By Malcolm Campbell
Reading about the AOPA winter fly-in brought to mind my first flight to Haast – and the importance of learning the tricks and tips for mountain flying, ideally before you set off!
I first flew to Haast on April 11th 1967 in Piper Cub ZKBKU. Accompanied by my late wife Joan, we set off from Te Aroha (TA) for a grand tour, flying down the centre of the North Island, across Cook Strait and on down the South Island’s east coast.
I’d just got 200 hours up, and had been reading up on requirements for a commercial licence, including material on weather systems which raised the issue of SMOG. As we lived not far from Auckland and, despite being New Zealand’s biggest city, it never had smog, I expected there wouldn’t be any in New Zealand.
After passing Rangiora, all we could see was a huge mass of grey-white sort of nothing. Christchurch city was completely invisible. We were supposed to follow Two Chain Road. There were plenty of roads fitting that description. We kept edging out to the west because I had visions of a Boeing 707 hurtling out of this murk-ridden blob, turning BKU into matchwood. The tower called to ask my present position. I replied honestly, “I am unable to define any landmarks.”
“Have you crossed the Waimakariri yet?”
“I’m crossing a riverbed now,” I said.
“That will be the Waimak.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “The riverbed is stony dry.”
There were some stony silences in this exchange. A moment later we crossed the Waimakariri and I could see a pine forest, and reported this to the Tower. Tower had had enough of me by then and asked me to climb to enable radar contact. Tower further said there are no pine forests near here.
Well, there were, the ‘Eyrewell State Forest’. So we were radar ushered into Christchurch and instructed to land to the west side of the concrete blocks, again completely invisible. However, a Cherokee was in front of me and I followed him, hoping he knew where he was going. The aircraft behind me asked for the tower rotating beacon to be turned on.
Next day, parked ready for departure, I happened to look down and the Cub wheel was sitting on about a metre square of concrete more or less hidden under grass and soil debris. Christchurch was definitely a learning experience.
After stops here and there we got to Cromwell, landing on a plateau well above the town. There was a partly constructed concrete shell with no roof or windows and another wreck of a building, less than two metres square, no door, which appeared to have been hit by a bulldozer. A crank handle phone sat on a lopsided 44 gallon drum. I gave the handle a very tentative turn and, lo and behold, a sleepy female voice said “Number please.”
Another feature of the site was a great big levelling bar, about four metres long, that would have needed a big tractor to move it. The DC3s used to operate there, and on the levelling bar was a wad of load sheets, pinned in place by one of the many available rocks. Another learning experience.
Our next destination was Haast. Having never before flown in anything like this terrain, I planned the flight very carefully, with my wife urging me to hurry up lest we not get away before lunchtime. Finally airborne, ten minutes on this heading, four minutes on the next, then six minutes, and so on. I was worried about turning into the wrong gorge, in the back of my mind a war story I’d read where a spotter plane, harassed by a German fighter, used its agility to lure the German into a dead-end gulch where the fighter crashed into a sheer rock wall. A good yarn!
With utmost caution we eventually turned westward toward Haast. Extreme care was taken (don’t laugh) to keep the port and starboard wingtips exactly the same distance from the rocks and snow on either side. We arrived at Haast one hour and twenty minutes later, relieved to fly through the Alps unscathed. The shingle runway was another learning experience.
As we dismounted from the Cub and looked back down the runway, a very large Hereford cow strolled casually across our wheel tracks. Our thoughts about the consequence of hitting a cow were interrupted by a telephone ringing. The only building was an old school shelter-shed type of building. My wife, ever helpful, said, “You’d better answer it.”
No introductory phrase. “Why didn’t you call me?” “Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Haast Radio.”
“Where are you?”
“A few miles down the coast.”
So I gave him a friendly call when we left Haast.
In many ways, the flight through the Alps was a non-event.
If I’d stood a glass of water above the Cub’s dash on leaving Cromwell, not drop would have spilled. Silky smooth. Lucky!
We headed northward up the West Coast with stops at Hokitika and Nelson, then to Wellington where a very brisk southerly was blowing straight up the runway. No problem. Well, not yet. The Cub had to be powered up or we would have been forever getting to the threshold. Having got safely onto the tarmac we were instructed to “Taxi straight ahead and take the right turn-out to the Aero Club.” A minute or so later: “Can you please speed up.”
Not very happily the Cub was stoked up and and bowling along nicely when “Expedite left immediately!” was advised.
We managed to turn off without ground-looping the Cub and, just on the turnout, we clearly heard ‘ker-thump’ as a DC3 hit the runway right behind us. We never saw the DC3, but that DC3 wing may well have passed over our fin and rudder.
Back at the farm I was walking up the race when my wife called out, “Hurry up, come and listen to this man.”
I got my head through the door in time to hear, “In the mountains you never fly in the middle of a pass.” It was a womens’ mid-morning programme and the interviewee was legend Popeye Lucas. He went on to explain that, in the event of need for a reverse heading, you may need the full width of the pass to turn. He also said there were frequently air currents descending on one side of the pass and rising on the opposite side and it was important to fly in the ascending air and to keep out of downdrafts. Another tip was to not approach a pass saddle head on, but at right angles to the saddle, as at 45 degrees, if conditions are not favourable, another 45 degree turn will enable the aeroplane to turn away. We should have learned all of this before entering the mountains.
A former RNZAF Kittyhawk pilot later told me of two Kittyhawks which were heading for the window that sometimes appears above a pass under heavy stratus, but the severe downdraft on the leeward side caused the crash of both aeroplanes. If they’d approached at 45o, might they have escaped?
Some aspects of safe mountain flying can only be learnt in practice, ideally in the company of an experienced instructor or pilot, but a lot can also be gleaned from listening to the knowhow and experience of others.
This article first appeared in the Summer 2022 edition of Approach Magazine, the dedicated magazine of AOPA NZ, which is published quarterly.