Sully- Hazana En El Hudson Official

The impact was not an explosion. It was a violent, prolonged skid. Water turned to concrete at 150 miles per hour. The tail struck first, ripping off. The fuselage screamed as water blasted the windshield. Sully’s head snapped forward, but his hands never left the yoke.

The river flows on. The city stands. And every time a plane flies low over the Hudson, New Yorkers look up and remember the day a captain refused to crash, and turned a river into a runway. Sully- Hazana en el Hudson

“When you factor in the human element,” he told the board, “the time to react, the shock… there is no airport.” The impact was not an explosion

The January cold bit through the cockpit glass like a wolf at the glass. Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger, his hair the color of a winter sky, ran the final checklist. To his right, First Officer Jeff Skiles worked the switches. Routine. After thirty years, everything was routine. The tail struck first, ripping off

“No,” he said softly. “We saved us.”