Helicopter sale awakens fond memory

A small headline on the business page of the Times-Colonist reporting the sale of VIH Aviation Ltd., the descendant of Vancouver Island Helicopters, brought to mind another headline that chose to coincide with–and almost subvert–one of the most memorable days of my life.

I’d been writing and prowling about the historic gold-bearing Leech River country in the Sooke hills for several years, my articles appearing in The Daily Colonist’s weekly magazine section, The Islander.

It was in response to one on the 1860s Leechtown gold rush that a Mr. Henson phoned me. Disabled in the First World War, he’d supplemented his disability pension and fed his family through the dirty ‘30s by prospecting in this historic area, some 16 air miles west of Victoria.

The gold, up to 22 karats, is among the purest to be had, he told me, but one needed “determination and lots of luck” to have much success. Nevertheless, his gold panning and a small pension got the Hensons through the Depression. Hence his interest in my writings about the Leech River.

I remember his dropping by my house a time or two and several extended conversations. One day, he asked me if I wanted to check out Leechtown from the air. Well, I’d already done that, in a small fixed-wing aircraft that had consumed more time in banking, climbing and turning around than in actually providing a birdseye view. That’s the nature of the beast, of course–and beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to free rides.

But Mr. Henson wasn’t offering me a tour in a Cessna.
He was offering me one hour in a helicopter, something I hadn’t done before (or since). He’d already told me that his son Ted Henson, a former military pilot, had founded Vancouver Island Helicopters in 1955 with a single machine on credit and had built it up to six helicopters by 1957 when he vanished while flying in the Tatlayoko Lake region. Ted’s wife Lynn and manager Alf Stringer were running the company when Mr. Henson and I met and it was through their generosity that he was able to offer me an hour in the air.

I could hardly believe my good fortune (present-day readers and potential corporate sponsors, please take note that I’m always available for freebies). I could hardly wait for the great day. I could hardly believe that morning’s headline.

I should explain that my flying experience up to that time had been limited to the single brief aerial survey by Cessna. I’d never flown commercially and I had concerns about safety in the air. I mean, almost daily it seemed, there were news reports of plane crashes around the world. What was a country boy who’d led a sheltered life to think?

But I couldn’t recall reading of a helicopter crash.
That meant that they were safe, right? Right. The very morning of my flight, the front page of the Colonist banner-lined the crash of a tourist helicopter at Disneyland with the loss of 12 lives.

But I was committed. The bubble-glassed Bell helicopter, its pilot and Mr. Henson were expecting me at the company hangar at 11:00. So, with something less than enthusiasm and a restive stomach, I drove to Pat Bay Airport. The chopper was warmed up and in a matter of minutes I’d shaken hands with Mr. Henson and belted myself in beside the pilot whose name, I regret, I can’t remember. In another minute we were in the air and heading northwest at what appeared to me to be very high speed for such a low altitude.

My pilot, who I’m sure had done this many times before with inexperienced passengers, aimed straight at a mountain slope. As I instinctively strained backwards in my seat and awaited the inevitable impact, he moved his stick ever so slightly and the copter literally jumped up and over.

I, relieved at our escape from crashing into the mountain and awed by the helicopter’s manoeuvrability, groped for words to express my thoughts. It was one of those few occasions (other than when trying to express sympathy to family and friends at times of personal loss) that I, the professional wordsmith, had to fumble for words. All I could think, over and over, was, Wow!

Forty-odd years later, as I recall that golden morning, all I can tell you is, Wow!
That hour went all too quickly. In a way, it was almost frustrating because sites that my friends and I’d repeatedly scouted for but couldn’t find on foot, were clearly visible to me from the air, especially when we hovered over something like an old stove at a height of just 100 feet or so. However, by taking our bearings, I was able to find some of these historic sites thereafter.

Too soon we were back at Pat Bay Airport where Mr. Henson and his daughter-in-law were waiting for us. All thoughts of crashing helicopters erased from mind, I clambered out and onto the tarmac.

It was a truly great day–one brought back by news that this pioneering helicopter firm, by then one of the largest in the country, had been acquired by Ontario interests. I’m forever indebted to the Hensons for the experience of a lifetime.