I have no memory of ever wanting any job other than pilot.
 
My grandfather and father were both pilots, and my mother worked as a flight attendant for TCA, the precursor to Air Canada.
 
Even though planes were all around me, I was never pushed into flying for a career. In fact, my family often reminded me how hard the path could be to become a pilot. I could not be dissuaded. After high school I started working toward my private pilot licence. My first solo flight was a long time ago now, but I still remember it vividly — accelerating down the runway, climbing, turning, and flying around. I remember the feeling of freedom and of being up above everything. The machine was an immediate addiction.
 
When I was privately licensed at 19, I loved taking my father, grandfather, and family flying. I had two very close friends from high school who also were working to become pilots. One of those friends helped me get my first pilot job, flying in the Canadian Arctic. I spent about three years flying old planes like the DC-3 and DC-4. These are both World War II-era airplanes – I often flew a DC-3 that had carried paratroopers across to France on D-Day. It’s sobering to fly a plane with that kind of history.
 

We operated in all seasons and all weather, flying into some locations so remote they didn’t even have names – we just knew them by their latitude and longitude coordinates. It was the tail end of diamond boom, and we also flew many trips to the Ekati and Diavik diamond mines. I wouldn’t trade my experience flying in the north for anything. I learned how to make smart decisions under tough circumstances, and grew up a lot in the process.

 
Things are definitely different since I became a father. Most people associate travel with time off to enjoy life with family and friends. For me it’s the exact opposite. We have young children so there can be tears when I pack up to leave, and that’s hard. My kids understand that being a pilot means having to travel. They know how happy I am to see them every time I come home.
 
Hard as it can be, I do love travelling. Going for a walk in some far-flung place. Grabbing dinner half way around the world. And I feel lucky to share these experiences with my friends and colleagues. Several years ago, I was in London for Christmas Eve. At my hotel were many other pilots and flight attendants who were also stuck far from home. We gathered in the evening for dinner. We made the best of the situation. I know we all would rather have been at home, but we were with our airline family. We were not alone.

 

"My first solo flight was a long time ago now, but I still remember it vividly — accelerating down the runway, climbing, turning, and flying around. I remember the feeling of freedom and of being up above everything. The machine was an immediate addiction."