Young Inuit take to the skies in pilot training program with dreams of serving Nunavik

An enthusiastic applause greets Melissa Haney as she walks into a classroom at Iguarsivik high school in Puvirnituq, Nunavik. She was just introduced as the first Inuk woman to captain a Boeing 737. 

The students hang on every word as she recounts her story — a childhood dream that seemed out of reach, but finally came true thanks to perseverance. 

"Who wants to become a pilot?" she finally asks the students. One, two, three timid hands go up. 

Then one of them speaks up and asks, "What if I fail?"

"Failing is part of becoming successful," says a teacher. "But nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself." 

A lifeline for communities

Hanley regularly flies Air Inuit's route between Montreal and Puvirnituq. Originally from Inukjuak, a village above the 58th parallel, she knows firsthand what life is like in the community for these students. 

"We know there are many challenges for youth in the North," she told Radio-Canada. "There's a gap in education levels and infrastructure right from elementary school. They need a bit of a helping hand. Our message is that, 'yes, you can do it and we're here to help you'."

In addition to being a pilot for Air Inuit, Hanley also coordinates the airline's Sparrow training program. The initiative, which started in 2014, is meant to increase the number of Inuit pilots flying in Nunavik. Each year, the airline selects a handful of candidates and sends them to a flying academy in the Montreal area. The candidates are also guaranteed a job with the airline if they successfully complete the training. 

"We're about 240 pilots at Air Inuit, but barely 10 per cent are actually Inuit," says Hanley. "It's important for Inuit from Nunavik to work here. It's their airline."

Unlike many other smaller airlines, Hanley says Air Inuit isn't seen as a stepping stone for local pilots. 

"Inuit pilots want to stay in the North," she says. "That means good employees that stick around longer." 

It also means the pilots are already well-adapted to flying conditions: 35 knot winds in -35 C, blowing snow across gravel runways, and limited ground services. 

"You have to love flying and working in the North because the conditions are extreme," says Hanley.

For many, piloting in the North isn't just a job, it's a calling. In Nunavik, air travel isn't considered a luxury like it is in many other parts of the country; it's a lifeline that connects isolated villages dotted across the vast landscape, be it for food, supplies, or services.

The four students currently in the Sparrow program are well aware of this responsibility. 

"Working for Air Inuit means you're helping people in communities and you see the results," says Geneviève Whiteley, one of the participants. Flying is a family affair for Whiteley — her brother previously completed the training program. 

Lifelong dreams

Nicolas Pirti Duplessis, another student, is also dedicated to helping his community. 

"For me, it's about serving my people, my friends, my family," he says. At 35, he's the oldest one of the cohort. 

"My mom had to take the plane to give birth to me. Two weeks later, she was flying back home," he said. Aviation, he adds, "has always been fascinating to me, a passion since I was young." 

Growing up, Duplessis remembers travelling by Twin Otter and being seated right behind the pilots, watching their every move. He'd then try and replicate those gestures at home. 

Siinasi Tassé Dion is another student. His face lights up when he starts talking about airplanes and flying. 

"I've always wanted to become a pilot," he said. "That idea makes me really happy." 

Growing up in Kuujjuaq, his father was in charge of maintaining the airport's tarmac. He remembers going to work with his father on days when school was closed due to a snowstorm and riding along in the plow to clear the runway. 

Later, Tassé Dion became a baggage handler and would daydream of one day sitting behind the controls as he was loading bags onto a Dash-8.

Now working to make that dream a reality, he said, "I've never been so motivated in life… It's what you're going to be doing every day and paving a road for the kids. It's a feeling that never gets old."

'Every day is something new'

However, the aspiring pilots still have much to learn. Their training is the same as others enrolled at the academy — a difficult, demanding and rigorous two-year process that's capped off with Transport Canada exams, known for being very tough to pass. 

Students spend hours in the classroom learning about various flying-related subjects, including regulations, the principles and dynamics of flight, radio communication, and weather. 

"There's so much. Lots of information. Every day is something new," says Tassé Dion. 

Andrew Watt, a fellow student who's also from Kuujjuaq, echoes that point.  

"Once you start, it's straight on," he said. "It's quite overwhelming to be honest."

Together, the four Sparrow students can both lean on one another when needed, and push each other to succeed. 

The challenges also extend beyond the classroom. 

"Moving here is hard," says Watt. "You know, you're away from family, you're homesick. I've been calling home every day."

Once the Christmas break rolled around, Watt and Tassé Dion left Montreal to go back home to Kuujjuaq and spend some time on the land.

"Nothing replaces that connection," said Watt while sitting on a snowmobile and hunting for ptarmigan. "I was born here, I'm going to die here." 

Tassé Dion admits that he was exhausted from all the flight school work. 

"Home is always going to be home," he says. "When I go out on the land, it always cleans my mind." 

First solo

Weeks later, the students reconvene down south and continue along their shared journey. There will be several steps over the next two years before they can acquire their commercial pilot's licence — getting a private licence, night and instrument certifications, among others. 

One of the first steps is also one of the most important: a first solo flight. 

Whiteley is the first of the four to receive this honour. Alone behind the controls of a Cessna 152, she takes off, does a loop over the borough of Saint-Hubert and lands again, so focused she barely recognizes the significance of the moment. 

"When you're alone, you tell yourself, 'OK, if anything happens, I'm the only one responsible.' It adds an extra layer of stress, but you also realize that you can do it," she says after the experience. 

Duplessis says he had butterflies in his stomach throughout his solo flight, especially during the final approach. Once he felt the wheels of his Cessna touch down, he heard crackling in his headset and a voice from the control tower. 

"Congratulations on your first solo."

As soon as the aircraft stops moving, Duplessis opens the cockpit door and shouts, "I'm alive!"

When it's finally Tassé Dion's turn to take to the skies, he can barely contain his joy. His first solo flight has been delayed multiple times due to inclement weather or the airspace being too busy. 

"It's unreal. I'm living the dream. Words can't describe how happy I am," he says after his successful flight, still wet from the bucket of water he just received to the face. "I was actually giggling because my instructor's not there on my side. I'm alone… I was singing a song, Bohemian Rhapsody."

After their flights, each student is met by their instructor on the tarmac with a large bucket of ice water that's promptly dumped on them — an old aviation tradition to mark this aerial baptism. 

Haney is also there to congratulate the young pilots. 

"I have goosebumps," she said, remembering going through those same steps several years ago. 

"They should be proud. They started from nothing and now they're flying a plane on their own. It's really amazing." 

While many students in the Sparrow program dropped out of the training over the years, Haney is convinced this cohort will succeed. And after seeing their progress, she can already imagine them as future colleagues with whom she may one day fly over Nunavik.