Richie’s southern charm
An ex-All Black at the controls, the Canterbury Plains and mountains, and clear skies – there’s no better way to spend the day, writes Pamela Wade.
What do the All Blacks, a squirrel, and New Zealand’s most-endangered forest bird have in common?
Full disclosure: it’s actually a Squirrel, so that makes it easier.
Yes, it’s Richie McCaw, and yes, there’s a flying link. It’s well known that – apart, of course, from triumphantly holding up twice, successively, the Webb Ellis Cup when he was All Blacks captain – McCaw likes nothing better than getting airborne and, since retiring from the sport, flying is his profession as well as his pleasure.
A director of Christchurch Helicopters, he is also a hands-on pilot and, on this sunny early winter’s day, he’s taking five of us on one of his favourite flights: over the Canterbury Plains and into the mountains.
For me, the day starts well: waking up in my suite at The George, with autumn colours still glowing in Hagley Park just across the Avon River. Though it’s hard to leave such a comfortable bed, the prettiest French toast ever – served with coconut foam and orange syrup – is great consolation and sets me up for what follows.
Chauffeured out to Christchurch Airport, we pass under the striking new Gateway Bridge, designed to evoke the Southern Alps, and then there they are the real thing, gleaming white on the horizon against a blue sky. Before long, we’ll be getting a much closer look. First though, we have to meet our pilot. Entering through a doorway that looks much too low, McCaw greets us all with a friendly grin and shows us the new safety video. Naturally the company has chosen him to front it, and McCaw watches with an air of embarrassment as his screen self shows us all how to behave in and around a helicopter.
And there it is, right outside: a red and white A350 Squirrel, with two seats up front and four behind. We’ve just learned, to our delight, that our flight includes landing on a peak, so we can shuffle our positions around giving everyone a turn by a window.
We’re all buzzing with excitement as we settle in, McCaw checking our seatbelts and harnesses before strapping in himself to concentrate on getting us up and away.
We take off so gently and undramatically that it’s hard to believe we’re actually flying. But we are, following the spectacular braided riverbed of the Waimakariri River.
We fly over McCaw’s sister’s farmhouse – ‘‘Is anyone waving?’’ he asks – and across the patchwork plains, the bare windbreaks throwing long shadows across the paddocks.
We’re moving so smoothly, the landscape rolling slowly past below us, that we’re all
astonished to learn we’re actually doing more than 200kmh.
‘‘When you fly alongside a road, the cars look as though they’re going backwards,’’ McCaw says gleefully.
He’s been telling us about what we’ve flown over, the gravel quarry, the river and the farms, the irrigation schemes, and now we’re into the hills. He points out the railway line used by the TranzAlpine with its viaducts and tunnels, following the steep and strikingly beautiful Waimakariri Gorge. He marvels at the industry and resilience of the men who worked hard to carve out that route by hand.
We leave the river and rise up close under a band of autumnal cloud over Broken River, and the limestone outcrops on Flock Hill look spooky, draped in trails of mist. Lifting even higher, everyone gasps as we emerge into a different world. The cloud is bright white below us, pierced all around by steep snow-clad mountain peaks, and the sun shines brilliantly from a blue, blue sky. It’s glorious.
And then it gets even better. McCaw drifts down to a gentle landing on the rounded top of Chest Peak. We step out on to rippled snow and ice that glistens in the sunshine.
The air is clear and still. Apart from the red of the Squirrel, and McCaw’s (naturally) black uniform, it’s a world of blue and white, and it’s fabulous. From Mt Cook in the south to the mistobscured Kaiko¯ ura Ranges in the north, it’s mountains all the way.
‘‘Who needs to go to Queenstown?’’ McCaw asks. We agree, smug and excited. ‘‘This is just as good as anything down there, and we’ve got it all to ourselves.’’
McCaw is enjoying our delight – he seems pretty pleased to be here himself – and is in no hurry to rush us away. However, he does leave the chopper’s engine going. ‘‘We wouldn’t want to have a problem restarting it,’’ he says.
We reshuffle and take off again. This time I’m in front with McCaw and hardly know where to look: at the mountain dropping away beneath me, the plains rolling towards us, Banks Peninsula emerging from the mist – or McCaw next to me talking numbers and letters to the flight controller at the airport as we cross the runway for a flit over the city.
He points out schools, malls, the university, the stadium, and the Red Zone – now looking very green. We fly over the central business district, and the light catches on the sculptured glass of the new city taking shape: Christchurch will be all right.
Finally, at the airport, comes the parakeet link. Richie’s partner Terry gives an enthusiastic account of how Christchurch Helicopters is, uniquely, working in partnership with the Department of Conservation to preserve the orange-fronted parakeet, a critically-endangered endemic ka¯ ka¯ riki. Once so numerous it was used to stuff mattresses, it’s down to fewer than 300 and found only in Canterbury, in locations so remote they’re accessible only by helicopter.
As well as providing the transport, the company assists with donations to aid the conservation, pest control and breeding operation focused on boosting its numbers, and is keen to raise the public profile of this beautiful and colourful little bird.
McCaw and the parakeet: it’s a winning combination.