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Free of his teaching contract, Walter returned to Kelowna at the end of the school year and took stock of the situation. His sister Gerda was married to Frank; they lived in Vancouver and had two boys. Margaret was not yet married, but plans were underway. She intended to marry Corny, whom the family had known for many years, they had been neighbours back in Black Creek. Even John, who had just graduated high school, had a job and a girlfriend. Norm and Bobby were still in school. It seemed everyone else was on a path in life, while Walter felt himself standing at a crossroads. So, he did what he always did, he got a job.
He was hired by Kelowna Industrial Supply to design and install irrigation systems for ranches and farms. The job promised three things Walter enjoyed – being outdoors, working with his hands, and using math. Most of the projects he was assigned were in the Kamloops area, and he was in his element. His days were spent in the fields, calculating water pressure and flow rates though the miles of pipe that made up a sprinkler system. He carried a basic slide rule for everyday measurements, another for determining friction loss values in the pipes, and a third, more complex one with trigonometric functions for calculating elevation gain and loss when he surveyed the fields. When the time came to install a system, he invested in a solid set of tools, basic, but good quality.
He enjoyed the work, but it was seasonal. There wasn’t much he could do during very wet months, or in winter. During those times, Walt dabbled in other ventures. His brother-in-law, Frank, owned eight acres of land near the Kelowna airport. The land was dry, with no water rights, and therefore no irrigation. Frank had bought it for a song a few years earlier, but now he needed money.
Walter was interested, so he gave Frank a deposit of $100 to hold the land for two months while Walter pulled together the rest of the $2000 Frank was asking for the property. He bought the land and immediately applied for water rights. He also borrowed his dad’s tractor and cleaned up some garbage that had been dumped there, making it look more appealing. Approval soon came to hook the property onto the local irrigation system. The neighbouring property was an orchard, and as soon as the Walter had water on his land, the owner approached him to buy it. Two months after purchasing, Walter sold the property to the neighbour for $7000, leaving $5000 cash in his pocket when the deal was done.
With some of the cash, he bought himself a sports car – a 1965 Volkswagen Karmann Ghai 1600. The car had a lot of power, and attracted plenty of attention, especially from police. Walter began collecting speeding tickets like never before, but he loved driving, and the car was a lot of fun to drive.
Since much of his work for Kelowna Industrial Supply was in the Kamloops area, Walter decided to buy a place there rather than continue renting. He purchased a small house trailer and parked it in a local trailer park. He didn’t mind living there, it was close enough to Kelowna that he could easily visit his family, and they could just as easily visit him.
One summer weekend, his brother John helped him move a small boat to Kamloops so Walter could go fishing now and then. John’s Crown Vic had a decent engine and a towing hitch, but the boat and trailer were a struggle for the car, and the engine over heated several times on the 130-mile trip. Without a can to collect water, Walter had to use a gumboot John found in the trunk to refill the radiator. Such mishaps turned even a simple task into a memorable day.
In 1965, during a lull in his work at Kelowna Industrial Supply, Walter went to Vancouver to stay with Gerda and Frank for a while. One morning, flipping through the local newspaper at their kitchen table, his eyes caught a small ad:
“Introductory Flying Lessons, 25$/30 minutes”.
The lessons were offered by a company called Skyways, based at the Langley Airport.
“Hey, I have 25 bucks,” Walter said aloud to no one in particular. After breakfast, he drove straight out to Langley and walked into the Skyways office.
“I saw your ad, I’m interested in an introductory flying lesson,” he said.
The young man behind the counter gestured toward another fellow approaching. “Well, here’s one of the instructors. He’s got time now.”
Walter pulled $25.00 out of his wallet, put it on the counter, and shook the extended hand of the pilot, who introduced himself as Bill Palmer, the flying instructor.
After a short discussion, Bill invited Walter to follow him outside, and together they walked to a small plane. “It’s a Cessna 172,” Bill said.
Walter studied the aircraft, realizing he didn’t even know which side he should climb in on. Bill showed him to the right-hand seat, and Walter eased into the cockpit. To his surprise, there were dual controls in the cockpit, which made sense, he thought, as this was a trainer. He scanned the unfamiliar gauges with interest. He had never been in a plane before, much less sitting in the cockpit of one.
