CHAPTER 1 – The Spit Known as Tyee
by Tyson Mielke

 “What was happening down there at the Spit was unusual.”

~Harvey Hahn

 Soaring high above the churning gray water, the eagle watched cautiously as Captain George Vancouver sailed into Discovery Passage. Circling, the noble creature surveyed the rich fishing grounds, the peaceful estuary and the natural spit on which the Salish village resided. It thought of the K'u ta 'la—the mighty Tyee Salmon—and the sacred and spiritual relationship it shared with these coastal people. In this ancient and proud culture, the eagle is known as a harbinger of peace and friendship, but not on this day—for this great wooden ship represented an irreversible and sweeping change.

As the eagle flew off into an uncertain future, visions of Yagis or “Bad Thing from the Sea”—a powerful sea creature that conjures up violent and raging storms—appeared before him. It proved to be a premonition.

Shortly after Vancouver’s 1792 historic visit, a storm of violence hit the Tyee Spit when the Euclataw tribe brutally attacked the Salish people. Virtually annihilated, the surviving Salish members made their way to Comox, while an off-shoot group of the Euclataw—known as the Weweakam—settled permanently on the Tyee Spit and estuary lands.

A storm of humanity hit full force a century later as Europeans flocked to the area in a quest for the mighty Tyee Salmon. After the English magazine ‘The Field’ published an account of Sir Richard Musgrave’s 1896 fishing adventures at the mouth of the Campbell River Estuary, camps in the form of canvas tents sprang up along the spit, and local Natives—ancestors of the Euclataw—peacefully guided the sportsmen in dugout canoes.

 With a graceful turn, the eagle caught a current of warm, August air and glided over the Tyee Spit. A strange noise to the south drew his attention. With a gentle turn of his head he spotted the oddest of creatures and the ‘Lord of the Sky Realm’ found he wasn’t alone.

 Almost 130 years after the arrival of Vancouver’s schooner ‘Discovery’, a ship of another kind touched down in Campbell River waters for the first time—a seaplane. Over the next twenty years seaplanes and eagles occasionally danced together in the skies above the town; however, it was 1948 before a full-time seaplane base found a home in front of the old Willows Hotel. In 1949, a proposition was put forth by Bob Langdon, then the manager of BC Air Lines, to move the base to the Tyee Spit. Once again the spit found itself embroiled in battle—albeit peaceful, but just as passionate.

The Chamber of Commerce, which included well-known author and environmentalist Roderick Haig-Brown, expressed concerns about the impact the seaplanes might have on the estuary and Tyee pools. Other sites, like the town’s reservoir at the John Hart Dam, were suggested but quickly ruled out. The spit, argued Langdon, was perfect for a base because it offered “natural protection” from the raging southeastern storms.

In May of 1951, BC Air Lines’ wish to establish a base on the spit came true. With the town’s blessing, the Elk River Timber Company, now controlling this unique finger of land, offered the airline a lease. As more companies followed, it marked the beginning of a new era. For the next three decades, the spit would be home to the ‘busiest seaplane base in the world’.

Today, a peaceful calm envelops the Spit. The title of ‘busiest seaplane base in the world’ is long past, and for the airline companies that weathered the storm of decline, debate about their presence on this hallowed ground continues. Now in the hands of the city, finding a balance between commerce and parkland is everyone’s goal.

From high above, the old eagle traces the footprints of history gently strewn across the sands of the Spit. Much has transpired, and much more will come. The future, as always, is uncertain, but the old eagle is at peace. As his thoughts turn to the present, the winds of change once again begin to dance and swirl. With the lift of a mighty wing he turns and flies for home . . .

 

CHAPTER 2 – A Collection of Firsts
by Julie Matchett

Flying was a very tangible freedom. In those days, it was beauty, adventure, discovery — the epitome of breaking into new worlds.

~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

 PART 1 – The World's First Seaplane

Click Photos to View Large Images  

It was on March 28 th, 1910 that the first seaplane soared into history. Launched from the shores of the small, picturesque town of Martigues, France, the plane successfully managed a flight of about a mile and a half, flying just a few feet above the water. The visionary brainchild of French aviator Henri Fabre, the aircraft was given the name of ‘Le Canard’—literally, ‘the duck’. Fabre used a 50 HP Gnome rotary engine to power his plane, which at that time, was revolutionary. Constructed of an ash frame and then covered with a cotton material, the plane seemed unlikely to be capable of flight—the flimsy wings and wires holding the craft together certainly gave it an air of improbability. Considering that the maiden flight was the first time that Fabre had ever piloted an aircraft, he obviously believed in the integrity of his creation. In front of a crowd of excited spectators, this historic flight paved the way for future aviators.

One year later and thousands of miles across the ocean, it was another aviator, this time an American by the name of Glenn Curtiss, who forever revolutionized the aviation industry. Inventor of the ‘hydroaeroplane’, Curtiss will always be remembered for his flying boats and his contributions to the dawning of naval aviation prior to the First World War. The first Curtiss seaplane, flown on January 26 th, 1911, was actually a biplane fitted with floats—an ingenious solution to the problem of taking off from water. Later, he went on to perfect the ‘flying boat’, literally a boat with wings, which would go on to become the first aircraft to make a transatlantic flight. Curtiss Flying Boats, as they came to be known, were used extensively in World War I for anti-submarine patrols and were favoured by Navies not only in the U.S, but Britain, Italy and Russia as well. For his role in advancing the aviation industry and his outstanding contributions, Glen Curtiss will forever be immortalized as the ‘Father of Naval Aviation’.

The evolution of the seaplane would not have come about without the extraordinary imagination, perseverance and pioneering spirit of countless individuals. It is these trail-blazers of ingenuity who carved a path into aviation history, setting the scene for the innumerable successes to follow.

PART 2 – Campbell River's First Seaplane

It all started with fish… and for a town world-famous for its fishing, how else would it start?

Over the years, Campbell River has had its share of famous visitors eager to partake of the first-class fishing available in the area. For some, the lure of casting the waters is like a siren song, and so it was for William Boeing. Mr. Boeing, famed for his role in the start of international airmail service between Canada and the U.S and for pioneering a ‘little’ aircraft company called ‘Boeing’, thought that a fishing expedition with friends up in the wilds of Canada would be a fine idea. With a sense of adventure, Bill and two buddies set off from Seattle in Bill’s personal yacht, the Taconite, arriving in Campbell River on a beautiful August day in 1920. Anchored just offshore in front of the Willow’s Hotel, they were certainly a magnet for attention from the locals and First Nations people. Promptly swarmed by the latter, they were told about an elusive, hard-to-get-to lake over the hills—a lake so full of trout that the fish practically jumped out of the water to bite your hand. For anyone else, the problem of how to get into the lake might have been a sticky situation, but ‘ol Bill had connections and an ace-in-the-hole—his personal pilot, the famed Eddie Hubbard. One quick call to his pal solved the problem, and the next day, Eddie flew the B-1 into Campbell River, surprising the local residents with the sound of droning motors overhead. The arrival of the plane caused a ‘...good deal of excitement,’ according to a write-up in the Comox Argus newspaper, for this was the first ‘flying machine’ ever to visit the area. The next morning, Bill, Eddie and friends flew out to Buttle Lake and hauled in an impressive catch; according to observers, when the plane left after a day and a half of fishing, it was almost listing sideways from the weight of all the trout. Eddie carefully flew the catch back to Seattle in the B-1, while Bill and his buddies took a leisurely trip home aboard the Taconite, leaving the residents of Campbell River with some exciting memories…and a few less fish.

The Boeing B-1, built in 1919, was a one-of-a-kind airplane and was used for many years by Eddie Hubbard on the Seattle to Victoria airmail route. The famous flying boat now resides, fittingly, in the ‘Hall of Icons’ at Seattle’s Museum of History and Industry and serves as a monument to the two men who made international airmail service a reality.

PART 3 – Zeballos and Ginger Coote Airways

The lure of gold has captured the hearts and minds of many a man (and woman) down through the centuries, so when gold-fever struck in a ruggedly remote area of western Vancouver Island in the 1930’s, the boom was on. Hordes of eager prospectors, scruffy unemployed men and the usual thrill-seekers and dreamers flooded into the area in droves, eventually staking thousands of claims over the next few years. The resulting townsite, named Zeballos after the nearby river, grew at a frenetic pace. By 1939, the population had, according to some sources, reached almost 5000 people, mostly miners and prospectors. In the early days, goods and people were transported by large boats and steamers such as the Princess Maquinna, a hulking lug of a ship owned by Canadian Pacific Railway. Trails into and out of town became so bogged down with mud because of the constant traffic, they were sometimes given rather colourful names—‘Rotten Row’ and ‘Mae West Avenue’ are two of the more infamous nicknames. Incidentally, any self-respecting ‘gold rush’ town would not be complete without its share of bawdyhouses, and Zeballos was no exception—slinky ‘ladies of the night’ offering up enticements of the flesh was certainly one way to keep rowdy, disgruntled miners in check. Another way, of course, was alcohol and gambling—both popular pursuits among unruly miners. Zeballos did a thriving business in booze and as many as 18 bootleggers existed in the town before a liquor store finally opened its doors. Indeed, it was also illicit bootleggers who kept the RCAF fleets busy patrolling coastal waters. Smuggling spirits down into the U.S where Prohibition was still being enforced was a lucrative business and many hours were spent hunting down these elusive ‘rum-runners.’ Despite the ‘wild west’ atmosphere of the town, it did support a sizable number of ‘God-fearing’ people and many services were offered that catered to these ‘decent’ folk: a school for children, a community hospital, banks, a weekly newspaper, numerous merchants and, of course, a Roman Catholic church.

For some, the cry of ‘gold’ was very enticing, but many folks weren’t willing to make the long six-day trip from Vancouver into the townsite by steamership. Realizing a golden opportunity when he saw one, it was famed aviator Ginger Coote who established the first scheduled service from Vancouver to Zeballos, a three-hour trip, using a dilapidated old Fairchild airplane at first, and later purchasing a spiffy new Norseman and a Waco to cope with the rush.

