Every so often, someone comes along whose story glides above the usual headlines, cruising at an altitude far loftier than mere career stats and professional milestones. Heirangi Mollier is one such person. A Polynesian pilot with a poet’s heart, a Dreamliner at her fingertips, and a family legacy that began at the edge of runway 22 beneath the shade of a long-lost flame tree. From DC10 daydreams to radio chatter with her dad mid-solo, from Singapore skies to Parisian classrooms, Heirangi’s life is a spirited tango between steel and soul. I sat down with her—not in the cockpit this time, but in that breezy, high-altitude space where stories take flight—to ask the questions that matter. This isn’t your usual pilot profile. This is up close, personal, and somewhere between a prayer to the sky and a grin from the tarmac.
Stephen Morton: Let’s start at the very beginning, Heirangi. When did you first fall in love with flying? Was it in the blood, or did something else spark it?
Heirangi Mollier: Oh, definitely in the blood! I grew up on the west coast of Tahiti. Dad was a pilot for Air Tahiti, Mum was a flight attendant for UTA—back when the DC-10s still graced our skies. Our little ritual was waiting at the end of runway 22 for Mum’s aircraft. There was a glorious old flame tree there, and when the plane roared past, its flowers would rain down. That smell of kerosene, the power of that bird, and the joy of seeing Mum return—it planted something profound in me. Even now, just thinking about it gives me goosebumps.
Stephen: That sounds like a movie scene! Was dinner talk aviation lingo and aircraft specifications?
Heirangi: [Laughs] Pretty much! My parents still speak fluent aviation. I was weaned on tail numbers and time zones. Forget fairy tales—I got flight plans and weather charts.
Stephen: You soloed at 16. Surely that first flight alone had a bit of drama?
Heirangi: Oh, you have no idea! It was meant to be a standard lesson—touch-and-go material. But mid-flight, my instructor asked for a complete stop and told me he had to pop to the loo. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He hopped out and said, “Keep the engine running, go do a lap.” Then my dad’s voice crackled through the headset: “Takeoff isn’t the problem, it’s the landing that’ll get you. And I’m not coming to pick you up!” That did it. I was terrified—but I did it. And I loved it.
Stephen: You’ve since studied engineering in Paris, flown in Tunisia and Singapore, and come full circle back to Polynesia. Which sky felt most like home?
Heirangi: They all had their moments. Paris was cerebral, Tunisia raw, Singapore sleek. But in the air, I always felt like a bird in its element. What I missed most was home—my family, the ocean, and our dances. Though I did find Tahitian dance groups in France and Singapore, which helped stitch pieces of home into new skies.
Stephen: Let’s talk about being a Polynesian woman in the cockpit. Do passengers do a double-take?
Heirangi: All the time. There’s often a look of pleasant surprise when they realise the one flying the Dreamliner isn’t a bloke. Then they see I’m Polynesian too, and it’s a double eyebrow lift. But most are supportive and curious. And hopefully, I’m helping normalise what shouldn’t be surprising anymore.
Stephen: Ever get a bit misty when flying over Tahiti?
Heirangi: Every flight. Every single one. I look down and think, “How lucky am I to call this home?” The reefs, the blues, the mountains—it’s like poetry from the sky.
Stephen: Got a pre-flight ritual? Lucky charms? Magic socks?
Heirangi: [Grins] No charms, but I always ping my family group chat before departure. Just a quick: “Pushing back, love you all.” It grounds me. Reminds me of who I fly home to.
Stephen: What’s the best advice your parents ever gave you about flying?
Heirangi: “Take care of your passengers.” Sounds simple, but it carries weight. It’s not just about operating a machine—it’s about being present, calm, focused. It’s about love and responsibility all at once.
Stephen: Ever had a moment mid-training where you thought, “What on earth have I signed up for?”
Heirangi: Honestly? No. Never. From day one I knew I was where I was meant to be. There were hard days, but I never wavered. This has always been the dream.
Stephen: For the young Polynesians coming up behind you—what’s your best tip?
Heirangi: Stay the course. The theory phase is intense—14 exams in 18 months! It’s mentally draining, and you barely get to fly. But when you do? Oh, that first throttle push back in the air—nothing compares. You’ve just got to hold on until then.
Stephen: One for the romantics—if you could take a historic aircraft for a joyride, which would it be?
Heirangi: The Airco DH5! A British fighter from World War I. It had its flaws, but I love the idea of open-cockpit flying. Wind in your face, the sky in your teeth. Raw, real aviation.
Stephen: AI and autopilot are the buzzwords now. What’s something only a human pilot brings to the cockpit?
Heirangi: Intuition. Empathy. The ability to read the unspoken. Autopilot’s clever, but it doesn’t care. We do. Pilots adapt, anticipate, and connect.
Stephen: Let’s fast-forward. What should aviation look like in five years—and what should never change?
Heirangi: Five years from now, I’d love to see even more diversity in the skies—more women, more cultures represented. More safety, too. But the heart? That should never change. Flying should always feel like a privilege. After COVID, people realised travel feeds the soul. May that never be forgotten.
Stephen: Final question—dream holiday. Where, a window or an aisle?
Heirangi: Window, always. Just ahead of the wings so that I can watch the engines and the world roll by. As for the destination, Japan or New Zealand. Peace, beauty, culture. That’s my kind of adventure.
By Stephen Morton