Above the Spine: Flying Through Alaska, and Finding America

What my favorite military flight reminds me of today

There’s something sacred about seeing America from above — not from 30,000 feet in a commercial jet, but skimming just 1,500 feet above the raw, untouched spine of Alaska.

I flew this route with the military, threading between towering peaks and over glacial valleys that looked like they hadn’t been touched in centuries. The view wasn’t just breathtaking — it was humbling. Rivers cut through land like veins, mountains rose like cathedrals, and silence hung heavier than the clouds.

Flying over what felt like the edge of the world.

In moments like that, the noise of politics, media, and division fades. You don’t think about the latest headline — you think about what’s worth preserving. You think about the people who’ve sacrificed for this country — and you remember why you were willing to.

Flying in uniform is different. You’re not just looking out the window — you’re carrying something. Memory. Duty. The weight of names and faces.

I’ve served alongside men who never made it home. Some of them would’ve loved this flight — would’ve laughed at the wild beauty of it, would’ve quietly taken it in, knowing full well how fleeting it all is. I realized while I was flying, that I would never forget this moment.

This wasn’t just a mission. It was a pilgrimage.

The place where the ice ends and the sea begins — a reminder that everything, even the rugged, has its edge.

In the stillness between mountain ranges, I found a strange kind of clarity. Not the easy kind that comes with answers, but the deeper kind that comes with perspective. The kind that reminds you: temporary pain is worth it, if the cause is lasting.

That’s what my faith tells me. That’s what my fallen friends showed me. And that’s why, no matter the cost — political or personal — I speak out. Because love of country means nothing if you’re only willing to defend it when it’s easy.

We landed later that day in Anchorage, but the images from the air stayed with me. Still do. Especially now, when the noise is so loud and the stakes so high.

That’s why I fly. Not just to clear my head — but to remember what matters.

Hiking with a friend who shares the journey — through the air, through the mission, through the cause.

Flying over Alaska reminded me: some things endure.

Our politics? They’ll shift. The headlines will fade. Even our names may be forgotten someday. But the values we live for — freedom, honor, love of country — those don’t disappear. Like the mountains we flew over that day, they’ll still be standing long after we’re gone.

And maybe that’s the point.

We don’t fight for today’s comfort. We fight for something permanent. For the kind of country our kids can inherit and be proud of. For the kind of nation where truth still matters, where service is honored, and where people remember what it means to be free.

That flight didn’t just show me beauty — it reminded me of why I still speak out, even when it’s hard. Why I still believe. And why you should too.

So when things feel heavy, when the fight feels endless, remember the peaks. Remember the silence. Remember that the best things — the right things — last.

My landing in Sitka, Alaska

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