Pilots of the Electric Sky

At night, amid a myriad of stimuli, the helicopters flying over the Speedway blend into the backdrop like choreographed art installations. Their red and green lights double as aerial décor, and the thick, percussive sound of their rotors is all but drowned out by the decibels emanating from eight raging stages. They are the iron owls of EDC, moving deftly and anonymously through the sky—that is, until shortly after 5:30 am, when the last tune has been played and legions of wobbly-kneed revelers retreat to their vehicles to face the return trip back to civilization. What was once background noise gets turned up to 11, and two questions invariably pop into your head as you watch the last airship disappear toward the Vegas skyline:

Who’s in there, and why the hell isn’t it me?

Maverick Helicopters has been flying in and out of the Speedway for over 13 years—mostly for NASCAR or other racing events—and has been servicing EDC clientele since the festival moved to Vegas in 2011. Back then, Maverick’s VP of Marketing Bryan Kroten wasn’t familiar with the scene, had never heard of EDC, and “didn’t know what a ‘Tiësto’ was.” Understandably, the magnitude of the show caught the company slightly off guard.

“We started with four helicopters,” says Kroten. “In 2011, on the day before night one of EDC, we didn’t have a single booking. All of our business was built on the event days themselves, so we were crushed that year and the next. Now it’s a steady stream and a yearlong process.”

Last year, Maverick dedicated 16 helicopters—more than a third of its total fleet—to EDC Las Vegas, averaging roughly 120 total flights per night. Helicopters start touching down around 6:30 pm—after a few breathtaking circles around the expanse of the Speedway, of course. The last heli lifts off around 6:30 am. Total time back to the Strip: between 12 and 18 minutes, depending on the wind. Want to add that experience to your EDC bucket list? A one-way ticket will set you back $500. For the full round-trip experience, you’re looking at $800.

“We serve everyone, from celebrities you see on the newsstands to people who just want to entertain their friends,” say Kroten. “It doesn’t matter who you are. We want to provide the best service possible.”

Because their Grand Canyon tours run from 7am to 7pm, Maverick is essentially operating 24 hours a day during EDC, so they make sure to employ their “all-star team” for the weekend. That includes people like lead pilot Sean Abellana, who has been flying EDC sorties since 2011.

“Because we sell individual seats, a lot of the participants have never met, but they’re all here for the same reason,” he says. “When you see them walking out of the aircraft hugging and high-fiving, it’s amazing.”

Abellana loves dance music, and has transported some of his favorite artists to EDC, from Porter Robinson and Zedd to Tiësto. Even the most seasoned jet-setters have been known to geek out and snap dozens of photos. Of the various EDC helicopter videos posted to YouTube—none of which do the experience true justice—one uploaded to Bassnectar’s official channel stands out by virtue of its title alone: “Bassnectar flies over EDC Vegas 2011 – loses mind.”

“From the ground, it’s amazing and mind-blowing,” says Kroten, “but from the sky, it’s another story entirely.”

It’s hard to target the Speedway amid the luminous excess of the Las Vegas Strip, but once you make your way toward the outskirts of town, the shimmering assemblage of lasers, neon, LEDs, and oversized Christmas lights begins to come into focus. The electronic soundtrack being piped ever-so-subtly into your headset—a nice touch at first—becomes strangely unsatisfying. It isn’t loud enough. You can’t feel it.

You begin doing festival math in your head: Reality equals set time divided by actual time multiplied by number of friends minus a meal and a trip to the bathroom. You pass car after car beneath you, saying to yourself, “Who’s in there?” and “Thank God it isn’t me.” As you get closer, you start to recognize stages and familiar structures. You begin to see the black wisps of smoke left hanging in the air after the flames burn out.

And then you start to make out the people, like a colony of ants in a cosmic nature show. From 500 feet above the ground, you decipher their subtle undulations and migration patterns. Caterpillars, snakes, owls and octopi reveal themselves in the crowd. Golf carts look like Hot Wheels racing around the outer bands of the track. For a few fleeting minutes, just before the pilot snaps you out of your trance to make his final approach, you become hyper-aware of just how big EDC is, how small you’re about to become, and how larger-than-life you feel.

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