Embedded Files
The story of the attempted recovery of parts from a Bell 47 helicopter after it was severely damaged while landing on a beach beside the Motu river on the 7th May 1957.
As told by
Max Danvers
Interview, research and transcription by Gary Danvers
1989
OVERDUE
Scotty was an hour overdue.
"Give him another hour, then we'll start searching" I said.
It was Tuesday the 7th of May 1957*. Bob Scott, the pilot of our helicopter and myself as Field Assistant were working for the Public Works Department in the Opotiki area at the sight of a proposed hydro scheme. Bob had been tasked with flying two surveyors [A. Benham and R. Alley*] up the Motu River to take height-above-sea level readings and measure the fall of the river at predetermined places. On completing that task, he was to meet me at a farm airstrip located about forty miles south from the river mouth [see map above]. From there we were to fly in loads of materials such as containers of dry ready-mixed concrete and benchmark posts which would be placed in position by Hydro workers during the summer months.
After Scotty had departed the river mouth with two hydro chiefs on board, I set off for the farm in a Land Rover with another team of hydro workers following along in a truck loaded with the survey materials.
Upon arriving at the farm airstrip, we set the materials out in weighed loads, the Bell had a limited load carrying ability. Our work completed, we lit a fire and stood round it watching the frost on the logs and surrounding grass beat a hasty retreat from the rising flames. Man it was cold up here and there was still a half-hour to wait before the chopper was due to arrive! Still, the fire felt good and the autumn sun was doing its best.
The half hour passed, followed by another, and another during which we had watched patches of fog drift down river. The hydro men with me were from the area and were becoming concerned.
"Do you think we had better do somethin'?", one of them asked.
This had initiated my response... "Give him another hour, then we'll start searching."
The hour seemed like a day and by this time I was convinced that the chopper was down somewhere. The fog had cleared and there was no other reason for the delay. We went to the farm-house and called the Opotiki Police Station advising them of the situation and asking them to contact our firm and request that another aircraft be sent out to search up river. We drove to Opotiki Airport [see map above] to await the arrival of the search plane.
Less than an hour after the alarm was raised, Bill Penticost, flying a Beaver, spotted the chopper. I was waiting anxiously at Opotiki Airport when the Beaver landed and was greatly relieved to see the grin on Bill’s face and the 'thumbs-up' as he taxied in. Bill explained that the chopper was down on a beach surrounded by large rocks and it had a broken rotor-blade. Beside it there was a ground-to-air message stating that all were well and that they were proceeding down river. Two miles downstream, Bill had spotted the three of them waving their arms.
A check of the survey map and photos showed that the chopper was right on Number Six Survey Position. I guessed that the rotor must have struck something on landing as it would have been very unlikely that Bob would have landed exactly on the spot if there had been some problem such as an engine failure. Still, all that could wait as it was getting late and right now we had to get some food and warm gear up to the boys.
THE DROP
A trip into town and back found us with a pile of food, clothing, sleeping bags and a sheet of canvas to make a tidy bundle for an air drop. The Hydro boys donated a rubber dinghy which made the bundle quite large, but hung on the bomb rack of beaver [like this], it was a piece-of-cake. Bill climbed into the cockpit and after a minute climbed out again.
"No ergs!", he exclaimed.
We discovered that the starter solenoid had stuck on the last start which had burnt out the starter motor, cooked the battery and caused some other damage. The Beaver was out of the running.
The only other aircraft around was a tiny privately owned low-winged ‘lightie’ [a de Havilland Moth Minor*]. We looked it over and it seemed hopeless for the job. Its cabin was so small that our bundle wouldn't fit in and tying it on top of the wing made it very difficult to release. After much discussion, we decided to give it a go tied beneath the fuselage between the wheels. With the load positioned, the ends of the securing rope were passed around the leading edges of the wings, up into the cockpit and tied together right in front of the pilot’s nose. The idea being that the pilot simply cut the rope and hope for best. Well, the load looked massive under the poor wee kite. There was also a lot of pendulum effect as securing it would have hindered the release.
The next question was who is going to fly the thing. The owner was elderly and this was our problem.
"In you go Bill, have a go", someone said.
