Potheads and payday
In 1997, a secret police investigation uncovered multimillion-dollar Narcos-style cannabis-growing plots deep in Whanganui National Park. Sam Sherwood charts the story of the growers, the police investigation to capture them, and why, now, there are fears gangs and organised crime groups will again head for the hills in droves.
Deep inwhanganui National Park, a four-day walk from the nearest road, a group of menwere quietly looking forward to payday.
The men, mostly members of Kerikeri-based gang F... the World, had for two years used a helicopter to ferrywool sacks filled with cannabis from their hidden plantation, confident that police were no longer doing aerial surveillance in the area.
The group, of only about a dozen members, had spent about $60,000 on equipment for their camouflaged bush camp, including refrigeration and home comforts like a shower.
Over two years they planted seven cannabis plots near the camp. One earned the name ‘‘New Zealand’’ because of its shape.
To keep possums and other wild animals out, each plotwas surrounded by an electric fence powered by a sophisticated generator system that used solar panels and banks of batteries. The plants, most about two metres tall, were irrigated by pipes running from a reservoir. Two large canvas tents served as drying rooms.
The growers were well prepared for trouble. They had a cache of firearms, including loaded automatic rifles and pistols, and scanners to listen to police radios. To avoid detection from the sky, the group had painted the stumps of felled trees green and covered bare groundwith branches, leaves, dried grass and netting.
They had already harvested 5000 plants, and the current crop was expected to produce 7000 plants. There had been some police scares, but they were keen to give the high-stakes, high-risk game another go.
On March 22, 1997, the crew were at least aweek into harvesting and already thinking about how they would spend the spoils. They were not to know police had been investigating the group for nine months, compiling a dossier on eachmember.
The next morning, members of the police’s elite Special Tactics Group (STG), who had camped nearby after a three-day tramp through rugged terrain, were poised, waiting for the signal to spring into action.
The genesis of Operation Ragwort
On April Fool’s Day 1996 Constable David Kirby led a police raid on the property of farmer David Churton, also known as Tuffy, on the outskirts of Whanganui.
Just as police discovered what they thought was a shed full of drying cannabis, the shed mysteriously caught fire. Charges against Churton would eventually be dismissed, but that wasn’t the end of the matter. He was now on the police’s radar and Kirby later received information the cannabis in Churton’s shed could have been the product of a much larger scheme, possibly in the national park.
Since the 1980s police had run annual flyingmissions to detect cannabis plots in remote areas. But the programme in the Whanganui district had been stopped due to budget constraints.
The districtwas made up of two areas, Whanganui and Ruapehu. As the plot was technically in Ruapehu’s patch, Kirby took the information to the area controller, Inspector Jeff Holloway, and Detective Mikehill.
The three men set up a covert inquiry, codenamed Operation Ragwort, named after the noxious weed.
They based themselves in a small office at Taumarunui police station and,with an administrator, worked in secret for severalmonths, collecting evidence and plotting how they’d prove their case.
Holloway, also a pilot, owned a planewith a camera hatch. Conscious of expenses, they used local pilot Keith Mckenzie, who owned a scenic-flights company, to fly the plane over suspected sites.
Their first foray over the national park did not hit the jackpot. At one site deep in the park they saw and photographed enough to raise questions but nothing immediately stood out.
Holloway, aware his investigation needed more resources, went to the regional commander, Assistant Commissioner Colinwilson, asking formore backing.
Resources available at the time were ‘‘discretionary’’, but luckily they found an ally in Wilson.
‘‘He knew what was going on and everything we needed, air force, whatever – done. And if you can get that sort of support . . . you can fight all sorts of bad buggers.’’
The extra resources included the Royal New Zealand Air Force. One of its flights revealed some plots near a high point in the middle of the 74,000-hectare park known as Pukeraupiu.
F... the World
The three-man team soon compiled a thick dossier on their suspects. The principal offenders were believed to be brothers Arthur and Jason Cornelius and a third man, Tama Campbell. Several other members of the Cornelius family, including their cousins Jed and William Benn Cornelius, were also connected.
Campbell and the Cornelius brothers had been best mates since childhood. Campbell told Stuff the idea for the cannabis-growing operation grew from a conversation Arthur had with a farm worker employed by Churton. The farmworker reported his boss was trying to grow pot but did not know what he was doing.
The Cornelius brothers and Campbell visited Churton and came up with the idea of growing cannabis in Whanganui National Parkwith the invaluable assistance of Churton’s friend and helicopter pilot Phillip Janssen. They were still toying with the idea when they heard police had suspended aerial surveillance of the area. ‘‘That was just a bit of extra to say, ‘Yup, we’re definitely doing it’,’’ Campbell says.
Janssen flew the men and several others to the park, where they spent about two weeks chopping down trees, digging holes and planting seeds under plastic covers.
‘‘It was a bloody big job,’’ Campbell says. The group’s goal, in his eyes, was a simple one. ‘‘Grow a s...load of pot. We were all potheads. We were growing for money, but we all loved smoking pot as well.’’