The red-haired Ginger was already a by-word among many miners and prospectors—for years, he had been shuttling them in and out of remote camps in the Interior of BC. A former World War I veteran and Lieutenant at age 17 (a rare distinction for one so young), it was in England while recuperating from injuries received at Vimy Ridge that he made the fateful decision to transfer to the Royal Flying Corps, a decision which would ultimately lead to a bad case of the ‘flying bug’. After a short post-war stint of marital and agricultural bliss as a farmer in the fertile valleys of Chilliwack, he found himself lured back to the skies with a vengeance. Proudly purchasing his first ‘winged junk pile,’ he went to work barnstorming in the Cariboo. In 1930, he became the first flight instructor for the newly opened Chilliwack Flying Club, inspiring many future pilots with his insatiable passion for flying. It was there that a hapless student crashed his beloved plane; in desperation, he turned to his friend, Neal ‘Curly’ Evans, for help in locating a replacement aircraft. Neal came to his aid, and eventually they became partners, forming ‘ Bridge River and Caribou Airways.’ Ginger later changed the title of the outfit to his name, and was now referred to as ‘Ginger Coote Airways.’ In the mid 30’s, the booming mining industry offered him fresh opportunities to utilize his talents as a bush pilot, shuttling men and equipment into some of the remotest corners of the province, and eventually, into the bustling frontier town of Zeballos.

For Ginger, the business was so good in Zeballos that, inevitably, other competitors hit the skies intent on a piece of the action. Canadian Airways inaugurated a scheduled service from Vancouver; Grant McConachie’s Yukon Southern Air Transport had a fleet of planes lined up at the dock at Zeballos harbour and, every day, more planes were coming. To add to the traffic in the skies, the Department of Fisheries was busy monitoring the fishing fleets up and down the western coast of the Island. These patrols were carried out under contract with Dominion Airways and Western Canada Airways using the famous Boeing B-1 flying boats, Fokkers and Fairchilds. British Columbia was in the grip of the greatest commercial aviation boom ever to hit the province—the future was bright. For Ginger Coote and his Airway, the outbreak of the Second World War necessitated a change in his plans. With intentions of volunteering his services as a pilot instructor for the war effort, Ginger sold off his venture to McConachie, leaving behind a legacy for future generations of pilots. The evolution of aviation in British Columbia has never taken a backward step.

 

CHAPTER 3 – The War Years

PART 1 – The Flying Boat Stations by Tyson Mielke

 "The men serving on these bases can be justly proud of the part they played in the defence of their country . . . they did not fail when faced with difficulties, dangers, isolation and monotony.”

~Anonymous

As German and Japanese military actions raised eyebrows around the world, the United States started to wipe a little sweat from their own. Looking for ways to ease their tension, the US turned to the ‘King’, specifically: William Lyon Mackenzie King—the Prime Minister of Canada. They stressed to Mr. King that it was possible for an enemy to attack Ol’ Uncle Sam via ‘The Great White North’ because Canada was too weak to defend itself. After mumbling, “Well, at least our beer is stronger,” Canada concocted a plan.

The plan trickled down in November of 1936 into the bucket of the RCAF Commanding Officer. The order was ‘simple’: survey all possible locations for flying boat stations on the BC Coast. In true Canadian Air Force fashion they were given two planes for a twenty plane job: A Fairchild FC-2 seaplane and a Twin Engine Vickers Flying Boat. This was the mighty fleet of the newly formed BC Reconnaissance Detachment.

Vancouver Island certainly didn’t harbor feelings of inadequacy during those early surveys. Sproat Lake in Port Alberni was considered, as was Forbes Landing in Campbell River. Even the bustling ‘metropolis’ of Alert Bay just off the northeastern coast was an early favorite.

Three years and much debate later, Coal Harbour on the north-west side of Vancouver Island proved the best option. From this strategic location off Holberg Inlet, squadrons could keep a watchful eye on the north end of the island and 150 miles out into the open Pacific. Other bases included Bella Bella, Alliford Bay, Ucluelet on the West Coast, and Port Hardy—where in 1943 landing strips and hangers were hastily constructed for wheeled aircraft.

By August of 1941 the Coal Harbour Flying Boat Station had everything it needed . . . except pilots and flying boats. That all changed on December 7, 1941 after the Japanese decided to “wake the sleeping giant” by bombing the hell out of Pearl Harbor. Four days later, Bomber Reconnaissance Squadron 120 rolled in and began conducting their first anti-submarine patrols.

Many of these early patrols were carried out in the good ol’ Stranraer flying boats which, after being retired in 1944 from military duty, found new fame as the backbone of the Queen Charlotte Airlines fleet. (Visit chapter 4)

As the echoes of war reverberated overseas, the sounds of the RCAF Flying Boat Stations began to quiet down. In the end, fears of a ‘back door’ invasion proved unfounded and in April 1944, the 120 Squadron was disbanded. Though the base remained open, nothing exciting happened except the recovery of a Japanese Fire Balloon: a devious, yet unreliable incendiary weapon designed to float across the Pacific Ocean in the high altitude wind currents, land in North America and wreak havoc. Finally, in August 1945, four years after its inception, the Coal Harbour RCAF Flying Boat Station hung up the ‘closed’ sign and permanently disbanded.

The life and times of the Coal Harbour RCAF Flying Boat Station during the war was typical of the other bases along the coast. After the war, while this base succumbed to the weathering of time, others found new life in the commercial floatplane business—providing facilities and a foundation for an industry that was about to explode in a way the Japanese Fire Balloons rarely did.

PART 2 – War Memories by Julie Matchett

A declaration of war against Germany on September 3rd, 1939 by Britain and her allies made rumours of an impending battle a troubling reality. Concerned about the lack of military aircraft and training facilities in England, the government appealed to the Commonwealth countries for aid, establishing the ‘British Commonwealth Air Training Plan.’ Across the country, Canadians from all walks of life mobilized into action, establishing airfields and training schools, and gathering the necessary equipment, aircraft and supplies in order to bring the plan to fruition. It was through this ambitious undertaking that many future pilots, who would make a life-long career of flying, first learned their craft.

Englishman Don Thompson, who would later establish Alert Bay Air Services after the war, began his initial classroom training in Coventry before being deemed as ‘suitable for pilot training’ and sent to Canada. After intensive full-time flight training at several locations across the country and a short stint as a flight instructor, he was relocated overseas to the Cocos Islands in the Indian Ocean. In the latter days of the war, Allied Forces had established bases in the area to conduct raids on Japanese targets and to provide support during the reinvasion of nearby Malaya. “We weren’t dropping bombs,” Don notes, “but rather food, medical supplies, ammunition, guns, radios…Everything the guerrillas in the mountains needed.” As a pilot, Don was always “heart in mouth” when it came to the reckless supply drops, worried for the safety of his fellow servicemen. Supplies were packaged in 50 lb bags and then packed in sturdy containers; with a word of ‘Go!’, the wireless operator and the engineer would push all the supplies out the open hatch of the plane with their feet, the goods plunging hundreds of feet down into the jungle clearings below. “I was always glad when I saw them coming back…” chuckles Don, no doubt haunted by visions of his cronies being entangled in stray ropes and dragged off to their doom.

With the official end of the war on September 2 nd, 1945, Don went home to his native shores, reuniting happily with his Canadian wife in early 1946. The arrival of twins changed the picture for the young couple, and they eventually decided to move back to Canada to raise their growing family, settling in Chilliwack in 1948.

For Ted Turner, who at 16 was “…too young to be scared,” the war was a very different experience. He was so eager to join the Air Force that he contemplated faking his birth certificate to get in early, but chickened out at the last minute after learning of the possible repercussions. “When I first applied to go into the Air Force,” Ted says, “they told me that my eyes weren’t good enough.” His dreams of becoming a pilot on the verge of being crushed, Ted stubbornly consulted the local civilian eye doctor, who attested to his perfect 20/20 vision. Armed with this information, he went back to the Air Force and was promptly told, “Sorry, son…but the Air Force says your eyes aren’t good enough!” They offered him a choice of discharge and re-enlistment in the Army or a job as a truck driver, but young Ted was having none of it. “I want to fly and that’s all there is to it!” he told them. In the end, it was his determined attitude that finally won him a place as an air-gunner aboard the Halifax Bombers. Among servicemen, the job of air-gunner was not popular due to the high mortality rate, but Ted was thrilled. “The Air Force was my life,” he remembers, “I was a Canadian and I wasn’t going to let those guys come over here.”

Ted and his fellow crew-members would eventually log in 35 missions over enemy territory, “without getting a scratch,” Ted is proud to note. “We just melded together like a team…All brothers, we call ourselves.” Once the fibres of friendship are woven, the bonds last a lifetime; more than 60 years after the end of the war, Ted is still in close contact with many members of his former crew.

The Campbell River resident is also involved with history of a different kind—the recovery of a Halifax Bomber from the bottom of the North Atlantic. This particular Halifax, the LW170, is one of the planes that Ted flew in during combat missions over Europe. As a fundraising effort for the project, a print was commissioned of the plane and signatures were collected from the surviving veterans scattered all across Canada, Ted included, who flew in the aircraft. “There’s six guys out of our original crew of seven still alive,” he remarks, “We are the only ones in the world with that many crew guys still surviving.” The plane itself is still waiting to be rescued from the watery depths, but the painting of it hangs front and centre in Ted’s living-room—“I’m so proud of that picture,” he says with a grin.

 

CHAPTER 4 – Queen Charlotte Airlines
by Carol Hentze

“So here we are with an overhauled airplane . . . in debt up to our ears, but raring to go.”

~Jim Spilsbury

Unlike other youngsters who were scraping their knees learning to ride bikes, Jim Spilsbury preferred tinkering with boats and motors. It was this curiosity with all things mechanical that led him to building his first crystal radio set in 1922. Growing up in the relative isolation of Savary Island on the BC Coast, it was only natural that Jim would be drawn to a way of connecting with the outside world.

