The Weight of the Wings: Reflections from a Southeast Alaska Bush Pilot
Notes by Alex

At a young age, flying commercially in the rugged and raw beauty of Southeast Alaska, I learned something that would stay with me for life: Mother Nature demands respect. She doesn’t ask politely—she insists. And if you don’t pay attention, she’ll teach you the hard way.

Flying seaplanes in this region isn’t just a job—it’s a calling, a deep and constant awareness that every takeoff and landing could write a new story. Some days, it’s smooth skies over glistening fjords. Other days, it’s sudden wind shear, low ceilings, or an unexpected fog bank rolling in like a ghost.

As bush pilots, we’re not just flying aircraft—we’re guardians of life. Whether it’s a single passenger heading home or a full load of ten, those souls are trusting you with everything. It’s not just about keeping the plane aloft. It’s about judgment, skill, humility, and the instinct that only comes from experience—and mistakes you never want to repeat.

Even now, years later, that responsibility hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s grown deeper. Every time I step into a cockpit, I carry the same respect for the forces around me and the people behind me. That weight? It never gets lighter. And honestly, it shouldn’t.

Because in the skies of Southeast Alaska, the margin for error is slim—and the value of life is immeasurable.

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“A good pilot is always learning. A great one is always listening—to the weather, the machine, and the silence in between.”
— Alex Atkinson Jr.