"But I've never even flown one of the confounded things, let alone one with all this hanging on it", Bill protested. "Well... okay wind her up," he said after another look over it, "Something will have to be done, it's nearly dark now."
With that the machine was started up and Bill, armed with a sharp knife, taxied down the field as far as he could go, turned into wind and opened the throttle. The tail came up and the load swung back and forth. The boundary fence loomed up, but the little motor could do no more. A silent prayer was said by all watching and a sigh of relief was heard when she came unstuck and cleared the fence. Bill whooped for joy as he cleared the fence and headed the little aircraft out over the sea to gain some altitude.
Darkness was rapidly closing in as Bill flew into the gorge and it took twenty minutes to reach the spot where the men were last seen. It was so dark he could hardly see when he reached the area. All of a sudden, he spotted the place and at the same instant saw a bluff looming up where the river turned at right angles. It was now or never, the tiny plane would never clear that bluff with this load on and he knew the men would be close by, so slash went the knife. The rope parted in a flash and the plane relieved of its burden rocketed upward. Bill banked hard right and skimmed over the bluff. It was too dark to circle back and see how the drop went, so with the tail up, Bill scampered off in the direction of the airfield.
A cheer went up from the anxious crowd at the field when they heard the purr of the motor in the distance and the feeling was much happier all round when the plane taxied in out of the darkness. Everyone knew that one slip up and Bill would have been the fourth person in the river, twenty miles upstream, but his chances of surviving would have been slim. Still the drop had been made and we all retired knowing we could do no more for them this night.
During the evening plans were made for another drop at day-break of supplies and a rubber dinghy. A maintenance crew arrived and worked all night in the frost repairing the Beaver. It was ready to fly when we arrived at the field in morning. A second Beaver arrived after having flown over the stranded party and read a message on the riverbed made up from pages from a book. It read F LL X which meant: F - All well, LL - Need food, X - Unable to proceed without assistance. [Apparently they hadn't found the dropped supplies.] We soon had the replacement solutions to their problems attached to the bomb rack. I climbed in beside Bill and off we went.
They weren't hard to find. The message was still there and smoke was rising from a fire they had going. The drop was spot on. It hadn't even stopped rolling before Scotty and the others were onto it. We circled overhead to check that they were okay then headed back to Opotiki Airport. Another flight that afternoon, we found them well on their way out.
The success of the day called for a celebration so we settled in for the evening and had a few drinks with Scotty and his merry men. Our little celebration was interrupted around midnight by three sodden forms at the door. Taking advantage of the bright moonlight they had managed to reach the road near the mouth of the river and after walking another four miles, they were picked up and given a lift home. We heard the tale of the broken rotor blade, their journey down the river and the outcome of Bill’s first drop. Evidently it had fallen into the river not twenty feet from where they stood, but it had been swept away before they had a chance to retrieve it. So that night was spent on the bitterly cold river-bed with no food. We all agreed that mid winter was not a good time for these operations.
SALVAGE PLANS
The following morning, salvage was the order of the day. The destination was inaccessible from the outlying district so travelling up the river was the only way in. We had heard that a few local Maori chaps had been part way up on horses so we decided that a pack-team would be the best means of recovering what we could from the chopper. There were no other choppers available so packhorses it would have to be. It seemed ironic that one of the latest forms of transport now relied upon one of the oldest... helicopter by packhorse.
Time was now a big factor as the Motu River is treacherous and when it rains in the area the river has been known to rise fifteen to twenty feet overnight. It is an extremely windy river cutting through sheer rock cliffs and steep bush-covered slopes rising almost a thousand feet in places. An ideal location for a hydro dam. Every bend has a set of rapids and the water between them is very deep. Worst of all at this time of year it is bitterly cold in this area. If it did rain the chopper would most certainly be washed away, but the weather report was not bad for next few days.
I was put in charge of the salvage operation and over the following week assembled a team of assistants. I found a couple of the Maori chaps, Maui and Fred whom had been part way up the river then went into town and picked up the fourth member of the team, Andy Aiken. Andy was a Maintenance Engineer from our firm's workshop. I hired a team of pack horses and four riding horses and food was next on the list. "Well," said Andy "I'm pretty fond of my tucker."
“That makes two of us, and if I know these two Maori boys, they won’t be far behind us." I added. "I reckon on being in there about a week... say two days getting there, two at the kite and two out. How's that sound to you?"