With the crop planted, most of the group went home, leaving two men behind to tend the plots for about six months.
Those leaving decided not to wait for Janssen to pick them up and started tramping back to Churton’s farm, but got lost. ‘‘When you’re in there it’s like being in the Amazon forest,’’ Campbell says. ‘‘You climb to a high ridge and you won’t see any farm. It’s just bush 360 degrees.’’
Each month, Campbell and Jason Cornelius visited the pair tending the plots to check progress and bring in supplies.
The plan was to fly the cannabis to Churton’s property and then distribute it to wholesalers. That changed after the fire, with the group setting up base at a farm in Murumuru Rd, off Ruatiti Valley in Raetihi, near the home of Bill Cornelius, uncle of the Cornelius brothers.
The property was also used as a base from which materials were ferried to and from the growing site.
Cellphone analysis, still in its infancy, showed constant calls between themain offenders, the Cornelius property and Churton, with spurts of activity during crucial phases of cultivation.
Despite the steps to keep Operation Ragwort secret, an unlucky event nearly alerted the growers.
About two months into the investigation, the police team sent four Stgmembers into the bush to get ‘‘visuals’’ of the cannabis growth. The plan derailedwhen a pig the group had adopted as a pet, and a dog, detected them and alerted the armed men guarding the plots.
The cops, wearing camouflage gear, pretended to bemembers of the army and the growers appeared to buy their story. Churton, who knew people at Waiouru army base, told Stuff he contacted the army to check the story.
‘‘They told me they were over there doing an exercise. I didn’t have any reason not to believe them.’’
Unbeknown to him, police had already called the army to ask them to cover for the STG.
Despite appearing to believe the story, the growing crewwere spooked and left.
Back in business
The police waited. Mckenzie and Holloway spent several mornings flying up to themountain to see if they could catch the helicopter servicing the plot.
One morning in early February, as they arrived back in Taumarunui after three hours scouring the area, Mckenzie received a call from one of his pilots to say someone wanted to hire a plane. It was Janssen.
Mckenzie and Holloway got ready to seewhere Janssenwent. When he took off, they followed at a distance and saw him fly over the camp.
Police believe Janssen was checkingwhether the plots, which were ready to harvest, were intact. Apparently he saw enough to encourage the gang to move back in and ensure the tantalising payday would actually arrive.
The helicopter chase
The investigation team began marshalling for arrest day. About 250 personnelwere involved in the operation, including police officers, the STG, army and air force staff.
The raid and arrests were planned for Sunday, March 23, 1997. Police would simultaneously search properties inwhanga¯rei, Kerikeri, Raetihi, Palmerstonnorth, Taupo¯ and Whanganui.
The STG team of about 20 were given three days to get to the site and set up surveillance. The day before the raid, they saw a helicopter carrying wool sacks packed with cannabis being ferried from the site and quickly alerted the team based at Waiouru.
Mckenzie flew a helicopter from Taumarunui and picked upholloway and Detective Sergeant Derek Webb, before heading to the national park.
Theywatched as Janssen twice moved cannabis from the plantation to another site the groupwas using to transfer the drugs.
On the third trip, Janssen appeared to see Mckenzie’s helicopter and took evasive action – dumping severalwool sacks, presumably full of cannabis, into the bush before fleeing.
‘‘[The helicopter] just took off at high speed . . . then he climbed up and got lost among the clouds,’’ Mckenzie remembers.
Holloway says at one stage they got their helicopter close enough to identify Janssen.
It was the next day before police caught up with Janssen at his home and arrested him. He’d been unable to get in touchwith those at the bush camp to raise the alarm.
Campbell, Jason Cornelius and Arthur Cornelius had been helping unload Janssen’s helicopter at the second site. When he did not return, they grew increasingly nervous.
Campbell says they had already decided they would not return for another season in the national park, given the raid at Churton’s property the year before.
The incident where the STG were sprung in the bush near the camp had sparked further worries.
‘‘It did raise alarm bells
. . . Looking back now I think we were just too
out of it to bloody think straight.’’
Back atwaiouru, the investigation team considered raiding the cannabis plantation immediately after the helicopter chase, but it was getting late in the day so they decided to wait until the nextmorning.
The raid
Neither Holloway nor Hill slept much that night. Both were up early to check their plan.
The pair needed to ensure no-one could ring around and warn those involved of the police investigation. Searches and arrests needed to be simultaneous.
About 7am, STG members, supported by police snipers, raided the bush camp and arrested four men.
‘‘They were pretty shattered and demoralised,’’ Hill says.
Still worried about Janssen’s absence, Campbell and the Cornelius brothers were in the process of abandoning the second site on a quad bike when police arrived.
Campbell got past the first couple of patrol cars, before heading into bush. Jason Cornelius fell off the bike and was arrested. With the help of an air force helicopter and a police dog, Campbell and Arthur Cornelius were also soon in handcuffs.
