On April 23, 1966, Bob Reid’s life changed forever.
It started off like any other day for the now retired Royal Canadian Air Force member. He and five other crew members were aboard an Albatross search-and-rescue plane from the 442 squadron in Comox for a training flight.
Reid was navigator for the flight and under the right wing. On board were flight lieutenants Phil Montgomery and Peter Semak, flying officer Chris Cormier, leading aircraftman Bob MacNaughton and squadron leader James Braiden, who was a late addition to the crew.
The trip was set for Williams Lake, then through the Rocky Mountain Trench, down Bute Inlet and back to Comox. Their flight path took them through Fraser Valley near the Hope Slide site, a massive landslide that happened near Hope the year prior.
As the plane got closer to the site, Reid thought about getting up to look at the view. But the thought vanished when he heard a panicked voice from Montgomery on the intercom, calling for max power as the plane dipped drastically.
“I came wide awake, I knew we were in trouble,” said Reid, now 85. “I looked out the window on the port side and we were taking off tree tops with the left wing.”
As the plane slid into rocks near the Hope Slide site, Reid was thrown forward and blacked out.
The right wing dug into the mountain and ripped off, opening the plane up to where Reid was sitting. The plane’s left wing blew up, hurling a fireball of fuel towards Reid, causing burns to most of his body.
“I thought I was dead, I was surrounded with white clouds,” he said. “I was standing there in this cloud, waiting for somebody to come and get me.”
In that moment of waiting, a large piece of the aircraft exploded, whipping a chunk of the plane past Reid’s head. It was in that moment that he realized he was still alive. Shock had taken over Reid's body and he couldn’t feel any pain from the crash or his extensive burns. He desperately kept calling for help, but nobody answered.
As time passed, he started to become more aware and realized he needed to get off the mountain. Plucking up his courage, he began walking down, picking his way through large boulders and towering trees.
“I laid down on a fallen log and, for the first time, I became frightened that I was going to die and that, if I didn’t get to the road, I wouldn’t be able to help my crew,” he said.
The shock from the burns and determination to help his crew got Reid to the highway. He flagged down a passing driver to ask for help and an RCMP officer soon arrived and drove him to the nearest hospital, in Hope.
It was only then, lying in a hospital bed, that he learned all five other crew members were gone.
Ceremony brings memories and reflections
Sixty years later Reid stood at Whey-ah-Wichen/Cates Park and recounted the harrowing tale as part of a ceremony honouring the anniversary of the tragedy and the air force members who didn’t make it.
Poppies stood out on attendee's coats and shirts like a row of flowers during the ceremony, held last Thursday, April 23. Reid’s wife Robin, his youngest son David and oldest granddaughter Emma stood in attendance while members of the victim’s families joined them, including Chris Cormier's brothers, David and Neil.
“I was getting cleaned up after a day spent working in the yard for my mom and dad,” David said. “Then they showed up with a policeman and a priest. The day just went sideways. We were told as a family what had happened. So while we suffered as a group, we didn’t know that [Reid] was really suffering and fighting for his life.”
“The pain and grief from that day is always in my mind,” Neil said. “My parents losing a child is probably the worst thing in the world that you can go through.”
Their brother was only 20 when the crash happened. The Cormier family has a book of condolences from air force members, friends and family to remember him, which Neil is thankful for.
“I thought that was important, I can remember him through that,” Neil said. “They gave a picture of my brother, which 60 years later, you kind of forget about what kind of a person he was. Especially when you’re 12 and don’t really understand those things.”
Six roses were carefully placed in front of the wreath, each symbolizing a crew member on the flight that day. One of the roses was a white, representing the lone survivor.
Reid can hardly believe he's still here to mark the occasion 60 years later.
“I was shocked to make the 50th,” he said. “The doctors … told me my life expectancy obviously had been shortened because of the severity of the injuries. I proved [them] wrong.”
The Comox squadron had hosted a commemorative ceremony roughly every five years since the crash, Reid and Neil said. This year the squadron wasn’t able to host the ceremony, and that was when Reid decided to organize one at Cates Park.
Reid was happy to see people come together to remember the victims and their families once again.
“I didn’t expect to be around this long,” he said.