Bill explained the basics as he fired up the engine. He taxied the plane to the grass runway. It had been raining, and puddles had formed in the low-laying areas. Bill remarked that it was important to avoid them, they could slow the plane down so much it might have difficulty taking off.
The plane picked up speed, and before Walter realized it, they were in the air. The ground fell away from them, and Walter felt light pressure into his seat as the small plane climbed. Bill explained what he was doing as he flew, it looked effortless. The small plane stopped climbing and leveled out. Looking down at the fields below, Walter felt weightless.
“Take over,” Bill said, nodding at the controls in front of Walter.
Walter gripped them, and for the next 15 minutes he was completely absorbed in the sensation – making small corrections, feeling the responsiveness of the aircraft, marvelling at the lightness of flight. He had never experienced anything like it.
Too soon, Bill took the controls back and landed smoothly on the gravel airstrip. When the plane came to a stop, Walter sat in silence for a moment, reluctant to let the experience end.
Bill looked over. “What did you think?”
“I think I like it.” Walter said. To himself, he finished the thought, “Man, this is what I gotta do.”
Bill grinned and walked him back to the office before shaking his hand again and carrying on with his day. Walter approached the fellow behind the counter.
“What does a fellow need to do to get a pilot’s license?” he asked.
The man explained that the first step was to pass a pilot’s medical examination, if Walter cleared that, he could register for lessons. The full course cost $600.00, which included ground instruction, the textbook, and the 35 hours of flying time required before he could take the written exam and flying evaluation for a private pilot license.
The clerk handed Walter a list of local doctors who were certified by the Ministry of Transportation to perform pilot medicals. Walter started with the first doctor on the list. At the clinic, he explained his request to the receptionist and was sent to the waiting room. Less than half an hour later the doctor examined him and signed him off for his medical.
With the completed form in hand, and $600.00 cash, he returned to the airport and signed up for lessons. He booked the first available session, it was a few days later. That night, back at Gerda’s, he cracked opened the textbook and began devouring the contents.
When the day of the first lesson arrived, Bill greeted Walter, and they got straight to work. Ground school classes were scheduled a few weeks off, but Walter could take the flying lessons with Bill in the meantime. Some flights were in the same Cessna 172 he had first flown, but often the available aircraft was a Cherokee 140. They were a similar size, both 4-seaters, but Walter noticed differences in how the two planes handled. The Cessna was an old plane, and it was a high-wing design, which meant its weight hung underneath the wings, like a pendulum. The Cherokee, a newer plane, with a low-wing configuration, had most of its weight above the level of the wings. Walter paid attention to the subtle differences in how the planes handled. The Cherokee had a better engine and more power. Still, flying either was a thrill. At night, he pored over the textbook, committing its contents to memory.
In the days that followed Walter scheduled two or more lessons a day, as many as were available. He soaked up every detail Bill described or demonstrated. Between technical discussions, Bill chatted more freely with Walter. He had been a fighter pilot in WWII and had some miraculous escapes. He didn’t tell many stories, but he did tell one that held Walter’s attention. Bill and a wing-man were returning from a fight in France with a bit of ammunition left, when they decided to shoot up a railroad. They maneuvered into position, and that was when they learned that the German troops heavily defended railroads. They dove in to do a strafing run, and there was suddenly so much flack Bill couldn’t see his partner. He kept his hand on the trigger, then pulled up hard to climb up above the flack. Miraculously, neither he nor his wing-man took a hit in that incident.
There was a second instructor who went up with Walter for a couple of sessions, Bill Hall. He had also been a fighter pilot. Shot down in WWII, he had been a prisoner of war for most of the war. Both men inspired Walter, and their stories of danger didn’t deter him at all, rather, they motivated him to learn everything he could about the planes he was flying, and their capabilities, flying in adverse conditions as well as good.