"Sounds fair enough to me," he replied "you know the country better than I do. You've flown over it twice."
"Grab your pen and start writing." I said. "We'll work out a menu for one day and multiply it by seven. That'll give us 2 days rations up our sleeves. Nearly all the stuff will have to be tins as we will be wet through most the time, you can bet your life. We'll risk carrying a bit of fresh bread and meat for the first couple of days and a big hunk of bacon will keep okay then we'll finish the trip on the tinned stuff."
"Who's going to be cook?" Enquired Andy. "I'm pretty good with a can opener, but that as far as I go."
"That's all jacked up." I replied. "Old Maui, he's the fat one over there, says that his mate Fred is a good cook, so we'll leave it entirely in his hands. Maui's also got a camp oven and I hear one can turn out some rare feeds from one of those things. I don't think we'll starve."
We sat down and drew up a list of everything we'd need for the trip. The Hydro Department lent us the four-man rubber dinghy to bring the gear back down the river in. It was an old ex-Airforce model and had certainly seen better days, but we were glad of it. It had seen Scotty and his party home, so I guess it would do for us too. I went over to see how Maui and Fred were getting on. The horses were theirs, so all preparations related to them was their responsibility. They had almost finished their preparations too so I told them to meet us at the river mouth with the horses at day-break next morning. Andy and I retired to the bar at the Masonic where we were staying and had a few beers with the locals. They were a cheery lot, offering us all sorts of advice during the evening and wishing us all the best on the trip.
"Bring us back a souvenir", said Junior, the barman. "Somethin' we can stick up on the shelf. This old helicopter of yours has stirred things up a bit 'round 'ere... might as well 'ave something to remember it by."
"I'll see what I can do”, I replied. “There's a red Perspex nameplate screwed to the bubble with BELL written on it. How would that do?"
"Just the thing", replied Junior. "I'll shout you a drink when you bring it in."
"Well Andy, it's sack time for me", I said. "We may as well make the most of soft beds, heaven knows where we'll be sleeping tomorrow night."
"Cheery oh! fellas", called Junior. "See you when you get back."
Junior kept up the chat with the few hangers-on. "Those blokes are mad you know. I was talking to the police Sergeant about it. He said the weather wasn't looking good. A good down-pour over night and they'll all be washed back out to the river mouth. They may be lucky enough to scramble up through the bush out of harm’s way, but then our troubles would start... rescuing them."
"Yeah", chipped in one of the locals. "Remember the last heavy rains we had when the river came up to the seventeen-foot mark at the bridge. It would have been even deeper in the narrow parts where that helicopter is."
"Guess they know what they're doing." commented Junior. "Anyway they've got Maui and Fred with them", he added. "Last round chaps, I'm looking forward to some shut-eye myself."
A LOVELY START
At 5:30 the next morning we finished loading up the van that was taking us out to the river mouth, then had a cuppa in the kitchen with the night porter.
"Strike! It's raining", called Andy, carrying his last few items out to the van. I followed him outside and sure enough, a light drizzle was falling from the overcast sky. Still, the long-range weather forecast that the Meteorology Department had given me said that it would clear and be right for the next five days.
"Don't worry about a few spots Andy, your backside will be so wet through soon that you won’t notice it.
"Oh, shut up", replied Andy. "Grab your rifle and let's be on our way."
We had about thirty miles to travel. By the time we reached the mouth of the Motu we figured Fred and old Maui would have the horses and gear all ready to go. We were ten miles out of Opotiki when the driver cursed and pulled the vehicle to a stop. Sure enough a flat back tyre. We scrambled out, I grabbed the wheel brace and proceeded to loosen off the nuts while the other two scratched around for the jack.
"Sorry boys", said the driver. "I slapped a new tyre on the ol' heap yesterday and must'a left the jack by the shed."
"OK," I said, "put the spare behind the flat and back up onto it. That'll get her up a bit. Andy, grab that post over there and we'll slide this boulder into position. We'll get this wheel off somehow. Talk about a lovely start."
Just then headlights appeared in the distance, so we waited. Of all the luck, it was a service van from a local garage and we were back on the road in no time. Actually, we had only lost a quarter of an hour.
