FLYING WITH THE PROFESSOR
For the past six years, we have been immersed in a sea of stories of Canada's greatest aviators – the bomber, fighter, transport and training pilots, crews and maintainers of the Second World War. They represent all that is great about the world of aviation and Canada in particular – professionalism, creativity, sacrifice, achievement, and passion for flight. We hold them up as exemplars of the greatest values we aspire to – dignity, kindness, duty, honour and sacrifice. They lead us today, nearly seventy years after they wrote history across the skies both here in Canada and overseas.
Surrounded by the golden glow of Canada's heroic aviators, I sometimes fail to realize that Canada still produces some of the finest aviation professionals anywhere on the planet. Recently, it dawned on me that, though they have not taken their Spitfires or Mustangs into harm's way (save Paul Kissmann and Steve Will and their CF-18 squadrons), survived the decimation of their squadrons, nor struck down enemies in mortal combat, the pilots and maintainers of Vintage Wings of Canada are the absolute equals of any aviators anywhere, in any era, or in the employ of any cause. It's a case of not seeing the forest for the trees.
While all of our pilots and maintainers are family, some don't live at home. We've got some of the world's finest aircraft restorers in Comox, British Columbia, working on the Roseland Spitfire IX project and a new scion of our family in the Maritimes, from which will grow our Eastern wings. And then we have our Vintage Wings West cowboys. Before I get into the story of an adventure recently taken with their support and welcome, I need to call them out.
Led by the lady-magnetized and uber-competent Todd Lemieux, the Vintage Wings West boys are, pound for pound, the most passionate about aviation and the most dynamic ambassadors for our enterprise. Lemieux, an oil patch businessman and warbird pilot, has imbued his cadre with the historical timbre and emotional energy needed to carry out our mission unflaggingly during long summer weekends, signing up members, researching history, telling stories of our great aviators and sharing the flight experience with all comers. Lemieux has brought together a group of the finest aviators in God's Country to support his outreach in Western Canada. There is Dave Maric, the always grinning, wide-eyed, open-hearted Westjet First Officer who never tires and brings a youthful enthusiasm to the task. There is Gord Simmons, a Westjet Captain and a man who is “all in”. Whether it's flying the Stearman or Cornell, loading passengers, telling stories, hefting trash bags or joining in on a hell-bent-for-leather, knock-down and drag-out pub crawl, the eager “Gordo” is a keystone participant. There is the lanky and enigmatic Liam O'Connell, a high-time tail-dragging oil patch consultant who once ran the Red Deer, Alberta Airport. Quiet and soft spoken, his demeanour belies a passionate aviator... with nice hair. Towering over them all is Ron “Lurch” DuJohn, an air force brat turned aviator. Ron's experience steps on every rung of the professional pilot ladder – cadets, powered flight, light tail-dragger bush flying, Arctic flying with Kenn Borek and then on to a captaincy with Westjet.
Then there is Bruce Evans.
The son of an RCAF maintenance engineer and private pilot father, Evans has avgas in his bloodstream and wings in his DNA. His countenance is best described as beatific – kindly in a competent sort of way, direct, welcoming, magnetic, soft-spoken with a constant knowing look that borders on blissful. Evans is a pilot's pilot, engaged in one of the world's most expensive and demanding hobbies – warbird operation and flying. Like his comrade, Gord Simmons, Evans is “all in”.
After much deliberation while searching for a Harvard to buy into the warbird world, he ended up buying a T-28 in 2008 and he flies it everywhere from British Columbia to Québec and even Florida to learn more, fly more and see more. For him, the T-28 is not a hangar-bound show piece, but rather a living, breathing warbird, meant to be flown for more than simply his own personal pleasure.
Evans is a geologist by training. Educated at Queens University, where he commuted from his home town in North Bay by airplane, Evans has earned his rock spurs over decades by tramping through the bush in nearly every province and many foreign countries on several continents. With boots on the ground and armed with a rock hammer, inclinometer, a bottle of hydrochloric acid and a can of bug spray, Bruce has paid his dues and seen first-hand the importance of mining in Canada. While engaged in mineral exploration in Sierra Leone, Evans, through necessity, got involved in aerial geophysical survey. Before he knew it, he had a company named Firefly Aviation, engaged in aerial survey work in Africa, Europe and the Americas. Evans has spent years sitting in the back of his own aircraft, manning the magnetic anomaly detection equipment, while one of his pilots kept a steady course and AGL altitude through some pretty rough terrain and even rougher turbulence. If you want some serious anti-vertigo training for your future aerobatic flying, there is no better way than stuffing yourself into the hot, gassy ass-end of a Navaho over rolling, super-heated equatorial Africa with your eyes glued to an oscilloscope for hours at a time.
