What It Feels Like to Build Palawan’s First Seaplane Company

As told to Rhia Grana

Palawan is known as the last ecological frontier of the Philippines. Its forests, mangroves, and coral reefs make up one of Southeast Asia’s most unique ecosystems. Many of its plant and animal species exist nowhere else on Earth. It was here, in 2015, that I—Raymond Schwab, a Swiss-born, Canadian-raised pilot—founded Horizon Sun Charters, the first and only seaplane company in Palawan’s history.

The Road to the Cockpit

My dream of flying began on a plane from Zurich to Montreal, when my family immigrated to Canada. I was four when I first saw the cockpit—the pilots, the glowing instruments, the world stretching endlessly ahead. It felt like pure magic. Even at that young age, I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life—to fly like a bird, explore new countries, and chase different horizons.

My journey to the cockpit didn’t come easy, though. I struggled through school. I wasn’t exactly a classroom kind of guy. Still, I never gave up on my dreams. I worked every odd job that kept me close to aviation: airport grass cutter, toilet cleaner, aircraft refueler, aircraft cleaner, radio station attendant, flight school dispatcher.

Slowly, I earned my way into the cockpit. I began flying seaplanes in a town called Trois-Rivières (“Three Rivers” in English). It had a small airport where I took my first lessons. That’s where I earned my private pilot license, then my commercial license, and continued my training in different places across Canada.

Flying took me everywhere. From the wilderness of Quebec and British Columbia to the tropics of Madagascar and Indonesia, to war-torn Afghanistan and the wild jungles of Papua New Guinea. I spent 13 years in Papua New Guinea, flying bush planes into remote valleys, landing on airstrips carved into mountains. Every day felt like a National Geographic expedition. It was dangerous, unpredictable, and unforgettable.

The Leap into the Unknown

While flying in Papua New Guinea, I started dreaming of running my own seaplane company. I know it was going to be risky, uncertain, and terrifying—like jumping out of an airplane, unsure if the parachute would open. But I told myself, “It’s now or never.”

I vividly remember being around 20 years old when, half-jokingly, I declared that I would one day have my own company, and that it would be called Ramonair. Years later, at a resort bar in the Philippines—a familiar setting for pilot tales—I overheard others talking about similar dreams. Such conversations usually fade into bar talk or friendly banter, rarely turning into reality.

As for me, I enjoy challenging myself. I happen to be wired that way—I like trying new things, taking risks, and stepping outside my comfort zone. Call it an adrenaline junkie mentality, perhaps. But before taking the plunge, I do my homework. Managing risks takes preparation.

I spent five years preparing to build my seaplane company. While working as an airline pilot, I studied everything I could about business—operations, finance, maintenance, regulations. I wasn’t rich, so I couldn’t afford to make big mistakes.

After my shifts, I volunteered in the maintenance hangar from six in the evening until midnight, learning from the mechanics. At first, they thought I was crazy. But over time, friendship and trust grew. I learned to listen, to repair, and to understand every bolt.

Finding Palawan

I first visited Palawan around 2009, after meeting someone who had tried running a small seaplane operation in Subic. Seeing that it was possible was enough to light a fire in me.

When I finally stepped foot in Palawan, I knew. This was it. The landscapes were surreal: the jagged limestone cliffs of El Nido, the turquoise lagoons of Linapacan, the pearl farms off Taytay, the coral gardens of Tubbataha. Flying here would be a privilege.

Palawan is made for seaplanes. It’s the Philippines’ most breathtaking province and one of the few places where you can take off from the ocean and land beside an island with no runway.

In 2015, I used the savings of a lifetime to buy my plane—a classic 1957 de Havilland Canada Beaver. A bush pilot’s dream. I shipped it from Quebec to Palawan.

The First Flight

After seven years of groundwork, and a global pandemic, our first official flight finally took off on March 22, 2022. We flew from Puerto Princesa to Port Barton, brought a family on a day trip to El Nido, and proved that the dream could fly.

Since then, I’ve flown anywhere from 15 to 50 hours a month. Our clients are mostly foreigners, but we also take on chartered missions and support work with the Coast Guard and the military for training and logistics. Every flight helps us keep going—one month, one season at a time.

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Today, I run Horizon Sun Charters with my life partner, Adelfa, and a small team of dedicated mechanics. Based in Puerto Princesa, we reach across Palawan—from Balabac to the Calamian Islands, from Mount Mantalingajan to Cuyo. Our philosophy is simple: combine Filipino warmth with international professionalism. Every passenger is treated like family, every flight handled with care.

The Filipinos I work with have the kindest spirits I’ve ever met—they care, they smile, they go the extra mile. That’s what makes our service special: real hospitality.

The Horizon Ahead

Horizon Sun Charters is still small—one aircraft, one pilot—but the vision is big. I want to train local pilots to fly seaplanes. I want to expand our fleet and services across Palawan to share its beauty with the world. We don’t need to be big. Just strong enough to last.

Running a seaplane company in Palawan has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There were times when the dream felt like a nightmare—when nothing seemed to work, when patience, resolve, and finances were all stretched thin. But then the engines started, the plane lifted off, and it all made sense again. That’s the journey of every entrepreneur: to struggle, to believe in your vision, and to never give up. Despite everything, it remains the most rewarding experience of my life.

I built something real. Something that flies. And that’s all I ever wanted—to chase the horizon, to live without regrets, and to prove that a dream, when done right, can take off.