Broken wings

And now 'tis man who dares assault the sky . . .
And as we come to claim our promised place,
Aim only to repay the good you gave,
And warm with human love the chill of space.

— Prof. Thomas G. Bergin

It seems like it has been a hellish month, this last one. A friend felled by a massive heart attack, too young. Another friend, chasing the joy of being out on the land, excited to have the opportunity to go boating, doesn't return, drowned along along with his brother when their boat overturns in rough seas. And now the crash of First Air flight 6560 practically next door.

For all of its vast space Nunavut is a small place. Less than 30,000 of us live up here, separated by at the most two degrees of separation, never mind six. Resolute may be 300 kms away, but is a neighbouring community, strongly connected. We share families, an airline route and common history. Look down the road to the next village, town or place and you'll get a sense of it. Imagine that there were only three or four such villages, towns or places and you might get a bit more of a sense of it.

I didn't know Marty Bergmann, the director of the Polar Shelf Project, but I have many friends who knew him well. Randy Reid, the cook at the South Camp Inn, was a stranger to me, but strangers travelling here since the crash told me of knowing him. And I certainly know Ozzy Kheraj, whose two granddaughters were on board, one of whom survived. Everyone here knows Ozzy, the owner of the South Camp Inn, a fellow who evokes strong feelings amongst people here. He has been host to many many travellers in the north, and his businesses are legendary here. 

Ozzy must be reeling from the loss of his six year old granddaughter, Cheyenne, and so many of his employees who were on board. It was he who chartered the jet to bring food and supplies up for his hotel. The north is such a strange place that it is more economical to charter a 737 than to bring food up through the Federal Nutrition North program. The jet was mostly bringing cargo, but there were a few seats available, twelve passengers plus the crew of four.

Air travel is a unavoidable fact of life up here. It is our only way in or out of the communities. Many people will have flown in that jet, joked with its crew. I may have been in its belly sorting through luggage and freight when I briefly worked for First Air. No doubt the First Air family is reeling as well.

Regardless of the crash we will board a flight the next time it comes to travel. It is the north after all. No doubt our thoughts will turn to someone on that flight the next time we rumble down a runway.