In 1936 Spilsbury combined his passion of radios and love of the coast by venturing out on his own as a marine radio mobile man. Using his forty-foot boat to distribute and repair radios, Jim became a familiar sight in the numerous inlets, bays and channels of the BC Coast. In 1942, Spilsbury partnered with communications expert, Jim Hepburn, and established Spilsbury & Hepburn. Based out of Vancouver, they manufactured and sold radios and communications equipment.

Gasoline rationing during World War II forced Spilsbury to tie up his boat and travel up the coast by way of the reliable, but slow Union Steamships. The radio business was flourishing, but to keep up with demand, they needed a faster form of transportation. After scraping up a ‘mere’ twenty-five hundred dollars, they purchased their first aircraft: a Waco floatplane. Now the entire coast was at their fingertips within a few hours using far less fuel than the boat.

In hindsight, this was the catalyst for starting Queen Charlotte Airlines. During World War II, Spilsbury was contracted to maintain the government installed radios that detected enemy aircraft. In 1943, the company was issued a special permit to have free, unlimited gasoline to fly anywhere along BC’s coast. Inevitably, this perk would end after the war. When they flew in to service or install radios in remote coastal areas, they would often pick up loggers and fishermen flush with money and eager to get out of camp. Though carrying passengers was illegal due to licensing restrictions, the quick cash was too good to turn down as it helped finance their newly acquired plane. It soon became apparent that ferrying passengers would be a lucrative addition to their radio business.

There was only one problem: this illegal shuttling of passengers was documented by QCA’s competition—CPAL (Canadian Pacific Airlines)—and they intended to bring it to the attention of the newly formed Air Transport Board. Due to a fortuitous mix-up in paperwork all of CPAL’s evidence against QCA ended up on Spilsbury’s desk instead of back east. Whether it was divine intervention or just plain luck, this little clerical error saved QCA’s bacon. Strict regulations implemented at the end of the war meant that if QCA were to stay in business they would have to apply for a proper licence. Had their illicit activities been revealed to the Air Transport Board any hopes of getting said license would have been crushed. Spilsbury decided the best thing to do was to destroy all the evidence against them and apply for a license. Knowing that the company’s future was on the line, they meticulously filled out the paperwork and submitted it to the unpredictable bureaucrats in Ottawa. After an anxious wait, a licence was granted in 1946 and the company breathed a sigh of relief.

The reprieve didn’t last long. As always, it boils down to money, and not enough of it, so Spilsbury convinced several logging companies to help finance the newly formed Queen Charlotte Airlines—named after the area that they first served. Overwhelmed with the logging business right from the start they became known as the “logger’s airline”.

According to Spilsbury they are most remembered for their ‘gangling Stranraer’—a strange looking aircraft originally designed for military use. Purchased from the Canadian Government in 1946, and named for the Earl of Stranraer, these flying boats proved to be reliable machines and remained in service for almost twenty years. As QCA approached the 1950’s, in addition to the Stranraers, the QCA fleet included: Dragon Rapides, Grumann Goose, Norsemans, Ansons, Cansos, Stinsons and Fairchild Huskies. With this conglomeration, it was fitting that Queen Charlotte Airlines became known as “Queer Collection of Aircraft.”

As the airline gained more territory, the adventuresome bush pilot style gave way to the repetitive, procedural airline-type flying. For several years QCA was Canada’s third largest airline, a title they held until the end of the 1940s. In July, 1955, an offer was made by Pacific Western Airlines—QCA’s biggest competitor—to purchase the airline. “We had everything happen to us,” Spilsbury says of that remarkable era, “everything!” With nothing left to experience, and nothing left to prove, Spilsbury decided to let the company go. For a cool $1.4 million, PWA swallowed up QCA and the airline that started “accidentally” on a “shoestring budget” became a chapter in the history of coastal aviation.

 

CHAPTER 5 – BC Air Lines
by Tyson Mielke

“It was probably one of the most popular bases that BC Air Lines had.”

~Stan Kaardal

Contrary to local aviation myth, Bob Langdon was not BC Air Lines’ first pilot in Campbell River. That distinction belongs to a man whose name is lost in the fog banks of history. Bob’s name, on the other hand, is forever etched in the memories of early Campbell River townsfolk. When he filled-in during the summer of ’48 for the vacationing ‘unknown’ pilot, the locals took a real shine to this charming and personable young aviator and decided they wanted to keep him. The only problem: Mr. Langdon was stationed in Alert Bay. Not a concern to the stubborn and resourceful pioneers of the 1940s. After penning a few colorfully effusive letters to the BC Air Lines head office in Victoria, the locals got their pilot, and the rest, as they say, is history.

In those early days the entire BC Air Lines fleet in Campbell River consisted of well..., Bob and his notorious SeaBee. The old Willows Hotel, legendary in its own right, housed Bob’s living quarters and the base office, with the beach in front serving as a jumping off point for the aircraft. Citizens watched with amusement as the amphibious SeaBee lumbered up onto the beach, clamored across the main street and ‘docked’ in the hotel parking lot. In bad weather the plane moored under the ‘hangar’—which, in actuality, was nothing more than a big tarp. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start.

To drum up business, Bob tailed the old Union steamships into their ports-of-call hoping to pick up the occasional logger that needed to go the few extra miles into camp. “The skipper of the boat used to laugh at this funny airplane following him around,” remembers Bob, “We ended up taking all the passengers.” It wasn’t long before Bob garnered a reputation as a brave, daring and compassionate pilot and the clunky old SeaBee—lovingly compared to a 1950s Chevy—became a symbol of hope to the hundreds of gypo logging camps along the coast.

Bob’s reputation grew expeditiously thanks to reporters hacking away on old portable typewriters, “Because,” according to his son Tom—also a pilot, “they didn’t have an awful lot to write about except loggers getting hurt.” This humble attitude is typical of the ‘Flying Langdons’ but truth lurked behind the headlines. Time after time, Bob, often accompanied by local physicians Dr. Hall or Dr. Depew, braved rabid weather and frothing seas to bring in injured loggers. In one famous nail-biting, hair-raising flight, Bob and Dr. Hall combated 75 mile-an-hour winds on a successful rescue mission to Thurlow Island.

“The challenges of flying on the coast can be summed up in one word,” recalls Stan Kaardal, a former BC Air Lines pilot, “weather!” Indeed, sloshing seas, hidden hazards, a schizophrenic climate, and diabolical winds all made for an interesting day at the ‘office’. Back then, early aviators like Bob, Stan Kaardal and Gord Wilkinson learned the hard way. “They got their butts kicked,” muses Tom Langdon, “trying to figure it all out.”

But another, more ominous concern preyed on the minds of coastal pilots: “We can stand wind and rain and snow,” says Bob, “but when they start bearing their children on an aircraft . . . we are frightened to death of this.” On a blue-wet April day in 1949, Bob looked uncharacteristically panicky when the cries of the first BC baby born in an aircraft resounded over the skies of Cape Mudge.

In 1950, different cries— these of the swear-word laden variety—emanated from the BC Air Lines office. The fleet, which had grown to include a Piper Super Cruiser and a Luscombe Silvaire, now docked at the wharf in front of the hotel leaving the planes exposed to the whims and twisted desires of nasty weather. Frustration stemmed from the fact that, a year earlier, Bob had asked the Chamber of Commerce to grant him permission to move the entire operation to the Tyee Spit—a little, unassuming finger of land at the Campbell River estuary—and was still waiting for an answer.

The Chamber of Commerce continued to rack their brains on the issue. Led by well-known author and naturalist Roderick Haig-Brown, they expressed concerns about the environmental impact on the estuary and Tyee pools. (Concerns, ironically, that are still debated today.) Someone suggested the town’s reservoir as an alternative, but drinking-water, it was determined, probably tastes better without planes landing in it. “The Spit,” argued Bob, “was the best location, as it offered natural protection from the storms.”

After ruminating for another year the Chamber of Commerce abandoned their resistance and gave BC Air Lines the nod to move operations. The Elk River Timber Company, owners of the land at the time, happily offered the airlines a lease, and, with the stroke of a pen, gave birth to the seaplane era on the Spit.

Thanks mainly to the booming logging industry, the fleet expanded with the addition of more planes and pilots. Stan Budd, lured to Campbell River in the early 50s for the hefty sum of “one-hundred-fifty dollars a month and three dollars per hour extra”, laughs about his first week on the job: “I was only there a week and Bob decides to take off for two weeks. I had no idea where the logging camps were!” It was a rare vacation for Bob— described by Stan as “a snappy little guy”— who worked tirelessly in his dual roles of pilot and base manager.

In 1956, BC Air Lines founder Bill Sylvester grew weary of the “government bullshit” and sold his empire to a couple of gung-ho Vancouverites named Paul Tak and Maurice McGregor. The Campbell River base, which remained on the Spit until 1968, filled the new owners with much happiness as the lack of competition made it one of the busiest and most lucrative.

When a rival airline finally emerged in 1959, it made a few people very sad—most notably, Paul and Maurice. Not only was their seaplane monopoly in Campbell River over, but the founder of this fledgling upstart was none other than their trusted and long-time employee, Mr. Bob Langdon. Things on the Spit were about to—pardon the pun—really take off.

CHAPTER 6 – Island Airlines
by Tyson Mielke

 “Bob used to say by the time he owed a million dollars, he’d have it made.”

~Jackie Langdon

 On June 16, 1984, Bob Langdon stepped through the doors of Campbell River’s Masonic Hall and into his past. There, gathered before him, were friends, family, and former colleagues of Island Airlines, the bygone company he had founded a quarter century earlier. The room, rich with nostalgia, was buzzing; it was a surprise reunion, and the guest of honor had just arrived. A sense of quiet contentment overcame the aviation pioneer as he scanned the crowded hall. Despite some adversarial relationships, union troubles, and business downturns, Island Airlines held a special place in the hearts of everyone there. After all these years, reflects son Tom Langdon, “it was still remembered as some of the best times of their careers.”