Each lesson typically lasted about 30 minutes, sometimes longer depending on the exercise. Walter had received a blank logbook with his class materials, and Bill showed him how to track his flying hours, and the type of aircraft he flew. He logged every training flight in the book. Bill demonstrated take-off, landing, turns, climbs, descents, and stall recovery before handing the controls over the Walter to practice. After just three or four lessons, Bill introduced Walter to his first cross-country flight, from Langley to Chilliwack. Under Bill’s watchful eye, Walter landed in Chilliwack. They got out to stretch their legs, then they climbed back in, and Walter flew them safely back to Langley.
With the cross-country completed, Walter was cleared to fly solo. That meant he no longer had to wait for an instructor, any time a plane was free, he could take it up. Sometimes that meant several flights a day, carefully tracking every hour in his logbook. His solo flights were now logged as “pilot in command”, and he knew command time was exactly what future employers would be looking for. During these flights, he diligently practised the maneuvers Bill had shown him, but he also allowed himself moments to revel in the act of flying. The freedom of moving in all dimensions was exhilarating.
Within another week, he had completed the remaining hours and was ready to book his flight exams. The examiner from the Ministry of Transport came to Langley Airport and administered the written test first. Then he and Walter went up for the flight evaluation. The examiner commented that only a few years earlier, his predecessors would have had to watch from the ground. If the pilot landed in one piece, he got a license. Now, however, he could ride along and assess the pilot directly.
The evaluation didn’t take long. Walter opened the throttle and guided the Cherokee down the runway, avoiding the largest potholes, and lifted off. He carried out each maneuver the examiner requested, then prepared for the landing. He brought the plane down smoothly and taxied to a stop. The examiner turned to him, extended his hand and said, “You passed. Now, go learn to fly,” before climbing down out of the plane and going to the Skyways office to finish his paperwork.
Walter was pleased, but he didn’t dwell on the milestone for long. His focus was already on working as a pilot. Bill had made it clear, finding work as a pilot wasn’t easy. There was no shortage of pilots, and jobs were scarce. Walter knew he needed to gain experience, and quickly, if he wanted to be employable.
Skyways also offered an additional course for a float endorsement, and Walter signed up. They had an old Piper Cub tied up on the river at Fort Langley, with a separate instructor who specialized in float flying. Walter arranged times to meet him at the river and practice takeoffs and landings on the water. Once he was competent there, the instructor had him fly out to Pitt Lake and land, so he had experience beyond the river. Unlike the pilot’s license, there was no set number of hours he had to meet. Once the instructor judged Walter capable, he simply signed Walter’s logbook, certifying him proficient on floats.
The next goal Walter set his sights on was a commercial license, which required 250 hours of command time. Whenever he had a chance to rent a plane and fly, he did. One day he rented one of the Cherokees from Skyway and flew to Kelowna to pick up his parents. Together, they flew to Manitoba to visit relatives. Walter was proud to give his parents that experience, and grateful for the hours he could log toward his commercial license.
He thought seriously about his options. To build hours, he needed to be in the air, not on the ground, but flying cost money, and money meant working. As much as he had enjoyed his work at Kelowna Industrial Supply, he no longer wanted to be based in Kamloops. He wanted to be on the coast, where planes were more accessible, and the opportunities seemed greater. Once he made the decision, he returned to Kamloops to empty his trailer. While there, a young couple approached him, they wanted the trailer but admitted they had no money. What they did have was a one-acre lot at Hatzic Lake in Mission. Walter agreed to trade straight across.
With no more ties to Kamloops, Walter began looking for work in Vancouver. His brother, Norm, who had recently graduated from high school, was working as a welder for Stolberg Mill Construction, a company that build and maintained mills along the Fraser River. Norm told him Stolberg was hiring and the pay was good. Walter went to the Stolberg offices on Marine Drive in Vancouver and was called in for an interview right away.
“Have you ever been around mills?” the man behind the desk asked.
Walter said that he had.
“Do you have your own tools?” was the next question. Again, Walter said he did. At that point, it dawned on him that the interviewer might think he was a millwright, rather than a labourer.
“Can you work weekends? We need someone to work on the equipment over the weekends when the mills are quiet.”
