Airshow - guilty pleasure
Those amazing Snowbirds
On the Friday of every Labour Day weekend, I get as revved up as the Snowbirds themselves, as Canada’s military aerobatic team does their warmup act over downtown Toronto. I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of their spectacular moves, done with such crisp precision, demonstrating the enormous skill of their pilots and the artistry of their choreographer. And I do so guiltily. Just what the hell am I doing eagerly anticipating this annual Toronto display?
But damn, I love it.
I watched the whole show this year, as I try to every year. Not from the bleachers at the Canadian National Exhibition grounds, where you get the commentary, but sitting instead in camp chairs near the foot of the Humber River. I was joined by a close friend. She and I met 25 years ago when we worked in an environmental organization, focussed, among other things, on greenhouse gas reduction. In the breaks between death defying formation stunts; modern fighter jets screeching across the sky; the stately elegance of the Lancaster bomber; and lifesaving waterbombers scooping Lake Ontario and regurgitating it back, we discussed this weird fascination we share and how at odds it is with our environmental and political views.
We understand how traumatizing the sounds of the airshow must be to people who’ve fled countries under military air assault.
We know the air quality near the site may make it tougher for those with compromised lungs to breathe until winds and osmosis move the pollution out over the lake.
We recognize that vast sums of federal money could be diverted from military frills like this to making life easier for Canadians.
We hope that burning fossil fuels for entertainment will soon be anachronistic.
We appreciate that sensitive dogs all over the city spend the whole of Labour Day weekend snuggled into thunder blankets to comfort them from the daytime airshow and the nighttime fireworks.
Google "airshows and environmental damage” and you’ll see that they contribute very little to climate change. But it’s just so objectively unnecessary, isn’t it?
But sometimes we do things for subjective reasons. Airshows are, for me, a return to my childhood. My father spent the 1970s airplane-obsessed, building a two-place wooden plane and carving a runway out of our 200 acre farm from which we’d have little after-dinner or Sunday morning jaunts about Huron County. Going to local airshows was a big part of him connecting to his flying buddies. Some of these would feature big acts like the Snowbirds. Others would be more low-key affairs, like in Orillia where Dad would join other members of the Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA). He and I flew there one year, making the 200 km trip from our landing strip outside Wingham and pitching a pup-tent beside the plane. Time alone with Dad was rare and this trip was a highlight for me. I was likely about 10 years old, proudly wearing my EAA T-shirt, and helping, as always, spot other planes as we landed and took off. It was a simpler time. All of that comes back as I watch the planes scream over Toronto.
The show doesn’t just conjure childhood memories though - I have adult recollections of seeing the Snowbirds perform in Victoria, BC. They hurtled back and forth over the Juan de Fuca Strait with the stunning snow-covered mountains of Washington State across the water. Or sitting in mid-town Toronto on the Winston Churchill Reservoir park, with a bunch of airplane enthusiasts who, like me, couldn’t face the traffic south to the water but wanted to catch glimpses of the action just an easy walk from home.
My airshow companion had different memories - ones that related to her first discovery of airshows after she left home and when she and her husband forced her young children to watch Toronto’s airshow from the CNE bleachers when they’d rather have been hanging out in the midway. Like me, summer doesn’t end properly for her until she hears and sees the last big show of the season.
If I’d canvassed everyone lining Lake Ontario’s shoreline last weekend, I’d have heard different memories, I’m sure. Many were families picnicking and chatting away in different languages, doubtless recalling different acrobatic teams from far-flung countries. Young couples walked holding hands, drinking iced lattes, and making new memories together. Some were there on their own, with extra-long camera lenses, ready to capture the memory for others in the perfect shot for their Instagram feed or perhaps to sell to media.
All ages, all races, all genders, all abilities, and all religions, together, enjoying the free show. We don’t get many occasions like that. So maybe we should keep the airshow for a bit longer yet.
NOTE: After I wrote this, I learned that pro-Palestinian protesters organized to try to stop the airshow, including staging a protest on the waterfront further east of the spot where we watched. Their statement: “The protest will condemn the air show’s efforts to sanitize the devastating impacts of war planes such as CF-18s and Lockheed Martin’s F22 Raptors whose sole purpose is warfare and annihilation.” One day, I suspect, airshows could look very different, stripped of the strong modern-day military presence. I wouldn’t complain - I’m about the history, including the Snowbirds, flying in planes that are older than I am.
(above: Snowbirds thrill; below: driveway at the Chandler farm, and view from our kitchen window, late 1970s; random airshow, 1970s; 2024 Toronto Airshow Royal Airforce Arrows leave their smokey mark on the sky; 2024 Snowbirds do their thing)
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