About a dozen people connected to the growing operation were in custody by the end of the day.
Holloway andhill flew into the cannabis camp the next day to see the scale of the operation firsthand. ‘‘It was a bit surreal ... being there, having chased them for so long and seeing the tents and the drying sheds. The scale was beyondwhat we really thoughtwewere chasing,’’ Hill says.
Largest bust
In the final tally, police seized about 600kg of dried cannabis and 4800 plants. The approximate value of the dried cannabis was then about $6.5m, while the plants had a potential street value of about $5m.
Botanistswho inspected the site estimated cannabis had been grown there since 1994. Police estimated the ‘‘non-taxable’’ value of the operation over the period was $48m.
Hill believes the groupwas selling the cannabis in bulk to people in the Far North, who were then breaking it down and distributing it for sale.
None of the crew connected to the plantation had much to show for their efforts. Campbell could not recall where all the money went. ‘‘Wewere basically drug addicts withmoney, that’s the way I see it,’’ he says.
If the bustmade amajor dent in the cannabis supply chain, the price on the street did not reflect it. It didn’t change.
‘‘It’s a lot, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to what elsewas out there,’’ Hill says.
‘I grew up in jail’
Campbell, whowas in his mid-30s when he was arrested, says he’s lived a clean life since he finished his 31⁄ years behind bars.
‘‘I grew up in jail, that’s the way I look at it. It gave me time to think. When I got out my kids were older, they weren’t little kids any more – that also made me get a job and give up that life.’’
He did not regret his part, and has always believed cannabis should be legal.
Stuff attempted to track down the other nine people convicted as part of Operation Ragwort.
Arthur Cornelius, who is believed to have been the ringleader, died in 2014 after a methamphetamine lab explosion at a house inwhangarei. He suffered burns across 99 per cent of his body and died in hospital.
His brother, Jason Cornelius, declined to comment.
Shem Cook-toko, who says he was the ‘‘mainman’’ who took care of the plots, was sentenced to 51⁄ years’ in prison. ‘‘I’ve never been bitter towards the police or the law. I done wrong. I committed the crime as it was . . . we were punished.’’
Janssen is now chief executive and chief pilot at Central Helicopters in
po¯tiki. He served 10months of his 21⁄ year sentence.
He declined to comment, other than to say there was no proof of a helicopter chase and he was never charged with dangerous flying. ‘‘I’d rather not comment on any of those events of those days at all. I’ve put it well behind me.’’
Churton, whowas jailed for 18 months for being party to the operation, still farms at his property. The cannabis was grown due to ‘‘huge demand’’ in Auckland and then distributed by a gang through tinny houses, he says.
‘‘The whole issue with cannabis really is about bad law . . . I don’t do drugs myself, but we seem to live in a world where people are under a lot of stress and a lot of pressure and . . . they turn to drinking, they turn to drugs. It’s life.’’
Churton believes the growers were doing a service to society, and wouldn’t even call them criminals. His only role, he claims, was having knowledge of the operation and letting the helicopter land on his property. The cannabis that caught fire in his shed did not come from the national park, he says.
In a further twist, Arthur and Jason Cornelius’ uncle, Bill Cornelius, died in 2012, fourmonths after he was unmasked as a ‘‘monstrous’’ serial rapist by one of his victims.
Holloway retired from the police in 1999. He now owns the Harbour View Hotel in Raglan.
Hill had a successful career in the police, rising to inspector in charge of Hutt Valley before leaving the force six years ago. He continues to work in the public sector.
A changing drug scene
A year after the raid, police returned to aerial surveillance operations identifying cannabis plots in the Whanganui region.
The national eradication operation netted nearly one million cannabis plants in the past decade.
During the 2019-20 season police seized more stolen property, firearms and dried cannabis than the previous two years combined.
However, the operation, which cost about $850,000 each year, mostly dedicated to contracting helicopters and fixed wing aircraft, was controversially axed in November after a referendum showed the country was fairly evenly split on cannabis legalisation.
Police had already lostmost of their enthusiasm for the aerial programme.
Other drugs such as methamphetaminewere causing more harm than cannabis, and changing attitudes had already led to police rarely arresting users, instead referring them to drug and alcohol support programmes.
But aerial surveillance won’t stop altogether.
Funding is available for police districts to use aircraft to look for cannabis, but there have been no requests for themoney.
Holloway was surprised by the decision to scrap the eradication operation and believes organised crime groupswill continue to profit from outdoor growing.
‘‘This ismoney for jam, and it’s now so low-risk.
‘‘The sentences these guys got would probably be suspended sentences these days.
‘‘If I was in this situation now I would take the exact same action. Regardless of the type of drug or the purpose ofwhat they’re doing, it’s the fact they’re deriving significant funding and income and also kudos.
‘‘For me it’s a pretty simple equation: if criminals are involved in something on an organised scale they’re there to make money and they’re makingmisery out of it.’’