That question confirmed Walter’s suspicion. The fellow clearly believed he was a millwright. But Walter had answered honestly, and he figured it wasn’t his place to educate the guy on how to conduct an interview. Like any eager job seeker would, he accepted the offer.
He enjoyed working weekends and tinkering with the mill equipment, and the schedule left him free to rent a plane and fly whenever he could during the week. Spending time around the airstrip, Walter began to meet other pilots and ground crew. Through a few aircraft mechanics, he learned about a man named Ed Zelensky, who bought and sold used airplanes. Word was, Ed needed a pilot to pick up and deliver planes around the country.
Walter tracked him down at his shop in Richmond. Ed showed him around and explained the business: he refurbished and resold used airplanes, often taking trade-ins. What he needed was someone who could help overhaul engines, test-fly the refurbished aircraft, and deliver them to buyers.
Walter weighed the risk of flight-testing against the experience he’d gain flying different types of planes. It would mean getting paid to fly, instead of paying to rent. He accepted the job.
Most of the time, Walter worked in the shop with the mechanics, but a couple of times a week, he would take a plane for a test flight or deliver one to a buyer. Sometimes, the buyer had a trade-in for him to fly back. He preferred deliveries to the prairie provinces – flat land offered a much safer place to learn the quirks of the junkers he was taking back to Ed. Some of the trade-ins were extremely rough, and he was keen to be able to work out their problems over the open prairies before taking them over the Rockies.
One day, Ed asked him to deliver an Aircoupe to a customer in the Yukon Territory. The plane, originally designed for “Sunday drivers” had a steering wheel instead of a yoke, though this one had rudder pedals added for extra control. The Aircoupe intrigued him, but the real wonder of that trip was the Yukon itself. Below him stretched mile after mile of wilderness, broken only by the silver glint of winding rivers. It was rugged, vast, and beautiful, and Walter was glad to have seen it.
Even with steady flying hours with Ed, Walter dreamed of owning his own plane. For that, he needed more money. He told his boss at Stolberg he was interested in a longer-term project, and was soon offered a job on a crew building a sawmill expansion at Upper Fraser, off Highway 16. The work would begin in September and finish by Christmas. The pay was excellent, and Walter accepted.
When he first arrived at the job site in September, the weather was cool; typical fall weather. But by mid-October, winter set in, and Walter realized they were in a serious snow-belt. Once the snow started falling, it hardly ever stopped. The crew worked to put the roof on the new buildings, exposed to the snow and wind all day long. If Walter stood still up there, snow drifted up against his legs. He figured the working conditions were about as close to his limit of endurance as he had ever faced.
To help the men survive the conditions, the camp cook piled on the calories. When steaks were on the menu, nobody went to their table with fewer than two, and they were good-sized steaks. But nobody gained weight, they froze it all off every single day on the job.
By Christmas, more than 20 feet of snow had accumulated. The lot where the crew had parked their vehicles was a smooth, unbroken field of white. The trucks didn’t even make lumps in the snow. A loader operator cut a trail down the middle of the lot, then the men probed for the buried vehicles and carefully dug them out, one by one, so the crew could go home.
Walter was relieved to have that job behind him. It had been truly gruelling. The good news was, he had enough money in his pocket to buy a plane.
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Author’s Notes:
N.B.1: We often see our parents through the lens of their roles in our lives— caregivers, disciplinarians, cheerleaders. Perhaps they are our role models or mentors, but who were they before they became these things to us?"
To better understand who my parents were before they were, well, my parents, I set about interviewing them about their lives before marriage and kids. I started with my mom, and you can read her story here, and now, “Learning to Fly” is the story of my dad.
Walter Harms was the oldest son of Mary and Jake Harms, Mennonites who fled to Canada in search of safety and the hope for a better future. He was a curious child, always interested in the land they lived on, and how things worked. As a young man, this curiosity led him to respond to an advertisement for flying lessons, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Walter is my dad, and this is his story, as told to me in a series of interviews in 2024-25. The story is pieced together from Dad’s memory, photos, and documents. As we all know, memory is fallible. In the telling of this story, some names have been changed, either because they could not be recalled, or to protect the privacy of the person.