A light aircraft descends from a thick, grey cloud layer. It isn't drifting or gliding; it’s coming down hard. Seconds later, it hits a muddy field in Copake, New York, with enough force to embed the fuselage into the earth.
This was the end of a trip that was supposed to be a celebration. It was April 12, 2025. The passengers were heading to the Catskills to mark Karenna Groff’s 25th birthday and gather for a Passover Seder. Instead, the groff family plane crash became a national headline that left the aviation community and the public searching for answers about how such an accomplished group of people could be gone in an instant.
The People on Board
Honestly, when you look at the manifest of that Mitsubishi MU-2B-40, it’s a list of people who were genuinely changing the world.
Dr. Michael Groff, 60, was a high-level neurosurgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital. His wife, Dr. Joy Saini, 55, was a renowned urogynecologist. They weren't just "successful"; they were mentors and leaders in the Boston medical community. Their daughter, Karenna, had just been named the 2022 NCAA Woman of the Year. She was an MIT soccer standout and a biomedical engineering whiz who helped design masks for front-line workers during the pandemic.
She was there with her boyfriend, James Santoro. Her brother, Jared Groff, and his partner, Alexia Couyutas Duarte, were also on the flight.
Basically, it was a plane full of brilliance. Six people. All of them gone before the first responders could even reach the site near the Massachusetts border.
What Went Wrong in the Cockpit?
The flight started at Westchester County Airport in White Plains. It’s a short hop—maybe 25 minutes—up to Columbia County Airport in Hudson.
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But things got weird at the end.
According to the NTSB's preliminary data, Dr. Michael Groff, who was an experienced pilot, missed his first approach to the runway. He radioed air traffic control at 11:57 a.m. to report the missed approach. He requested "vectors"—basically directions—for a second try.
Controllers gave him the coordinates. He acknowledged them just after noon.
Then, silence.
The Final Two Minutes
A minute after that last transmission, the controller saw something alarming on the radar. The plane was too low. They issued a low-altitude alert.
"Check your altitude immediately," the controller warned.
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No answer.
They tried three more times. The radar showed the plane making a southwest turn, then a sudden, steep descent. Security footage from a nearby building confirmed the worst: the plane fell out of the clouds at a high rate of descent. It didn't look like an engine failure where a pilot tries to glide to safety. It looked like a loss of control.
The Mitsubishi MU-2: A Complex Machine
You've gotta talk about the plane itself to understand the context here. The Mitsubishi MU-2 is a turboprop known in the aviation world as a "pilot's airplane."
It’s fast. It’s powerful. It’s also famously demanding.
Unlike most small planes, it doesn't have ailerons on the wings to help it turn. Instead, it uses "spoilers." This design makes it incredibly efficient at high speeds, but it can be a handful at low speeds or during landing approaches if the pilot isn't perfectly on top of the airspeed.
Investigators noted the plane had a modern, upgraded cockpit. It wasn't some old, rusted bucket. It was a sophisticated machine. However, when you're flying under Instrument Flight Rules (IFR)—meaning you're relying on your dashboard because you can't see through the clouds—things can go south very quickly if spatial disorientation kicks in.
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Common Misconceptions About the Crash
People always want to blame the weather or a "cheap" plane.
First, the weather wasn't a "storm." It was overcast with a low ceiling, but no major weather advisories were in effect. It was "standard" bad weather for the Northeast.
Second, this wasn't a case of a hobbyist in over his head with zero experience. Dr. Groff was a "distinguished" pilot. But there's this thing in aviation called the "killing zone." It's often where pilots have enough hours to feel confident, but maybe not enough recent "stick time" in a complex twin-engine turboprop to handle a high-stress missed approach in the clouds.
NTSB reports show the plane was intact upon impact. This means it didn't break up in the air. The engines were heard running until the very end. This points away from mechanical failure and more toward "controlled flight into terrain" or a high-speed stall/spin.
Lessons We Can Actually Use
The groff family plane crash is a tragic reminder that technical skill in one field—like neurosurgery—doesn't always translate to "bulletproof" performance in another, like high-stakes aviation.
If you’re looking for takeaways, here’s the reality of what safety experts are looking at:
- Proficiency vs. Currency: Just because you have a license doesn't mean you're sharp today. High-performance aircraft like the MU-2 require constant practice.
- The Danger of the "Missed Approach": Statistically, the transition from a failed landing attempt back into a climb is one of the most dangerous phases of flight. It's a high-workload moment.
- Spatial Disorientation: When you can't see the horizon, your inner ear can lie to you. You might think you're level when you're actually in a steep bank.
The final NTSB report usually takes 12 to 24 months. Until then, we only have the data from those final pings and the heartbreaking video of the descent. It’s a sobering look at how quickly a family celebration can turn into a legacy of loss.
To stay updated on the final findings, you can monitor the NTSB's official accident docket using the investigation ID DCA25MA108. Reviewing these final reports is the only way the aviation community learns how to prevent the same sequence of events from happening to another family.