Fear in the Rearview
Julie Rae proves that risk is worth the reward
Julie Rae doesn’t remember the first time she saw the soundless, black-and-white footage of wing walkers — women of the 1920s and ’30s who performed daredevil stunts on the wings of soaring biplanes — but she easily recalls the lifelong fascination they sparked.
“It just always looked like something I needed to do,” she says. “All the stunts excited me.”
When Julie, 58, moved to Red Lodge several years ago, she was thrilled to find several vintage biplanes and their pilots flying in and out of the small airstrip near her home. Every rumble they made overhead made Julie want to try wing walking more.
In the Unites States, the Federal Aviation Administration has banned wing walking, but Julie discovered a remote airfield and family-owned company in the United Kingdom that offered the adventure. She just so happened to have plans to be in the UK for work.
“I was so eager. This was my window!” she says, adding she was only in the country for five days.
The weather had been overcast and spitting rain her whole visit, but on the last day — her only day to make her dream happen — the clouds lifted just enough for a flight. Julie was ecstatic when the owner of The Wing Walk Company called her at 6 a.m. and gave her the all-clear.
After racing to the station to catch a train to Brighton, a city along the south coast of England, she planned on taking a taxi to the airfield. What Julie didn’t realize was that the train station was located in a small community that didn’t have a single taxi. Shouldering her backpack, she started running, cutting across muddy pastures, vaulting fences and scrambling up hills. When she finally made contact with the company, she shared her situation and, thankfully, they picked her up.
“It was a quite spectacle getting there and that’s much my life — just get me there!” Julie says.
After a short minutes-long safety video, she was strapped onto the plane that then coasted down the runway and eventually soared above the English countryside at 80 miles per hour.
“It felt surreal because I’d dreamed about it for so long, and I had this huge smile plastered on my face the whole time,” Julie says. “My jowls were flapping, and my eyes were weeping even under my goggles. This is real.”
The pilot was in contact with Julie, and she signaled to him during the flight. If she wanted to slow down, she could spread her arms out and give the thumbs down. When she wanted more, she’d spread out her fingers and wave her hands.
At every tip of the wing, every dive and every climb, Julie wagged her fingers. The pilot gave it everything he had and their speed reached upwards of 120 miles per hour.
“I was taking it all in,” Julie says. “There was nothing I was afraid of. Just pure joy.”
Minutes felt like hours as she bombed through the sky atop the biplane, but before she knew it, the 11-minute flight was over.
“It was magical,” Julie says. “I immediately wanted to do it again.”
After the flight, the pilot said he’d never flown with anyone who enjoyed the experience as much as Julie did.
Julie is no newcomer to thrilling experiences. She’s tried skydiving, paragliding, bungee jumping, rock climbing, mountaineering, swimming with sharks and solo travel to remote destinations across the globe.
“Evil Knievel was my hero as a child,” Julie says. “I came from a big family, and I was the daredevil.”
She’s not sure when her sense of adventure was sparked, but Ms. Walker, her first-grade teacher may be to blame. Ms. Walker, an avid solo traveler, showed slideshows of exotic destinations she’d visited. Julie was enraptured.
It was about that time that Julie’s parents split up. Life hadn’t been stable. Her family moved frequently and never put down roots in any community they lived. Julie and her siblings went to live with their mother. Before long, her mom married a man who quickly became physically abusive. In Julie’s most formative years, she survived her unpredictable home life on instinct and with an acute awareness.
“When you grow up feeling unsafe, your interpretation of fear and risk changes,” she says.
While other children in her circumstances may have withdrawn, Julie was empowered. She was a survivor. Risk was a part of life, and fear wasn’t to be feared. That thread has run through her life.
“It’s about feeling the fear and doing it anyway,” Julie says. “Feeling the adrenaline pulsing through your body and leaning into the moment.”
Leaning into the moment is something she tries to teach others. She heads up a six-week women’s empowerment course that culminates with her leading a backpacking trip into the Beartooth Mountains, on routes where she regularly hikes solo.
“This place is something that brings me so much joy and happiness. I want to share that,” Julie says.
She and her husband, Richard Burke, share a similar sense of adventure. They make lists of all the things they want to try each year. Not all of it is risky. One year, Julie wanted to learn to play the harmonica. Richard learned to ride a unicycle, which he still enjoys. And one year, they added to their list the idea of “living like locals in a small ski town.” It’s how they came to call Red Lodge home.
“We are redefining retirement and prioritizing adventure,” she says.
They share a philosophy that hijacks the corporate notion of return on investment or ROI. They believe that the best time for adventure and taking risks is later in life, when the investment of time and resources is easier and there’s not so much to lose.
“It’s about looking at the risk and asking, ‘is it worth it’? Yes. Yes, it is,” Julie says.
In every adventure that life has provided Julie, she’s become a champion for women who are seeking more in their lives. Whether it’s jumping out of an airplane or treating themselves to a new hairstyle.
“Just do it. Do all the things. Find your heart,” Julie says. “And stop making excuses and playing it safe.”