By the end of the 1950’s, Bob Langdon, after more than a decade with BC Air Lines, was wanting more. “He’d come home frustrated,” remembers ex-wife Jackie Langdon, “he just figured he could do better on his own . . . and be his own boss.” When the brass at BC Air Lines got wind of Bob’s plan, they made it easy for him to pursue his dream. “They found out and fired him,” recalls Gordie Wilkinson—the first pilot hired by Bob for his new venture—“so he was free to go and do his thing.”

When Diefenbaker came to power in 1957, he made it a lot easier for entrepreneurs like Bob to do their thing by ordering the Air Transport Board to relax the rules regarding small charter airlines. “I was the one who helped him with his application,” remembers Anne Wilkinson—Gordie’s wife—“and it had to be letter perfect. There could be no omissions or anything else. There was quite a bit of paperwork to do.”

Bob’s first move involved purchasing a Cessna 140 and 180 and luring Gordie Wilkinson away from BC Air Lines to help fly them. Next was finding a place from which to operate. Ironically, after working so hard on behalf of BC Air Lines in establishing a base at the Spit, Bob found himself in June of 1959 once again docking planes on a float in front of the Willows Hotel. A wicked storm on Labour Day of that year reminded him of why the location was less than ideal. Fortunately, this arrangement wouldn’t last long. By the following year, Island Airlines was happily ensconced on the Spit—right beside Bob’s former employer.

BC Air Lines, unhappy with this monopoly infringement, did everything in their power to make life miserable for the upstart airline. Bob, however, was up for the challenge. “[He] had the courage of his convictions,” remembers Jackie, “he felt that he could handle any competition. You have to have that self determination and self confidence. Otherwise I don’t think you can handle it.”

In a pre-emptive strike, BC Air Lines applied to the Air Transport Board and was granted protection of their Class 2 service routes. This was not uncommon in the 60’s, but the decision also included an unusual addendum: each base was granted a 25 mile protective radius, meaning no competitor could fly within that perimeter. Bob scoffed at the ruling and vowed to oppose the order, arguing that since the decision was not made at a public hearing, the monopoly it created for BC Air Lines went against the public interest. The battle would wage for several years, with Island Air eventually achieving victory. In an open letter to the Courier in 1965, Bob writes: “The ATB was in error in informing Island Airlines that BC Air Lines was to be granted a twenty-five mile protected area surrounding each base. It would have prevented Island Airlines from flying into a vast area of the coast. It was a great relief to learn that this portion of the ruling had been rescinded.” It would not be the last time Bob battled with competitors.

Despite BC Air Lines’ best attempts, Island Airlines flourished. “He had strong support from all his customers up and down the coast because he was very personable and people liked him,” reflects Jackie, “and he hired good people too.” By 1962, those ‘good people’ included eight pilots, three engineers, and an office staff of three, all nicely situated in a comfortable office on the Spit. The fleet had grown to six aircraft, including the company’s first de Havilland Beaver, purchased for the tidy sum of $63,000. The expanding empire added immensely to the local economy, and made quite an impression on a five-year old future pilot: “One day dad was putting his pilots uniform on and heading out the door,” reflects Tom Langdon, “I asked him what he did for this company. He said, ‘I own it.’ I remember being very surprised by that. ‘You own the whole company! You don’t just fly for them?’ ‘No son, I own it.’

1962 also marked the arrival of two employees integral to the history of Island Airlines: Pilot Frank Roberts and Engineer Dave Nilson. Frank got his start flying for BC Air Lines in the Port Hardy area, developing a working relationship with Bob over the years. “I knew him when he was with BC Air Lines,” recalls Frank, “he was a good businessman. He was a good guy, very well known.” Frank remained with Island Airlines for 15 years, becoming the director of Flight Operations and one of the most popular pilots of his day. “I enjoyed working with Frank,” says former dispatcher Norene Reedel, “he is a very knowledgeable man and had a good way of talking to people.”

Dave Nilson arrived at Island Air with a wealth of experience and one of the best mechanical minds in the business. He has won many awards, including Aviation Engineer of the Year, and can fix just about anything that flies. His relationship with Bob and Island Air seemed pre-ordained. Remembers Dave: “When I was a young fella, I used to go out to the Regina Airport . . . I snuck in one day checking out the old Tiger Moth in the hanger. Somebody grabbed me from the back and kicked me out the door. That was Bob Langdon’s father. All these things fit together.”

As the calendar pages flipped into the 1970s, Island Airlines, thanks mainly to the booming logging industry, soared to unbelievable heights. By the early part of the decade, Island Air had bases in Campbell River, Tofino, Gold River and Powell River; a brand new hanger on the Spit; a flight school at the airport; a fleet of 25 aircraft; a staff of around 30 people; and, were one of only two Cessna dealerships in western Canada. Dave Nilson remembers: “The seventies were crazy, it was just crazy. It’s hard to believe how busy that place was. The pilot would have flown ¾ of an hour, but would have landed 18 times. There was more maintenance because of all the landings and take-offs.” Many pilots during this time can attest to the constant flow of seaplane traffic. “When Island Air and Gulf Air were going,” recalls former Island Air pilot, Mark Murphy, “there’d be days when people couldn’t book a flight between either airline. You couldn’t book a 20 minute trip. It was unbelievable!”

Keys to success in the seaplane industry revolved around route licenses. Without them, it was hard to keep up with the ever increasing demand for service and stay ahead of the competition. “A great deal of our time and effort on the job . . . is associated with licensing,” said Bob in a 1975 taped interview, “we are always striving of course to improve ourselves and get better licenses.” It was certainly in Bob’s best interest. Gulf Air, formerly Trans Mountain, was now a formidable competitor on the Spit, with owner Don Braithwaite building up quite an empire after purchasing the BC Air Lines base in 1968. “Gulf Air had all the scheduled licenses from Toba Inlet and north,” recalls former Island Airlines pilot Harvey Hahn, “and Island Air had Bute Inlet and south of Campbell River". It was quite the rivalry, and the two owners, who didn’t really see eye-to-eye, took a certain pleasure in trying to ‘one-up’ each other. Don remembers a fateful day when he picked up a load of loggers from Phillips Arm. “Langdon was sittin’ there with his binoculars watching me do this. We didn’t have the right class of license . . . he got a hold of the Ministry of Transport (MOT) and they came out and inspected things.” Don would extract his revenge, however. Island Airlines, he discovered, was doing mail runs into Bute Inlet even though Gulf Air held the license for that area. Instead of complaining to the MOT, he simply started undercutting Island Air’s rate and doing the mail run, as Don would say, “practically for nothing.” The plan worked. “We finally worked our way into Bute Inlet,” says Don, smiling as thinks back, “and we got bigger and bigger all the time.”

Such was life on the Spit. It took a certain mettle to run a seaplane operation, and Bob’s determined and focused nature sometimes led to adversarial relationships within the company. “I think, to get along in that type of business, you had to have a thick skin about a lot of things,” reflects Jackie, “you had to be the boss. And that’s all he knew.”

Described by one employee as “a rough and ready guy”, there is no denying Bob’s importance to the careers of many aspiring pilots. “Bob was tremendous for taking people who were totally unknown on,” recalls Anne Wilkinson, “Gord wouldn’t have been flying if it wasn’t for him. We couldn’t afford the training.” In those days, there was a system in place where young pilots could start working on the docks, and through an apprentice type program, build up some flight time with experienced pilots until they became fully qualified. “When I was getting started,” recalls former pilot Gord Beadle, “the pilot designated to do the mail run would let you come along and fly the plane. After you got to know the country a little bit better, they checked you out again. Now if a mail run came up—strictly a mail run—the pilot who was designated to do it, could say, ‘Let Gord do it’. He could then sit back, drink coffee in the office and get paid while I did his mail run.” It was a special situation for young pilots, reflecting the unique challenges of coastal flying. “It doesn’t happen anymore because of the way the insurance is,” says Rolly Bartlett, who started training at Island Air in 1974, “ It was kind of a neat thing at the time—a good way to learn and know the area.” As good as the system was however, it did have certain drawbacks. Recalls Frank Roberts: “There was a time when we had to limit our hiring to older fellows. These young fellows . . . they’d work as a dock boy for a while, then on to junior pilot, and eventually they became great pilots. Just about the time they had reached the point where you could really rely on them and trust them, off they’d go to Canadian Pacific or PWA.”

Losing good pilots is one thing, but somewhere along the line, Bob’s marriage began slipping away. “Bob worked long hours,” recalls Jackie, “I guess from May until the end of September he sometimes didn’t have a day off. Weeks would go by and he’d be flying from first light until dark. He was gone before the children got up and he didn’t get home until after they went to bed. That in itself is hard on a family.” Though their marriage didn’t last, Bob remained a dedicated father to his three children.

Tom Langdon, now an accomplished fixed-wing and helicopter pilot, laughs when he remembers the first day working for his dad: “I started working there when I was about thirteen pumping floats and packing freight. My dad said, ‘Do you want to work on the weekends?’ I was excited. Dad walked me into [Chief Pilot] Harry Taylor’s office and he said, ‘Harry, Tom thinks he’d like to work here. I’ll leave him with you and you can tell him how it’s done. If he works out fine, give him a job, and if he doesn’t cut it, fire his ass.’ And with that, dad went to his office and left me standing there.”

In July of 1976, Bob was left standing alone when pilots and ground crew of Island Air walked off the job. He never understood the need for a union and this walkout felt like a stab in the back. “He was used to a ‘family style’ sort-of operation where you looked after your family and they did a good job for you,” relates Jackie Langdon, “The better job they did, the more perks they got. He felt that this union effort on parts of some of his staff was an act of disloyalty.”

Gord Beadle, former Island Air pilot and shop steward at the time of the strike, remembers it a little differently: “We basically went two years without a pay increase; so, when the third year came up, and the boss announced he couldn’t afford another pay increase, that was kind of the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Somewhere along the line the base pay started decreasing as the mileage pay started increasing; which, according to Gord, led to some pretty lean times. “You basically couldn’t live on it. In the wintertime for the most part you were on starvation wages because the days are short, flying time is cut down, and a lot of the logging camps were starting to shut down.” Bob, however could be very stubborn. In an Upper-Islander article from July, 1976, he declared: “The strike will end as soon as the day comes when they accept our proposal. We cannot not meet the union wage demands and stay in business.”

