SENATORS’ STATEMENTS — Canadian Forces Snowbirds

Honourable senators, this is a short work of fiction written by Ian McLean, former commanding officer and team lead of the RCAF Snowbirds in 2005 and 2006:

The Last Snowbird

Date — October 2026.

Place — Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. . . .

The crowd stretched for what seemed like miles.

Families sat on lawn chairs. Children chased each other through the grass. Veterans wearing faded squadron hats stood quietly along the fence line. . . .

No one wanted to miss the final show.

A Captain sat alone beneath the wing of the Tutor with a large 7 on the tail.

The aircraft looked a bit tired.

So did he.

The paint was still immaculate. The maintenance crews had seen to that. . . .

But everyone knew.

This was the end.

Fifty-five years.

Thousands of performances.

Millions of Canadians and Americans . . .

And today, it would all be over.

A young corporal poked his head beneath the wing.

“Ten minutes, sir.”

The pilot nodded.

The corporal hesitated.

“Never thought I’d see this day.”

“Neither did I.”

The corporal glanced at the aircraft.

“What happens now?”

The Officer looked across the flight line.

Technicians were already beginning to remove equipment from the spare aircraft. . . .

“We put them in museums, I suppose.”

The corporal frowned.

“Seems wrong.”

The captain . . . .

 — nodded. “It does.” McLean continues:

. . . the crowd erupted in applause . . . .

The pilot closed his eyes.

For a moment, he was eight years old again.

Standing beside his father.

Watching nine jets paint the Saskatchewan sky with white smoke.

That single afternoon had changed everything.

Flight school.

Military service. Transport Aircraft then Fighter Aircraft.

Deployments to active war zones representing NATO and Canada.

Thousands of hours in the cockpit.

All because of nine airplanes.

One show.

One dream.

The pilot opened his eyes.

After the walk around and the strap in procedure was completed, the radio crackled.

“Snowbirds, check-in!”

Then the familiar “Snowbird Two!, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, One!” He realized this was it.

The time for memories was over. . . .

Moments later —

— Nine aircraft . . . in the familiar groups of 3 . . . .

Nine aircraft climbed into a Canadian sky and then became one.

One team, one formation, one Icon recognized across North America and around the world.

And somewhere in the crowd, another eight-year-old boy looked upward and decided he wanted to fly.

McLean continues:

And following a breathtaking final show, the final formation disappeared into the western sky.

The crowd applauded.

Some waved flags.

Some wiped away tears.

Most simply stood there looking upward long after the aircraft had vanished.

The Captain knew the feeling.

He had done exactly the same thing —

— many years before.

And somewhere in the crowd, another eight-year-old boy was staring into the empty sky.

The difference was that when the pilot had been eight years old, the Snowbirds had come back the next summer.

For the little boy in 2027, they never would.

And somehow, that felt like the greatest loss of all.