the back of the plane. It had lost its antenna and melted. "We placed a piece of cable into the box and signaled SOS with that, not knowing whether it worked or not," said Healy.

Meanwhile the Civil Air Patrol had initiated a search from nearby Rutland, Vermont. "I had gone below the radar and continued to fly in the mountain," Healy said. "Without the emergency locator beacon, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack."

By dark, the flames were nearly extinguished and all that remained of the plane was the tail section.

"When I started to see stars, I knew that we were in for a long, cold night," said Healy. During the night, it dropped into the teens.

They spent the night huddled in the tail section, unable to sleep with muscle spasms, uncontrollable teeth chattering, and the loss of feeling in their feet.

The next day, Healy began screaming for help. He was heard by a hiker on the ski slope. The hiker located them and contacted the ski patrol. They were rescued after surviving 26-hours in the frigid wilderness.

They were taken to Rutland Memorial Hospital. Three days later, Moltz was air lifted to a Chester County burn center where he received treatment for two months. Healy received treatment at St. Agnes as an outpatient.

Healy returned to flying a month later. He sold Aero Aviation in 1995.

Healy's advice, "In an emergency, remain calm, stop, take a deep breath, take in your surroundings, and deal with the situations."