Bob stuck to his word. When the strike finally ended ten weeks later, workers returned to find a new name plaque on the bosses door. During the lockout, Bob accepted an offer from Keith Stephenson, owner of Vancouver based Haida Airlines, and stepped away from the company into which he poured his heart and soul. “He took [the strike] very personally,” remembers Tom Langdon, “This wasn’t just a business, this was his business. That was a big part of why he wanted to sell: it wasn’t fun anymore.”

With the pulse of the company gone, two long-time employees felt it was time to move on. First to go was engineer Dave Nilson: “ When Island Airlines changed ownership, I left at that time,” remembers Dave, “everybody was just angry at that point. So I thought, ‘I’m outta here!’" Dave would go on to found Nilson Aircraft, an aircraft maintenance business he ran successfully until his retirement in 1999. A year later, Frank Roberts followed suit. “This was a time of lots of changes down at the Spit,” reflects Frank, “My contract was that I would stay on for a year under the new owner, give him a hand, and get him started—which I did. After a year, I left.”

Under new ownership, Island Airlines continued to do well. Whereas Bob was a little more conservative in his style, Stephenson proved to be a progressive owner. “He was always open to new ideas and did really well with it,” remembers Harvey Hahn, “I liked him. He actually bought the Twin Otter that Island Air had.” The Twin Otter proved to be a great investment for Island Airlines—making three runs daily from the Spit to Vancouver Harbour in the late 70’s. "I think it was $35 each way,” recalls former dispatcher Val Todd, “This is around 79. Our run was very, very popular.” Popular with the passengers certainly, but with senior pilots like Gord Beadle as well: “In my last few years in Campbell River I was mainly flying the Twin Otter over to Vancouver. That was one nice thing about going to Vancouver: you got away from the base pay/mileage. You were strictly salary. There wasn’t the pressure to fly because it wasn’t going to affect your paycheque.”

When the 80’s rolled around, sweeping changes on the Spit affected more than just paycheques. “[Stephenson] had ambitions,” reflects Harvey Hahn, “but when Pattison’s group came along and knocked on the door with their check book, they said, ‘It’s a good deal for us.’ So they sold it.” It was the end of an era. Both Island Air and their long-time rival Gulf Air, were scooped up by the Pattison machine; and, in one final ironic twist, operated for a short period of time as a unified entity called Gulf Island Air. By 1981, the amalgamation became part of Air BC.
(Visit Chapter 10)

On January 23, 1986, friends, family and former colleagues gathered once again. This time to say a last farewell to the iconic aviator. After a lengthy battle with cancer, Bob Langdon passed away at the age of 61. His contribution to Campbell River’s aviation industry is immeasurable. From the economic impact to the city, to the coastal communities that relied on the airlines as a connection to the outside world, Bob’s legacy will live on. It is no wonder that many former employees, when thinking back to that golden era on the Spit, often remark, “We never realized how good we had it.”

CHAPTER 7 – Alert Bay Air Services
by Carol Hentze

 

“All we ever hoped for when we got started was a decent living for ourselves”

~Don Thompson

Hoping to make a better life for themselves in Canada, former Royal Air Force pilot Don Thompson, his Canadian-born wife and their young twins crossed the Atlantic from the shores of ‘Merry-Olde’ England, arriving in Chilliwack in 1948. Post-War England was not the ‘merriest’ place to be at the time; the economy was still struggling to get back on track and because the American Lend Lease had stopped, free food wasn’t being shipped across the seas as it was during the war, making rationing in the country worse. “My wife wanted to come back,” says Don, and seeking a stable future for his growing family, he happily agreed.

An active member of the Chilliwack Flying Club, Don got the chance of a lifetime in 1955 when he was offered a full-time job by BC Air Lines founder, Bill Sylvester. He was not deterred by the location of the job, which turned out to be on an isolated island known as Alert Bay, off the coast of northern Vancouver Island. The Thompson family settled in nicely on nearby Comorant Island.

Just one year later, in 1956, the strict government regulations and endless paperwork forced a frustrated Sylvester to sell BC Air Lines to Dutch gin millionaire Paul Tak, and airline executive, Maurice McGregor. As the newly appointed president of BC Air Lines, McGregor was more interested in ‘big-time’ operations; according to Don, “…he didn’t really gel with the coastal stuff,” and naturally, the service at the Alert Bay base suffered. With tensions mounting between unsatisfied passengers and the new owners of BC Air Lines, Don sensed that if “he didn’t do something about the service, someone else would.”

Scraping together a mere five thousand dollars, three thousand of which was immediately spent on a ‘new’ used airplane, Don and his business partner, Bill Groth, started their own airline in 1958. Alert Bay Air Services was ready for business and roaring to hit the skies.

All ABAS employees were locals who understood the special needs of the remote communities. The policy in the early days was to take passengers wherever they wanted to go and not be bogged down by a set schedule. They utilized smaller planes whenever possible and charged less money per flight than their competitors—strategies that quickly endeared the airline to its growing customer base.

Indeed, it didn’t take long for the airline to work its way into the hearts and minds of the outlying communities. “The people look after us all through the year,” reflects Don, “We try to show in some small measure, our appreciation.” One way they showed their appreciation was through their annual Christmas run. Children living in the isolated camps and villages along the coast searched the December skies in wide-eyed anticipation for ‘Santa’s’ traditional visit, who arrived by floatplane and distributed free gifts and candy.

Other unique services included: delivering messages, taking grocery orders, cashing cheques, issuing emergency loans and finding jobs for the locals. They operated 365 days a year, including Christmas, if they were needed. Working from dawn until dusk in the summer, an average day consisted of twenty landings and take offs, with the flights lasting approximately fifteen minutes— making it one of the shortest flight durations in the world.

Because of the unique weather conditions on the coast, pilots could fly a whole month without getting above one thousand feet and at times were forced to fly only ten feet off the water. They never said “no” unless it was foggy or blowing too hard. Their ‘customers first’ policy was: as long as an airplane could get airborne from any of their bases, they would, “go and have a look at it.” Even with the unpredictable weather they were only grounded an average of ten days a year. On the rare occasions they were stranded due to blustery conditions, Don remembers the coastal people being very hospitable: “You never had to worry about a place to stay. They always found a place for you, food, and very often, too much booze as well.”

Don’s idea from the beginning was to stay small, but this is not what transpired. “The pressure to expand was always there,” he says, and the bank was ever-accommodating, ready to supply an endless amount of cash for new airplanes. By the early 70’s, the main ABAS base had moved to Port Hardy, the company’s fleet of airplanes had swelled to fifteen and the staff numbered over forty people. Smaller bases existed in Kelsey Bay, Hardy Bay, Bella Bella and Ocean Falls.

But nothing lasts forever. By the mid ‘70s, the heyday for ABAS—reflecting that of the fishing and logging industry— had come and gone. In 1978, more than ready for retirement, Don jumped at the chance to sell the floatplane part of the business to Don Braithwaite, owner of Gulf Air. Says Don proudly, “I don’t have any regrets – we were in business for 30 years.”

 

CHAPTER 8 – Trans Mountain/Gulf Air
by Carol Hentze

“The airline was a real good money-making situation in the days we were in ”

 ~ Don Braithwaite

Early in the 1960’s, Campbell River, already on the map as the ‘Salmon Capital of the World’ was growing in leaps and bounds. Air traffic established in 1959 by Pacific Western Airlines (PWA) at the Campbell River Municipal airport was becoming increasingly popular. Forrest Cochrane took over the existing Campbell River Flying Club at the Campbell River Airport and operated it as a flying school. Cochrane envisioned a future in the industry, and wanting to expand further, applied for a charter licence—which was granted under the name of Trans Mountain Air Services. In 1964, Mr. Cochrane enlisted a member of the old flying club—an Englishman, William I. ‘Bill’ Macadam as president and co-owner to help them reorganize and expand the business.

Bill Macadam, described by chief pilot Harvey Hahn as “pretty colourful,” was sent to Canada to get an education by his dad, millionaire Lord Iverson Macadam, the Queen of England’s capital advisor. “Bill, I guess was one of the black sheep,” remembers future owner of Trans Mountain Air Services, Don Braithwaite, “and he got kicked out to BC more or less.” With the ‘old’ money from Bill’s grandfather, who had invented asphalt, known in England as macadamized roads, Bill bought out Cochrane’s partner—Art Price and invested in the promising new airline. “He had one hundred thousand dollars and his sister had one hundred thousand dollars,” says Don Braithwaite, “and Bill blew his money and her money on the airline and was going broke.” Harvey Hahn agrees: “We made many friends, but we didn’t make much money.”

By 1965, the aviation industry became Campbell River’s second largest employer, and the future looked even brighter. Trans Mountain retained their presence at the airport and also nestled down at the Spit next to the two other seaplane bases: BC Air Lines and Island Air. The competition was about to get fiercer.

 “I was a logger,” says Don, “and loggers can’t sit around waiting for airplanes, they gotta go to work. So I got my own plane, learned how to fly and got my pilot’s licence in 1955.” In those days, Braithwaite lived in Lake Cowichan and used to fly parts for his logging company into the camps from Nanaimo Harbour. He used his new Cessna 180 until 1966 when he bought a Beaver to haul heavier loads and make more frequent trips to his new logging gig at Knight Inlet. Consequently, Braithwaite reduced his trucking time and increased his company’s profit by moving to Campbell River.

Don’s next dilemma was to find a place at the Spit to tie up his plane. BC Air Lines and Island Airlines were both plugged up, so Trans Mountain Airlines, fairly new on the block, offered up a lease for a parking space and part of their hangar. This arrangement was copasetic until the fall of 1967 when Trans Mountain owner, Bill Macadam, found himself in financial hot water. Harvey Hahn, Trans Mountain’s chief pilot and Macadam’s ‘right hand man’, flew up to Knight Inlet where Don Braithwaite was logging. Within no time, Braithwaite was plunked down in Macadam’s office where the urgency of the meeting was revealed to him: Trans Mountain was burdened with debt and going broke. “I wrote him out a cheque,” recalls Don, “and I was now in the airlines business.” Braithwaite covered the current bills and became a fifty-one percent share holder. “I took over the airline right away,” remembers Braithwaite, “there was no sense in horsing around. If you want to get in there, you might as well get in there.”

