Episode 3: Rick Dunning; Saying No Can Save Lives: A Pilot’s Lessons From LAB To Major Airlines

Send us Fan MailThe sky rarely hands out straight lines. Rick Dunning’s journey proves it—line boy in Indiana, a bruising exit from Embry‑Riddle, and a leap to Southeast Alaska that rewired everything. We sit with Rick, now a Delta captain, to unpack the tightrope of judgment that bush flying in Lynn Canal teaches: learning routes like a hometown map, respecting weather more than ego, and understanding that the bravest call is often a clear no.  From there, the story climbs through the regional ranks—Haines Airways to Horizon—where Alaska’s VFR instincts meet IFR structure, de‑ice systems, and two‑pilot choreography. Rick opens up about the industry’s cycles at US Air: a furlough, a cluster of fatal accidents that eroded morale, and the complicated math of accountability when causes differ but headlines don’t. Then 9/11 reshaped the cockpit—Kevlar doors, hardened procedures, and flight attendants bearing more of the cabin burden. The job became safer, and in some ways, colder. Yet the joy stayed: a late sun over the Four Corners, a good brief, a clean divert executed without drama.  We also talk medevacs and ethics—the calls that weigh more than weight and balance. Pushing for a patient can be humane; pushing past margins is gambling with three lives. Rick’s rule is simple and hard: live to fly the next sortie. Woven through the aviation is a thread of community and chance: a postwar tank farm that brought families to Haines, a mentor who yelled but believed, a high‑school basketball game that led to a marriage and a lifetime of summers spent serving burgers on the Fourth and Friday nights at the Legion. Grit built the hours; people built the pilot.  If stories of resilience, real‑world airmanship, and the places that make us resonate with you, hit play, then share this with a friend who loves aviation. Subscribe for more candid conversations, and leave a review with the toughest decision you’ve ever made under pressure.