THE SEND OFF
On our arrival at the Public Works chap’s place at the bridge we found Fred and Maui almost ready. We were invited into the house and were given a good solid breakfast. We went out and checked all was in order. There was certainly a rare collection of saddlery. There seemed to be more string and wire than leather. A good Maori outfit, no doubt about it.
"Hey Maui, how come there's all this wire holding my saddle together?" Andy asked.
"Oh! the tractor run over it eh! But you can see I fixed it good eh?"
I had chosen one of the larger horses, I figured his height might keep my bum out of the water when crossing the river. We had a couple of photographs taken once we were all mounted and then I was passed the camera and asked to photograph as much of the trip as I could. I placed it inside my shirt so it would be easy to get at. Unfortunately, it was not to survive the rigours of the journey. There we sat, perched upon our trusty steeds, all dressed in extra jerseys and windbreakers. Over top of all this we wore 'Mae West' life jackets which later on proved to be of great value, not only for crossing the river, but also for sleeping in.
By the time we were ready to leave, half the residents of a nearby pa had arrived to see us off. There were shouts of "Yippy-Hi-Oh" and "Hi-Ho-Silver" as we finally moved off toward the river in single file with Fred’s two dogs bringing up the rear.
INTO THE RIVER
We had crossed the river twice and were all in high spirits. Maui was leading the way and we were about to make our third diagonal crossing when Andy decided that instead of following along it would be quicker to cut straight across. My horse, a couple of paces behind, decided to follow. It was definitely a far shorter distance, but we had only gone a few yards when we struck deep water and down we went to chest level and man was it cold. We clambered up the opposite bank and looked back to see Fred and Maui doubled up with laughter. "Why don't you fellas follow the guide?" shouted Maui while trying to control his laughter.
We let the remark pass as we tried to accustom ourselves to the new cold wet feeling. Our attention was immediately drawn back to the other side by a shout from Maui. His horse and one of the packhorses were up to their bellies in soft sand and had begun fighting furiously to free themselves. Maui’s horse managed to free itself, but the big horse, Home Brew, really looked to be in trouble. However, after a tremendous effort, which almost shook the pack off, she started to struggle free of the sand and with a final heave and a kick she was out. In the process she had shaken the axe loose and it disappeared into the sand. This was a bit of a blow, but we considered ourselves lucky that was all we had lost. Home Brew, being the best horse, had all the tucker on board. I had thoughts of having to shoot the horse and losing the lot. Fred and Maui turned back and crossed the river where we had. Upon joining up with us Maui said, "Pi corry Andy, I think maybe you's the best guide." We all laughed and set off for the next crossing.
OLD CROWN TOP
The river wound on and on and we made crossing after crossing, from shingle bank to shingle bank. There was no chance of following the river by land as there was constantly a bluff on one side and only a small shingle bed at the base of bush clad cliffs on the other. The only variation to this profile was that it alternated from one side to the other at every bend. The river followed a regular zigzag course. The bends were at one-hundred-yard intervals and at each there was a set of rapids while the calmer waters between them varied in depth from three to twenty feet. All up we crossed the river more than fifty times and we had to swim twenty-three of these with only the horses’ heads and us from the waist up protruding from the cold water. The crossings were tough going on the horses because the water was swift and there was little time to recover before they were into the next one. It was a fight each time for them to reach the other side before being swept away. Only on one occasion though did an incident arise during a crossing. Old Crown Top, a small chestnut packhorse didn't quite make the other side and was swept down the rapids. Luckily, she missed all the rocks and came ashore a little further down river. After a bit of persuading, we got her across on the next attempt.
THE PHOTOGRAPHER
We discovered that we would have to swim the next crossing too, so I decided to cross first and photograph the others swimming across. I was about halfway across when the horse hit a submerged rock, went down and dismounted me. There was I with all this extra heavy clothing on, heavy boots and a rifle slung over my shoulder. I swam like mad for the other side and as I looked down, the rapids appeared to be rushing towards me. Seconds later, swish! and I was passed the first rock. Crash! and my rifle had bashed up against the next. I pushed myself off and nearer the bank and finished up in the back current of a whirlpool. Round I went clutching madly for the bank. I got near to it only to be swept round back into the current and off for another circuit. I was exhausted and had thought, "This is it." I think it might have been had it not been for my Mae West. Next time around I managed to get closer to the bank and eventually got a handhold. I looked up in time to see Andy dashing along the bank towards me with a rope in his hands. However, I made the solid ground okay only to collapse again with the weight of all the water in the waterproof clothing and my general exhausted condition. I sat down for a while pulling at the wrist and waist bands of my jacket spilling gallons of water out. A few minutes later I was able to join the others.