Red flags went off immediately when enthusiastic Macadam came up with some grand ideas for Trans Mountain’s future. These suggestions just didn’t jive with Braithwaite’s vision for more control in the company. The writing was on the wall: Macadam had to go. Don negotiated a fair dollar to buy out Macadam, and became the sole owner of the company in January, 1968. Off to Ottawa went Macadam, while Braithwaite headed in another direction—that is, up and down BC’s coast forking out more money to pay off Trans Mountain’s old debts and hidden costs. Once Macadam’s ties were completely severed with the airline, Don transferred the assets and licences from Trans Mountain into his new company, Gulf Air Aviation Ltd.

Early on in the game there was some spying going on down at the Spit, particularly in 1968, when Bob Langdon, president and founder of Island Airlines got on the blower to the Ministry of Transport (MOT) back in Ottawa to report a little misdemeanour by Trans Mountain. They had flown some loggers and cargo into Phillips Arm without the required licence to do so. Inevitably, a short while later, there was a rap on Trans Mountain’s door—an MOT inspector—that went through the Trans Mountain planes and premises with a fine-tooth comb. That was it for Braithwaite, so, in the summer of 1968, he grabbed his lawyer and off they went to Ottawa to apply for a bigger licence. While there, the pair got an ‘inside scoop’ that BC Air Lines was going to sell off its Campbell River base. This perked Don’s interest immediately as the Campbell River base was a money-maker. So, when Don showed up at the BC Air Lines base in Vancouver announcing that he wanted to buy the base in Campbell River, they were quite perturbed that this information had leaked out. A couple of weeks later, an MOT rep was back in Campbell River—this time with some good news for Braithwaite—to discuss the sale of the BC Air Lines base with him. Don then presented him with a $10,000 cheque for good faith. There was just one stumbling block: Island Airlines also had a shot at buying the base. Things were tense until Don got word that it was a done deal; Trans Mountain Air Services officially took over the BC Air Lines base on August 1, 1968, becoming the first company to buy a base off them. Their planes were moved over to the newly acquired BC Air Lines dock, and the pared down staff worked out of one building at the new location.

“It was quite a struggle competing with Island Airlines,” reflects Don, “It went along and I had my problems.” Braithwaite couldn’t seem to keep the logging business and the airlines running smoothly—at least not at the same time. Don eventually let the logging go in order to focus on his growing airline. “I was with Trans Mountain through the change to Gulf Air and Don Braithwaite,” reminisces chief pilot, Bob Early, “when Don took over, it was boom times…he had plenty of good timing that way… we were crazy busy… there were a lot of young guys like myself and we were all gung-ho. I worked six or seven days a week—I didn’t have to, but I did.”

The rivalry with Island Airlines existed from day one. An example of this was in the late 60’s, when Bob Langdon’s Island Air had the mail run to Stuart Island and Blind Channel which enabled them to run an ‘incidental’ off of the mail run up to Bute Inlet. Langdon had beaten out Trans Mountain and they couldn’t get in to Bute. This didn’t sit well with Braithwaite who said to his operations manager, John Ward, “We’ve got to get that licence and get that mail run out of there. We’ll take it for nothing.” The company started out dropping freight for three dollars a parcel, three dollars a drop, finally working their way up into Bute Inlet and the whole issue. Says Braithwaite: “…Basically we just got bigger and bigger the whole time.”

“I was the first guy to bring an Otter in,” reflects Braithwaite, “loggers go for anything that’s bigger—[they can] move more stuff. I was a logger. I had stood on the dock waiting for airplanes and the rest of it… so I knew what it was all about.” According to Bob Langdon, owner of Island Air, the Otter was too big of an airplane to land in the river and would never work… which was all the more reason for Don to try it.

Braithwaite knew the high cost involved in running a logging operation and worked with the companies to help reduce their ‘downtime’. One such example was when Braithwaite flew down to Vancouver, picked up eight logging truck tires (1224’s), loaded them up and delivered them to Loughborough Inlet in a matter of hours. If not for the Otter, the logging company wouldn’t have been able to work for another four days—a huge loss of income. Trans Mountain soon became known as the ‘Logger’s Airline.’ They kept their two Otters busy flying a ton of freight into the camps—either groceries or powder and then picking up ten loggers and flying them out. The Otter got the airlines more business all the time.

If it wasn’t enough trying to keep up with the demands of the airlines, there was another thorn in Braithwaite’s side in 1975—the rumbles of joining the union. Operations Manager at the time and long time employee, Bob Early, muses, “It was Gordie Wilkinson ( Trans Mountain pilot) that was spearheading the union. He was a good guy though. I was in the middle between the union and Don. It was just awful…I was getting shell-shocked from both sides. One day I just decided I can’t do this anymore… and I walked out and I never went back.”

“Gordie Wilkinson is a heck-of-a good fella and a good pilot,” remembers Braithwaite, “but he got mouthing off at me. I had enough,” so I told my operations manager to send him into my office and I said, “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. You are a good pilot, but I just can’t take this.” Wilkinson then hired on at BC Forest Products. He needed a place to tie up the plane, so he approached Braithwaite about using Trans Mountain’s dock. Braithwaite had space available and readily agreed to let him dock there. Says Gord Wilkinson, “We started to give them some work, and eventually we gave them all the work, and Langdon got none of it. And that didn’t please Langdon too much.” Gord’s new work situation ended up benefiting both men.

In 1976 Island Airlines went on strike. Don’s people (Gulf Air) were not union. “My guys asked me if I was going to give them a raise,” recalls Braithwaite, “and I said ‘not right now, probably in the spring, but you’re getting more money than those guys (Island Air) already…I’m still trying to pay off the bank and the whole issue.’” So, to appease his crew, whatever Island Air negotiated, Don paid—and they kept operating. The strike provided more business for Gulf Air and enabled them to keep their commitment to the bank by making all their loan payments. On the other hand, Bob Langdon, frustrated with the strike, sold out Island Airlines to Keith Stephenson.

Things were running along so smoothly that in 1978, Gulf Air acquired ABAS (Alert Bay Air Service) located at the Port Hardy airport. Founder Don Thompson was ready to sell off the floatplane part of his business; it was perfect timing for Don Braithwaite to expand his empire once again, enabling Gulf to cash in on the scheduled routes.

Around 1980, ‘Uncle Jimmy’…that is Jim Pattison, wanting to buy an airline, or rather the route licences, sent his people up to Campbell River to make a deal. Pattison kept it quiet that he had just bought out Air West, and wanted to buy out Gulf and Island Air. Remarks Braithwaite, “I was in good shape, so that’s when I decided to get out.”

“I had a bellyful between trying to argue with the bank, argue with the MOT and argue with the union,” laments Braithwaite, “who needs it?” Uncle Jimmy’s timing could not have been better. “We had three or four bad accidents,” reflects Don, “It’s not bad to go to one funeral, but when you have to go to five or six in one afternoon it gets difficult. Jesus, people look at you like you are a murderer.”

The Campbell River Spit was forever changed when Pattison amalgamated the airlines and it became Gulf Island Air. The parent company was Air BC.

“We had a lot of fun at it and the whole deal,” recalls Don, “there’s no two ways about that…I guess I was basically one of the biggest regional/postal carriers around.”

Chapter 9 – The Busiest Seaplane Base
by Julie Matchett

“Campbell River's float plane base in the estuary was reputed to be the most busy float plane base in the world. It was constant—planes coming and going.”

~Jack Chicalo

 

For those who’ve always wondered where that phrase, “ Campbell River was the busiest seaplane base in the world” really came from, blame former Island Airlines engineer, Dave Nilson. It was Dave who half-jokingly made the remark while he was chatting with a good friend down at the Campbell River Spit. The friend, a newspaperman and ‘airplane nut’, took the comment and flew with it, and before long, the term had stuck. “That’s the story...” says former Island Air pilot Gord Beadle, “…It was busy, no question about it—extremely busy.” A study done by the Ministry of Transport back in the seventies only confirmed the rumours. Hired during the summer, two university students spent a ‘miserable’ day on the Spit, stretched out on lawn chairs in the hot sun, bucket of cool beverages on hand, counting the number of planes coming and going. The official results of the study? In a 12-hour period, there was an aircraft taking off or landing every six minutes. Remembers Gord, “…it was go, go, go back in the day!”

By the mid-sixties, coastal British Columbia was in the firm grip of a logging heyday with independent ‘gypo’ loggers springing up all over Vancouver Island. “There was a terrific amount of logging,” says pilot Lee Frankham, “everywhere you went it was five guys and his brother out here logging.” When Timber Forest License 2 (TFL2) was granted by the Ministry of Forests back in 1949, it gave independent loggers the right to log old growth timber stands on Vancouver Island for the next 35 years. According to logger Len Crawford, at the time TFL2 was issued, “Nobody ever knew how much old growth there was to start with.” He continues: “In 35 years, the technology changed so much, with road-building and such, that the [timber] they thought wasn’t accessible, got to be accessible.” The inevitable result was an influx of small, independently run companies, eager to cash in on the booming timber market. When boom times are happening in one industry, the benefits tend to trickle down the line into other industries—it was a natural progression that floatplanes would become an indispensable part of the logging world.

“The aircraft was one of the most important tools in the coast logging industry,” says pilot Walter Davidson. The forest industry has seen enormous technological advances since the beginning of coastal logging in the 1880’s: from teams of oxen hauling timber out of the bush, to the advent of steam donkeys, and into the modern, mechanized era of logging trucks. While these advances aided in the hauling of lumber, it wasn’t until the arrival of the floatplane that the movement of people changed. Up until that point, logging camps were large operations, employing hundreds of men from distant areas, who would live in camp for a few months at a time. “Floatplanes changed the logging industry over time,” remarks Phil Bergman at Vancouver Island Air, “Loggers used to travel from Vancouver on the old Union Steamships. When floatplanes came in, loggers could live in this area and fly into and out of camp really easily.” Needless to say, the ease of locomotion heralded big money-making opportunities for the airline businesses in Campbell River, and enticed new companies to the area. In 1966, Okanagan Helicopters started a full-time base on the Spit, and the reason for that decision was “the logging industry,” remarks Craig Houston, a helicopter pilot. Says pilot Mark Murphy: “The community over the years, I don’t think they had an idea of how big the business was out of the Spit…parts, equipment, groceries…it was huge.”

