As April and I left the Los Angeles airspace behind, a controller alerted me to "traffic at one o'clock, two miles, five thousand five hundred." I saw the target right away and told him so. April also found the plane and pointed it out immediately, a good sign.

We flew along the coast, over the ocean, gazing at views of the beaches and cliffs of Santa Barbara. I planned to fly over the top of Santa Barbara airport on the way to our destination, Santa Ynez.

A sudden fuel odor filled the cockpit, something I had never experienced. The needle on the fuel pressure gauge was jittery and falling. I was already in contact with approach control and told them that I suspected a fuel leak, that I was shutting down everything and could make Santa Barbara airport easily. The lady asked if I wanted to declare an emergency. I was about to say "duh" but went with the preferred "affirmative." She told me to contact the tower.

April heard all this in her headset. She didn't seem too alarmed but I put my hand on her shoulder and said that we were modifying our plans, that Santa Barbara was right in front of us and that I was also a glider pilot.

I pulled the mixture, stopping the engine. I closed the fuel valve, opened all the cockpit vents and added a notch of flaps. The odor dissipated. I shut off the master and alternator switches. The prop continued spinning so I raised the nose slightly to stop it. "Never seen that before," I muttered mostly to myself.

I reached for my handheld radio that was on the back seat. I punched in the tower frequency and let them know I was crossing runway two-five to the north and then executing a two-seventy to lose altitude and land on two-five. The controller said I was cleared to land on any runway or taxiway.

I was still too high as I turned onto the final approach. I warned April that I was going to slip the plane to lose a little more altitude. She didn't know what that meant and didn't ask. I pointed out our greeting committee, two neon yellow fire trucks and an ambulance. "We won't need them." I reached across her and unlatched the door. "We'll leave this ajar for landing. When we roll to a stop, undo your seatbelt and step out quickly. Hop off the wing. I'll be right behind you."

I landed well short of the first crossing runway and rolled far enough to turn on the first taxiway. I let the plane come to a stop without braking. "OK. Let's go." I grabbed my flight bag and April's purse, followed her out and stepped onto solid ground.

A fire truck driver greeted us. I answered his questions while a tug towed the plane to a hangar. The paperwork was insignificant. A sheriff's car arrived and gave us a ride, following the plane. Inside, we spoke to a mechanic.