The seriousness of the incident had passed and we were all laughing our heads off with relief when I remembered the camera and my watch. The watch was going, but stopped that night. The camera, well, the less said the better, especially since it was borrowed. It didn't sound too good when you shook it. Water swishing around... Oh! great. I opened it up and poured out about a cup full of water. Next day, for some strange reason, the shutter wouldn't work. The main thing I had found on this trip was to keep one’s sense of humour. I hoped Murray would see it in the same light when I handed him his camera back.
The boys gathered in my gallant stead. I had a new name for him after this incident, not the I can use it here, so I'll just call him "Darkie". I finally regained enough strength to mount Darkie and we all set off once again. On and on, one crossing after another. Then I began to feel cold. You can sit out all day if your trousers are wet, but when your upper clothing is soaked through it doesn't take long to chill, especially when you're just sitting on a nag. We decided to call a halt before making the next crossing and warm up a bit. We got a good fire going, boiled the billy and got a bite of food into us.
I took my wet clothing off and had just finished propping it up all around the fire when down came the rain. The others dived for shelter, but I just sat there on a rock in my birthday suit, by the nice warm fire, sipping on a nice warm mug of tea. The shower soon passed and that was the last of the rain that fell. An hour later I was able to put on warm dry clothes. We dowsed the fire and set off again.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and as evening began to settle in, we started looking for a suitable spot to camp for the night. We pushed on, but one place was as bad as the next. No sandy beach or smooth ground and no Tea Tree bush, nothing but hard rocky beaches. In the end we just pulled up on one of them and lit a fire. We ate the big feed which Maui had prepared in the camp oven then spread out our sleeping bags in the best spot we could find and climbed into them. Getting to sleep on those rocks was not easy, but we all were so tired we got a few hours in and no one slept in the morning.
DAY TWO
When I awoke, Fred was already up cooking breakfast for us. The tea was made and the sizzling bacon smelt really good. I got up to find he had sausages browning up too. This was going to be a fine breakfast. There is nothing like the smell of food cooking on a cold morning in the bush. Five minutes later we were all into it like a pack of hungry wolves. Fred had cooked a good amount, but it soon disappeared. After a short discussion we unanimously agreed that another round of bacon and some fried bread was on. We sat watching the fire while the bacon cooked and a few minutes later when Fred turned to check it all he found was an empty frying pan. The dogs had scoffed the lot. He grabbed his knife and leaped to his feet.
"Ah! Ah!" I said, "Remember your "Ah ha", remember your sense of humour." We had to settle for the fried bread and another mug of tea. By the time we had had breakfast and re-assembled the packs, the sun was shining over the ridges. It looked like the making of a good day.
Progress was fair enough until mid-day. We had seen a couple of Red deer and signs of wild cattle. I was relishing the thought of a juicy big grilled steak for tea, but we had no luck. Hardly surprising considering the racket we were making as we progressed up the river, the game must have cleared out for about a mile ahead of us. Still, we had a tin opener and plenty of food.
FERRY ACROSS THE MOTU
We drew to a halt on the bank of a nasty looking crossing. Short, but very swift and deep. It was about fifty yards across and the same distance between the rapids which would make the crossing difficult because we would have to make the other side before being swept into rapids. I tried a couple of times without success and Maui got no further during his attempts. The horses just didn't like it and kept turning back. We decided it was lunchtime anyway and that we could probably tackle the problem better on full stomachs. So, we lit a fire and sat down to lunch during which we decided to use the dinghy to ferry all the gear across and let the horses swim across free.
It sounded easy enough, but in fact it took two and a half hours to accomplish. After we had inflated the dinghy with the hand pump and coiled enough rope on the bow and stern to stretch across the river, Andy and I set off from a convenient position upstream while Fred and Maui played out the stern rope from the beach. We were within six feet of the far bank after a frantic row when we discovered the two on the beach had run out of rope, so they had to haul us back. They had to move quickly as the drag was terrific and we were only thirty feet from the rapids. Once we were back ashore, we tied another length of rope on and set off again. This time we reached our destination.
