Yesterday, while scrolling through my Facebook feed as I often do to distract myself from dreadful things like nature, fresh air, and human contact, I happened upon a post from Alaska’s Regal Air that featured a photo of their current pilots accompanied by the caption: “(Some) Of Our Legends.” I visually scanned the photo for the pilots that I had flown with in 2014 and 2015 during my dozen or so trips to Alaska to shoot a television series. I noticed that their most senior pilot (at least that I knew of) was missing from the photo. His name is David Oberg. Dave had been my pilot on several flights to remote Alaska locations in either a Cessna 206 or when I was fortunate enough, a de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver. So I commented beneath the photo: “Where’s Dave?” A few hours later, I was shellshocked with a private message from Regal Air: “Unfortunately we lost Dave in 2018 in an aircraft accident. A big loss for all of us at Regal - but most of all of course his family.”
I felt profound sadness accompanied by immense gratitude...
Flying with Regal Air on dozens of flights had been exhilarating, but there was one flight in particular that was unforgettable... a flight in which I thought I wasn’t going to walk away from... It was early October 2014, when I had specifically asked Regal Air to send Dave, their most experienced pilot, to fly me out of the Dillinger River Valley where I had been filming a television series for eleven long days. It had snowed over a foot, with more snow on the way...
Regal informed me that while they couldn’t guarantee that Dave would be my pilot, they would do their best to accommodate my request...
The next morning seemed moderate... cloudy and cold with scattered snow flurries. I heard the single engine of a Cessna 206 as it crossed in between two mountain peaks that would grant access to its final approach, bound for a rocky and snow-packed home-made airstrip in a hunting camp.
I downed my coffee and rushed out of the tent to gather my belongings. This was my ticket out of that valley! As the Cessna landed and taxied, I was pleased to see Dave Oberg at the controls, the senior pilot I had requested. “Sweet!” I thought, “It’s Dave! I’m golden!” The Cessna came to a stop, and the aircraft’s wheels virtually sank into the snow. “Uh-oh,” I thought. Dave climbed out, greeted me, and wasted no time, immediately loading my gear. With the snowfall increasing by the second, Dave was eager to get me on board and get us out of there before it was too late. He was not shy in expressing this urgency. Camera in hand I climbed into the Cessna’s co-pilot seat...
I hit the record button on my Canon C300 to capture the take off. Without much hesitation, Dave throttled the Cessna into motion... a bit of sliding to and fro as the tires worked to advance their position out of the snow... we spun around 180 degrees and Dave sent us into a take off acceleration down the airstrip... with only a few yards of “runway” to spare we had liftoff... a gust to the left, a burst to the right, and then wobbling into the air. Almost immediately we were immersed in a sea of snow blindness. As I was recording our ascent I felt my stomach drop as we hit our first wave of violent turbulence. It felt like a Gyro Drop at an amusement park, except this was anything but amusing. Dave recovered and continued to climb until a few seconds later, when: BAM! Another jolt of turbulence. The sudden and unexpected convulsion sent the viewfinder of my camera directly into my eye socket... ouch. It felt like I had been punched in the face. My lens fogged up. I stopped recording and placed the camera on my lap. Through the starboard window I saw a mountain peak that looked close enough for me to reach out and touch with my hand... and then BAM! Another wave of horrifying turbulence and we plummeted... Again Dave recovered from the drop...
As the plane continued to violently pitch and yaw, I meditated into a quiet calm, ready to meet my fate with grace, gratitude, and dignity... And then, through my headset, I hear Dave exclaim casually: “Oh Shoot!” I look over to Dave-- he has one hand crossed over the other, a firm grip on a wildly vibrating yoke... His eyes are squinting for a visual reference through the foggy window and out into the blanket of white that surrounded us. As much as I wanted to know, this was no time to ask Dave what he meant by “Oh Shoot!” I was to sit quietly and not distract this veteran bush pilot as he maneuvered us into a steep turn with new headings...
I saw my life flash before my eyes. I felt as though I may not walk away from this flight. I thought of everyone that I loved— my parents, my step parents, my grandparents, my siblings, my friends, John Ritter, my enemies, and my new girlfriend back in Denver. In Chuck Yeager’s terms, I thought I was about to ‘buy the farm.’ A lone tear drop streamed down my face. I closed my eyes and made peace with my existence…
We were going down. We were going down hard and fast into the side of a snowy mountain. I would black out and die instantly. It would be painless. Or would I live through the crash and find myself severely mangled, in a battle for survival on the face of a snowy mountain in sub-freezing temperatures with no food and water, and be left with no choice but to eat parts of my own leg? These were the thoughts swirling through my brain...
After what felt like eternity, but was probably 15 minutes-- a hole in the clouds presented itself... a beam of sunlight and a ray of hope... the turbulence subsided...
Dave relaxed his grip on the yoke, and turned on the radio. “Wide World” by Cat Stevens flowed through my headset and into my ears. “So where you from?” Dave casually asked, as if nothing out of the normal had just occurred... “Denver,” I answered. After a pause, I continued, “Hey Dave, when you said “Oh shoot” back there what were you referring to?” “Well,” Dave replied, “I couldn’t see a thing, I didn’t know where we were, so I had to turn around to try to find a hole to get us out of that storm.” “Oh,” I said, “Hey Dave, on a scale of 1-10, how hairy was that flight?” He thought about it for a moment and answered, “That was worse than anything I’d ever want to fly in.” He continued, “In fact, after I landed to pick you up, I immediately regretted it because I didn’t think we’d be able to take off.” (Holy Shit!!) Cat Stevens continued, “Ooh baby, baby it’s a wide world, it’s hard to get by with nothing but a smile...” With the clouds dispersing and the sun illuminating the dark afternoon sky, we soared in silence back to Anchorage where that evening, I celebrated my life. My Alaska aviation adventures would continue within three short days, with a Regal Air float plane taxi to Lake Bulchitna in a de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver. In 2015, a year later, Dave would be my pilot on several more flights, including a take off from a rocky beach on Latouche Island and a wonderful flight over Kings Bay…
R.I.P. David Oberg. And thank you for bringing me home.
P.S. That “new girlfriend” is now my wife.
A flight with Regal Air’s Dave Oberg, from Anchorage to Latouche Island, August 2015.
Taking off from a rocky beach on Latouche Island with Regal Air pilot, David Oberg. August 2015.