Pilot Harvey Hahn relates a typical day on the Spit during the hectic rush of those times: “On Monday morning, we used to shuttle two to three hundred people. We just went right at it from first daylight in the summer until 9:30 at night…every airplane on the Spit was hauling people out to these camps.” Chartering an airplane was the usual way to transport employees out to remote camps, but before long, logging companies got wise to a simple fact: “…having to wait for airplanes and chasing around [town] wasted a lot of time,” says logger Don Braithwaite, “…downtime costs you a lot of money.” So, in order to avoid this nasty truth, many companies started investing in their own aircraft. Walter Davidson, former owner of a logging operation, agrees: “If you had your own aircraft…you had a distinct advantage over people who had to charter. I can hardly imagine operating our logging [business] without our own aircraft. It became indispensable.”

And it wasn’t just loggers who utilized the floatplane business. Before the ferry system to Cortes Island was established in 1969, people living on the outlying islands around Campbell River had two options at their disposal to reach the mainland: a boat, or a floatplane. Travel by boat entailed a multiple-hour journey, as opposed to a quick jaunt in an airplane which took mere minutes—for many, the choice was blatantly obvious. As Phil Bergman explains, “I grew up on Cortes Island…the floatplanes were how I got to Campbell River for doctor’s appointments and things like that.” At one time, Island Airlines had a scheduled flight that served only Cortes Island and the surrounding areas—this one little spot had its own dedicated service, proving how busy the traffic was.

It’s undeniable that the economic impact to the city was substantial. With the spin-off from the constant traffic, the local community benefited enormously, and it created a huge tax base for the city. “The [logging industry] has allowed our community to be seen by a lot more people,” mentions Phil Bergman, “and I think over time, the more people that see the area the better and healthier it becomes.”

CHAPTER 10 – Uncle Jimmy’s Air BC
by Tyson Mielke

“Pattison was not a good thing for the industry. It wasn’t good for the airline. It wasn’t good for the people.”

~Harvey Hahn

Retired pilot Gordie Wilkinson remembers a handshake like a “wet dishrag”. Local aviator Jim Creighton refers to him as an “evil character”. Former Gulf Air owner Don Braithwaite simply calls him “Uncle Jimmy”. As the bellbottomed 1970’s gave way to the conservative suits of the Mulroney/Reagan era, an ominous presence arrived on the Spit donning a pin-stripe suit and Cheshire Cat grin . . .

Legend has it Jimmy Pattison wanted an airline to add to his growing empire of car lots, media outlets and grocery stores, and had his eye on Pacific Western Airlines—one of Western Canada’s aviation juggernauts. With confidence fuelled by a briefcase full of cash, he strutted into PWA’s head office and kerplunked an offer on the table. “They wouldn’t even entertain the idea,” recalls former Air BC pilot Gord Beadle, “They said, ‘Go away little guy. You can’t afford us.’” Jimmy did not like this. In fact, it made him so mad he did what any self-respecting, soon-to-be-billionaire would do: form his own airline.

In those days airline companies needed route licenses to conduct business. Once licenses were obtained—for example, from Campbell River to Vancouver—it was illegal for other operators to infringe on the route. But new licenses weren’t just handed out like grandma’s stale butterscotch candies. Applicants had to convince the Ministry of Transport that there was a genuine demand for service. Tom Langdon, former owner of Orca Air, remembers: “You needed letters of recommendation, customer lists, and letters from clients saying the service was needed. You needed to jump through lots and lots of hoops.”

One thing about billionaires, they hate jumping through hoops. They’d rather clobber them with heavy bucket loads of cash. Pattison came to the conclusion that it would be a lot less trouble and way more fun to buy existing airlines and, if things didn’t go well, simply extract the licenses he wanted and sell off the dregs. Content with this seemingly foil-proof plan, he turned his attention to the North Island.

The Pattison ‘Express’ began sweeping down the coast in early 1980. Directly in the path of this corporate maelstrom were Campbell River’s biggest operators: Gulf Air and Island Airlines. Gulf Air owner Don Braithwaite saw the storm coming; but, instead of taking shelter, calmly laid out the welcome mat and put the kettle on. “Pattison wanted to buy an airline and I thought, ‘You are just the man for me.’” By this time, Don was getting tired of the game and he knew Pattison came knocking with deep pockets. “I had gotten really fed up with the whole issue,” recalls Don, “I had a bellyful between trying to argue with the bank, argue with the Ministry of Transport, and argue with the union. Who needs it?”

Next door at Island Air—by then operating as a subsidiary of Vancouver based Haida Airlines—the story was pretty much the same. Owner Keith Stephenson looked at the offer sheet and decided it was too good to pass up. Just like that, Campbell River’s largest and longest serving seaplane outfits were now in the hands of a man with a much bigger agenda. It was not a happy time on the Spit.

“That was probably one of the worst parts in my life,” laments Don—who was asked to stay around after the sale and help with the changeover—“I had to fire a lot of people . . . everybody that wasn’t union. One gal just about passed out when I told her she was fired, but what do you do? It was a tough go.” “It was pretty rough,” agrees Val Todd, who started dispatching for Island Air on the Spit in 1979, and received her proverbial pink slip during the transition, “a lot of people were just sort of let go on a moment’s notice and it was very upsetting . . .” No-one, it seemed, was immune to Pattison’s golden axe. Even Harry Taylor, who had been Chief Pilot at Island Air for many years, was phased out. “There was some bad blood and that was hard,” recalls former Air BC dispatcher Norene Reedel, “Harry, still to this day, doesn’t come to any airline reunions. It’s sad.”

Until the license transfers and seemingly endless bureaucratic procedures were finalized by the Ministry of Transport, Island Air and Gulf Air were technically one company but conducted business as separate entities. Gord Beadle remembers it as a strange time: “I could only fly an Island Air airplane and the Gulf guys could only fly Gulf Air because of the licenses.” When approvals finally arrived a few months later, Island Air and Gulf Air morphed into a giant, perplexing operation called Gulf Island Air. “What they did for a while was operate scheduled service out of one building and chartered service out of the other,” remembers Val, “which meant for some awkward stuff trying to dispatch it.”

Awkward indeed, but things were only getting started. On the day after Halloween 1980, the company exchanged one mask for another when Gulf Island Air and the four other coastal airlines purchased by Pattison officially fused into one, big happy company called Air BC. Perhaps this crazy period is best summed up by Larry Langford, current owner of Vancouver Island Air, “At one time, there was an Island Air Beaver flying around with a wing on it from a Gulf Air airplane in Air BC colours. It was a very confusing time and . . . a little bit of a disaster.”

While employees wrestled with their disgruntlement, customers were having a little trouble grooving on the new company’s philosophy. “When an airline comes along and says, ‘Hey, we don’t care what your schedule is, you have to work around us,’” remembers former pilot Harvey Hahn, “the loggers will just tell you to shove off—and that’s exactly what happened.” In an ironic twist, logging camps began purchasing their own planes—ones belonging to Air BC that were now, thanks to cutbacks in coastal service, sitting in hangers collecting dust. Indeed, many inhabitants along the coast felt betrayed. “There were all kinds of newspaper articles about this situation,” recalls Gord Beadle, “headlines like, ‘Coastal Communities Left Stranded’ were common.”

Most agree that some of Air BC’s problems arose from management trying to run the company in a big city manner—a style that just didn’t quite work in this unique coastal market. “They had all these grand ideas of what an airline should be,” muses Val, “but that doesn’t equate to what it’s like for a small float plane operation dealing with loggers and all that sort of stuff.” Things really came to a head when the company started charging passengers for parking. “Boy,” muses Val, “that did not go over well.”

Air BC even managed to cause itself internal grief when residue of the coastal take-over smeared a nice coating of insecurity and doubt amongst the staff at company headquarters in Vancouver. Before Pattison arrived on the Spit in all his mad-money glory, staff at Island Air and Gulf Air worked under the umbrella of the Canadian Brotherhood of Railway Telegraph and General Workers Union. When Air BC took over operations, they not only brought along ill-conceived business ideas, but also the Teamster’s Union. “That’s when all the bumping started to happen,” remembers Steve Todd, a former dispatcher for Island Air and Val’s husband, “all the Island Air and Gulf Air people had the seniority in the system.” In fact, fifteen out of the top twenty employees on the seniority list came from Campbell River and, if they were willing to move, had the option of taking positions and displacing workers at the Vancouver base.

While many union employees decided to stick things out in Campbell River, several, including dispatcher Norene Reedel and pilot Gord Beadle, threw caution to the wind and flew off to the mainland to be part of Pattison’s grand vision. “If you guys will stick with me, and do this five year plan . . . things will work out.” This was, according to Norene, the crux of Pattison’s rallying speech, and he delivered on his promise. “He paid us well and we did stick to the five year plan. There was growth and we could see we were going somewhere. It was really exciting because I saw it go from the original plan of buying out all these little airlines to the success it became.”

There is no question that Jimmy Pattison is a shrewd business man. Heck, even his wallet comes with an ensuite. But the world of business revolves in a capricious and fickle orbit. Yes, Air BC became a great success on the mainland, but things weren’t so rosy in Campbell River. Already dealing with low staff morale and a wary customer base (picture irate loggers violently crumpling up parking tickets) the company suffered another blow when the economy started experiencing chest pains. “I think that’s when all the employees went into a depression,” reflects Steve Todd, “the logging declined, the fisheries declined, the economy declined, the airlines business declined and everyone was scratching to make it work.”