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THE OFFER
Back in May, during the second annual Canadian Air Demonstration Formation Camp, held at Vintage Wings of Canada, Evans offered me the opportunity to ride shotgun with him in his T-28 on his way back to Calgary. Like the workaholic with a maladjusted life focus that I am, I turned him down due to my presumed inflexible workload. The world is crowded with miserable old men like me who could have, would have, or should have. The moment I turned Bruce's offer down, I felt defeated and remorseful. Of course, I have had lots of great aviation adventures in my life, more than most. One thing I should have learned from these adventures and their attendant lifelong memories is that every invitation should always, no mater how difficult the workload is, be accepted, embraced, and finally lived. Well, I surmised... I had let this great adventure pass me by.
But Bruce Evans would not forget and, three weeks before the Wings over Gatineau en vol Air Show, he made the offer one more time by phone – this time eastbound out of Calgary for the show in Gatineau. If I thought my workload was heavy in May, three weeks before the show, the weight of work was Jovian in its gravitational pull, anchoring me to my desk with a plus 20 branding G-load.
Despite the due dates, this time, it would be different. I accepted, telling Bruce, “I'm in.” Minutes later I bought a one way ticket to Calgary. You only live once as they say, and I needed a new memory to put away and open when I am 85.
I needed this. It seemed that it had been weeks, even months that I had been working non-stop on Vintage Wings website development, web stories, brand creation, posters, ads, certificates, aircraft markings, calendars, media events, T-shirt designs, retail store concepts, signage, banners, power-points, and the endless flow of communications and branding tools required for the astounding achievement that is Vintage Wings of Canada. And then there was my day job.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it begins to feel like too much for me – the steady piling of tasks, the endless phone calls, the flurries of emails, scheduled meetings, the last minute tasks, and the “I-thought-I-told-you-about-thats”. What is normally a joy, becomes just one deadline, one more task, followed by another and another. The stress builds like a growing electrical current, amping-up, physical in its presentation, and invisible to everyone else. It becomes increasingly more difficult to determine whether it emanates from your head or your heart. Soon you notice that you sleep only four hours each night – in one hour fits – that you are going through the ibuprofen like gummy bears, that you stop off at the liquor store on the way home and that your dreams are exactly like your working day.
Like I said, I needed this.
It would only be two and a half days... work would wait. As it turned out, it was one of the best flights I have ever taken. The following two days would be a 2,000 mile, low level, cross-Canada tour of the head frames, open pit-mines, settling ponds, exploration sites and geological formations between Calgary and Gatineau. From Bruce Evans, I would learn more about Canadian geology and mining history in these few short hours than I had ever been exposed to or absorbed in my life. By the end, I had experienced an amazing thing – a two-day, cross-Canada, crash course in mineral geology from a flying classroom. And Bruce was the Professor Emeritus, and Dean of Warbird U.
Across Canada, Bruce would patiently answer my endless questions – “Just what the hell is potash?”, “How is it mined?”, “How do they know where to dig for gold?”, “Are there any places that still remain unexplored?”, “How do they mine under a lake?”, “Why aren't there any cottages on Lake Diefenbaker?”, “What makes that island a good place to dig, but not that island over there just two kilometers away?”, “What happens to all those tailings man?”
I learned about eroded volcanic pipes, deep-origin volcanoes and the importance of minerals such as ferrite, syenite, pyroxinite, apatite, biotite and pyroxene, which are found beneath the Manitou Islands and Callander Bay of Lake Nipissing. I learned that they were mined laterally from shore. I learned about thousand-kilometer fault lines that crease the endless and wild expanses of Northern Ontario. I began to think of Evans as the "Professor” as he gently and enthusiastically dispensed bits of his vast knowledge of Canadian geology and mining operations... most of it learned from personal experience hiking the rugged ridges, river valleys and lake shores below.
Flying at 11,500 feet from Calgary to Regina we discussed terrain, geology, mineral extraction and Evans' own history. The wide expanse of prairie grasslands and isolated communities flew by beneath as we raced along with a tail wind that drove a 205 knot cruising airplane over the ground at nearly 270 knots. Flying the beautiful T-28 Trojan was a blast, though in ferry mode, certainly not taxing. Follow the pink line on the GPS, watch your altitude and ask questions. Early in the flight, most of my flying was done with my eyes flicking constantly over the altimeter as I porpoised plus or minus 300 feet eastward to Regina. Evans was kind enough to give me the stick for much of each leg and I learned to relax and spend more time looking around at the world's most beautiful country. We made refueling stops in Regina, Winnipeg (overnight), Thunder Bay and Sudbury and did, in just a few hours, what took days in the Stearman earlier this year.
When I first accepted Bruce's invitation to make the transit, I told him how grateful I was for the opportunity. His answer was 100% Bruce Evans – he said: “The best thing about owning a warbird is sharing one.” He did more than just share his beautiful airplane with me. He shared his knowledge, his time, his adventurous spirit and his constant search for perfection as a pilot.
I won't go into much of this incredible flight, for it is a thing you must experience viscerally on your own, in an airplane, in the company of a great aviator like Evans. But I will say that, if you ever get the opportunity to do a similar thing or to participate in any adventure, leap at the chance, no matter the cost or the pressures in the workplace. As Jimmy Buffett once said... “If you ever wonder why you ride the carrousel, You do it for the stories you can tell.”
Dave O'Malley