Old Friends, Open Skies, and the Connections That Keep Us Grounded - Marshall Murdock

There are some conversations that remind you why staying in touch with the right people actually matters. My recent episode with Marshall Murdock was exactly that kind of conversation. Marshall is a life flight helicopter pilot based out of Idaho, a longtime friend, and one of those people I genuinely mean it when I say I should call more often.

We first met somewhere around 30 years ago, which is a little disorienting to say out loud. We’ve shared everything from church missions in the same area to family barbecues, Lake Powell trips, and long stretches of life in between where we didn’t talk nearly enough. That’s the nature of adult friendship — you get busy, you drift a little, and then you pick right back up like no time has passed. That kind of ease, I think, is one of the rarest and most undervalued things in life.

A Life in the Air

Marshall has been flying legally for about 17 years — his words, with emphasis on “legally,” because technically he started flying as an eight-year-old kid sitting in the seat next to his dad. He took the scenic route to get there: flight instructor, tour pilot in Vegas, building hours any way he could, all while working toward his real goal of flying EMS. He eventually did it, and he’s been doing it for about a decade now.

He flies solo with one nurse and one medic in a small A-Star helicopter out of eastern Idaho. His job, as he puts it with a straight face, is to be as boring as possible — straight, level, commercial airline-style flying. No cranking and banking. If he’s having fun, he’s probably doing something wrong. I laughed at that because I remember hearing some of those old Vietnam vet pilot stories when I was a wildland firefighter, and “boring” was not their operating philosophy.

We talked a fair amount about what EMS flying actually looks like day to day. The calls come in, you go up, you transport, you head back. Marshall carries the bags on the ground and handles the flying in the air. He doesn’t have any medical certifications, and the wise advice he got early on was to keep it that way — just fly the helicopter. That’s probably smart. It’s a small aircraft. The patients are right there. He can hear what’s happening with the crew, but his job is to get everyone where they need to go safely and quickly.

The Bear That Was a Cow

Marshall told a story that had me laughing before he even finished it. Coming back from a patient transport, empty on the return leg to Idaho, he spotted what he was absolutely certain was a bear on the mountainside outside of Morgan, Utah. He circled back, told his crew they had to see it, made a whole thing of it. They swung around.

It was a cow.

A cow that had somehow made its way far up the mountainside, but a cow nonetheless. He said his crew has never let him live it down. Anytime they spot something in the field now, someone calls out “Marshall, look — bears!” That’s first responder culture in a nutshell. The job is serious, the stakes are high, and the humor between the people doing it is relentless. I can appreciate that.

Preparedness as a Way of Life

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about Marshall is that he thinks practically. He doesn’t obsess over gear to the point of absurdity — although we both acknowledged that flashlights and pocket knives do tend to accumulate whether you plan for it or not — but he genuinely believes in being ready for things to go sideways. Working EMS will do that to you.

He made a point that stuck with me: it’s not just about having the stuff. It’s about having the knowledge. You can buy every piece of kit imaginable and still be completely lost if you don’t know how to use it or how to adapt when something doesn’t go as planned. Navigation without your phone. Starting a fire without a match. Knowing where you’re going and telling someone before you leave. He called these common sense things, and he’s right, but they’re also things a lot of people skip.

Victoria and I keep 72-hour kits in the truck. We love getting out on dirt roads and exploring. We love not always knowing where a trail goes. But we do it because we’re prepared if something goes wrong, not because we’re reckless. That balance matters.

What Long Friendships Actually Are

The part of our conversation I keep coming back to is simpler than helicopters or emergency preparedness. It’s just this: Marshall and I went years without talking regularly, and when we finally sat down to catch up, we picked right back up. No awkwardness, no need to re-explain who we are to each other. That kind of friendship is built on history and trust, and it takes time to earn.

He said something near the end of our conversation that I think is worth repeating. When it comes to connection — real connection with other people — all you have to do is reach out once in a while. Be a listener. Put the phone down, or pick it up and actually call someone. Find out how they’re doing. He said people need that, he doesn’t care who they are. We need each other, and the relationships we invest in over time are what it’s all about.

I don’t think I could have said it better myself. And coming from a guy who spends his working hours flying between hospitals in a helicopter, it lands with some weight.

One Thing You Can Do Today

Think of someone you’ve lost touch with — a friend from years back, an old colleague, a family member you keep meaning to call. Don’t overthink it. Just reach out. Send a text. Make the call. You don’t need a reason or a perfect moment. The connection itself is the point.

Listen to the full conversation with Marshall at https://youtu.be/SSAju-hjuXU and subscribe to KneeToKnee wherever