In the end, Pattison grew weary of scratching. Whether it was the plan all along, or things legitimately didn’t pan out, barely two years after the big splurge, he salvaged what he wanted from his coastal operations, sold off the pieces and high-tailed it out of town. A few of the scattered remains emerged in Gold River under the guise of Air Nootka, with the majority of the pieces ending up on the Spit in the hands of Wayne Denny and CoVal Air.

One thing is for sure, Pattison’s take-over and hasty exit marked the ending of one era and the beginning of another down on the Spit. Change was probably inevitable, but one can only speculate how things may have played out had Pattison stayed out of the aviation game. Air BC’s coastal monopoly barely lasted two years, but strong emotions regarding this time period still linger within the people whose lives were affected by all the chaos. Indeed, there is no grey area when it comes to remembering this pivotal character in Campbell River’s seaplane history. On one side are those who regard him as an “evil character”, and on the other, those who simply remember him as “Uncle Jimmy”.

CHAPTER 11 – A New Era Begins

PART 1 – CoVal Air by Tyson Mielke

 “ Wayne had all these ideas and wanted to do them all at once. The biggest problem was getting him to slow down and do things in the established pattern.”

~Harvey Hahn

Wayne Denny was a confident, “gung-ho” man anxious to become a major player in Campbell River’s aviation scene. When Pattison decided to pull the plug on Air BC’s seaplane operations on the Spit, Denny jumped in with both feet and scooped up the base and licenses. It was this impulsive, “balls-to-the-wall” demeanor that ultimately, some believe, led to his downfall. “He came from a military environment,” recalls former CoVal Operations Manager, Harvey Hahn, “that was his undoing.” According to Harvey, the military has a tendency to leap-frog over problems—a practice that doesn’t work in the commercial world. “You can’t do that here. You have to be very meticulous and careful and make sure the whole thing is safe.”

Comox Valley Air (CoVal Air), already established in the Comox Valley, enjoyed an auspicious start when they expanded operations to the Tyee Spit. When government approvals of the sale were finalized in 1982, the airline found itself alone atop the seaplane industry in Campbell River. They had, in a sense, purchased all of the old licenses once belonging to Gulf and Island Air—the former heavy-hitters—giving them a local monopoly. After dealing with the ‘take-it-or-leave-it’ attitude dished out by Air BC over the last couple of years, the sale left customers wanting. “Wayne wound up with the whole thing,” says Harvey, “there was no-one to compete with them. I would have people saying, ‘Yeah right! That’s how much you charge, but if you had competition it would be less.’”

Patrons were not the only ones expressing displeasure. While many employees during the early stages of the transaction used their seniority within Air BC to find jobs at that company’s Vancouver operation, the ones staying behind at the newly formed CoVal Air found things a little unsettling. “ Wayne wanted to be an innovator and a pioneer at a time when that wasn’t being embraced at all,” recalls former dispatcher Steve Todd, “everybody wants to be a pioneer in something, but the pioneering days of aviation are basically gone.”

It was this cavalier, pioneering spirit—ironically a recipe for success in the early days of Campbell River aviation—that led to a lot of dissention. “I just wasn’t happy with what I was seeing with the way CoVal Air wanted to operate,” remembers Gord Beadle, retired Air BC pilot who left CoVal in 1982, “you could see the writing on the wall at that point.” Others, particularly the chief pilots, expressed concerns over certain business practices and, as a result, according to Steve, “were quitting on a regular basis and would not fly with Wayne at any point.” Their worst fears would be realized.

On Canada Day, 1984, while families across the country gathered to celebrate the Nation’s birthday, the staff of CoVal Air huddled together in grief and sadness. Wayne Denny, along with eight passengers, perished that afternoon when the Beech 18 he was piloting crashed at the Port Hardy airport. “It was catastrophic,” remembers Harvey, “a lot of people that worked there were his friends. For a small company like that to lose eight passengers . . . It took everything for all of us to hold it together.” The shock waves of the event reverberated down island to the CoVal office and Steve Todd vividly recalls the emotional turmoil and uncertainty following the crash. “There’s the president of the company, the direction of the company, and all the energy behind the company . . .gone! Everybody is left in complete limbo. We waited to see what was going to happen.”

Despite the tragedy the company soldiered on—overcoming not only the repercussions of the crash, but a sagging economy as well. When Harvey Hahn left in 1987 to pursue other ventures, Wayne’s wife Donna took over the management side of a business in a strong financial position. “I just told her, ‘Here’s your company. It’s in good shape. You are free and clear.’ It was probably the only airline on the coast that was in the black and had their debts paid off.”

CoVal’s success could be attributed to not only forestry—which accounted for 80 % of the company’s revenue at the time—but also management’s ability in finding new markets. CoVal pilots made close to 15,000 flights in 1987, thanks mainly to the burgeoning new industry of aquaculture. In a Courier newspaper article dated November of that year, then Managing Director of CoVal Air, George Filiatrault states: “Six percent of the airlines’ gross revenues will come from moving fish, and I anticipate that will grow to 15 percent by the end of 1988. We’ve now moved close to three million fish.” That’s quite an astonishing number considering they had only been in the fish hauling racket for a few months. As the recession slowly abated, the company also started tapping the summer tourism market, attracting a steady influx of travelers in pursuit of fishing adventures at remote BC lodges.

CoVal continued operations well into the 1990s—holding the title of largest float plane operator on the BC coast for many of those years. Finally, after nearly fifteen years on the Spit, CoVal slowly morphed into what eventually became Air Rainbow. Though he would not live to see his dream fully recognized, Wayne Denny will always be remembered for founding one of the most successful—and arguably most controversial—airlines in Campbell River seaplane history.

PART – 2 Vancouver Island Air & Sea by Tyson Mielke

 “I’ve always had an interest in aviation. I came out to Campbell River, started flying floats and liked it a lot.”

Larry Langford

The Campbell River seaplane industry is notoriously fickle—making Vancouver Island Air a true success story of the post-Pattison era. When the beleaguered billionaire decided to pull Air BC out of the Campbell River float plane racket, CoVal Air happily stepped in and acquired the assets—securing their position as the only game in town. “There was no competition for them,” relates Larry Langford, owner of V.I. Air, “That presented an opportunity if somebody wanted to start an airline.” After pitching in a few thousand dollars apiece, acquiring a license and a “repossessed, beat-up old Cessna 185,” Larry Langford, Bill Alder, and a third partner, seized that opportunity—establishing Vancouver Island Air in 1985.

Business expanded, and over the next year the fledgling airline acquired another Cessna with Tom Langdon coming aboard as a second pilot. Soon after, with one partner moving away, and Bill wanting to concentrate on his new venture, Sealand Aviation, Tom was given the opportunity to become an owner. “I bought one of the partners out . . . and Larry bought the other one out,” remembers Tom, “so we wound up with a one third, two third split in the business.”

Unfortunately, this arrangement was not ideal for either man. Tom had envisioned taking a more active role in the decision making and felt frustrated by the situation. Larry, on the other hand, knew exactly what he wanted: sole ownership. Remembers Tom, “I don’t think it was really Larry’s idea to have a partner. It wasn’t his choice at the time. So I could see it wasn’t going to work out in the long term as far as business partners go.” Two years later, Larry bought Tom out when he voluntarily decided to leave the company and the two men amicably parted ways.

Today, Vancouver Island Air & Sea continues to provide excellent service. Under Larry’s guidance the company has survived the downturn in logging and the changing of the times. Though forestry related business is still vital to the company’s existence—making up 50% of the revenue as compared to 85% in the busier times—the focus now is on the burgeoning eco-tourism trade. “Today, you have to diversify to try to survive,” says Val Todd, who has dispatched with V.I. Air since 1988, “Our biggest customer is a grizzly bear viewing company. The bulk of our business is done in three or four months out of the year and that sustains us.”

Sometimes business comes from unexpected sources—like the deep pockets of a Hollywood studio. “It’s not something you can predict,” remembers long-time dispatcher Phil Bergman, “The Beech 18 has that classic twin tail which is visually appealing. Our first movie was Insomnia back in 2001. They repainted the aircraft because it had to look terrible for the movie. The only problem was we had to leave it painted that way through the fall in case they had to come back and do re-shoots. We did a lot of explaining to our customers as to why it looked that way.”

Rolly Bartlett, pilot with V.I. Air since 1987, recalls another brush with Hollywood when the producers of the movie Agent, Cody Banks came calling. “That was pretty interesting…it was fun. They had the helicopter camera ship hovering along. They said, ‘fly underneath this helicopter and get as close as you can.’ Of course, to actually intentionally fly towards another aircraft in the air was a little bit daunting at first!”

The two Beech 18s in the V.I. Air fleet not only look good on the big screen, they are quite unique in this part of the world. “The Beech 18’s are rare,” states Phil proudly, “only 70 were ever put on floats, and we have the only ones on the coast of British Columbia.” Larry, believing in the potential of these aircraft, spent six years modifying a third Beech 18, resulting in a one-of-a-kind craft dubbed the Seawind. Sadly, this unique plane is no longer part of the fleet. After a freak accident in April of 2007 in Jackson Bay, BC, the Seawind began taking on water and sank. No passengers were injured, but the aircraft could not be recovered.

Redesigning the Beech 18 is typical of Larry’s forward thinking. Instead of shying away from modern technologies and advancements, he uses them to the company’s advantage. For example, installing web cams for collecting weather data and maintaining a strong internet presence. “We can truly say that the internet has generated business for us,” says Larry, “We get inquiries from all over the world, and we know that we do get people to ride in the airplanes because they have seen them online.” Indeed, making connections with clients, whether electronically or through long-term service, is the heart and soul of the business. “A lot of the customers we’ve got we’ve been flying for over twenty years,” relates Val, “we see them week after week and that’s really neat. They call you on the phone and they don’t even have to say who they are because we recognize their voice.”

Another example of the company’s progressive thinking and understanding of the market is offering clients an alternative to flying. This may seem strange for an airline, but many logging companies prefer using the crew boats for short trips out to their respective camps.

Perhaps most important to V.I. Air’s success is the culture of safety that permeates the company. After 22 years in service they have had only one incident invol