Fred and Maui pulled the empty dinghy back and loaded the saddles aboard. After ferrying all the gear across in four loads, I returned to help Fred and Maui get the horses across. Maui mounted his horse bare-back and after a few false starts finally coaxed his mount into the water and headed for the far side. Then Fred and I chased the rest of the herd in after him. They were not keen, but with Fred and I making such a racket behind them, they decided that they had no option. All that remained to do was coil up the stern rope, climb in the dinghy and had Andy and Maui pull us across for the last time.
Upon reaching the other side we saddled up the pack hoses and loaded them up, collapsed the dinghy, loaded it then saddled up our own mounts. All went well until we came to Andy's horse. There was no darn saddle for it. I looked up to find Fred roaring his head off with laughter.
"Max", he said, "Remember that sense of humour stuff you have got? Well, there's Andy’s saddle up on that far bank where we just came from."
Sure enough, there it was, down beside a big rock on the opposite side. After the laughter had subsided enough for me to fit a word in, I suggested that Fred swim back and get it. However, Maui having come across once okay, slipped into the water again with his horse and ten minutes later was back with the saddle.
From then on progress was really slow. The rocky conditions of the riverbed were proving very tough on the horses. They continually slipped on the mossy boulders and we had to stop for a few minutes while Andy took off one of his horses shoes which had lost its hold and slewed across the hoof. We were almost at the end of the second day and according to our maps and photos we figured that we were getting pretty close to our goal now. Around the next corner we came to a complete halt with the horses. There was a deep gorge, the banks on either side were sheer rock faces towering up hundreds of feet. A small tributary came in from the left hand out of a rugged looking valley and there was a small flat where we could camp and make a rope corral for the horses.
There was a bit more daylight left so we made use of it by setting out a fairly comfortable sort of a camp. Collecting Tea Tree brush to lay down as a soft bed and erecting a cover over our head to keep out the morning fog.
Fred and Maui had fixed the horses for the night, got the firewood, situation well in hand, and a meal was almost ready. Into the camp oven Fred had put two tins of green peas, a tin of sliced green beans, two tins of spaghetti and two tins of corned beef. We had boiled a billy of spuds and they went in after, together with an Oxo cube which Andy recommends, gives it a nice brown look and adds to the flavour. It certainly looked a great mixture, and half-an-hour later there wasn't a drop left. We washed it down with two big mugs of tea apiece.
With the meal over, the camp cleaned up, and our wet clothes spread all around a big fire to dry, we settled into the problem of finding out exactly where we were in relation to the helicopter. A look at the map and a count of the streams we had passed on the way in led us to believe that the machine was just around the corner about a mile away, so a plan was made for the following day. We would have to use the dinghy from now on. The idea being to make a series of short trips up and down during the day, bringing out the salvaged parts.
DAY THREE
The fog was down and the atmosphere was very chilly when we crept out of our bags in the morning. None of us were keen to move as we felt pretty snug where we were and we all had a good sleep. However, there was a big day ahead of us so out we clambered, had breakfast and pumped the dinghy up again! As the machine was apparently just around the corner, I suggested that we only take the necessary bags of tools and gear and two tins of beans for a quick lunch. This we all agreed to.
We were just about to go, after checking the horses, when Andy had an idea that one of our aircraft would probably fly over today and see what progress we were making. He suggested that we leave a message on the beach to let them know that we were okay. After a while we decided that seeing this was our base camp, we would name it "Motu Motel". So just for a lark, we spelt the words out in five foot letters, using toilet paper held in place with small stones.
This done, we set off in the dinghy, but we had only gone a few yards when we discovered that it was impossible to row upstream. So, we drifted back to shore and sorted out two stout poles. One with a hooked end, the other straight. We set off once again and still found that the only way we could make any progress at all was to hook the stick into the cracks in the rock faces and pull ourselves up the length of the stick, then it was up to the next man to hold the dinghy against the sides while we located another hold for the hook.
It was heavy going pulling against such swift current with the four of us aboard. Fred and Maui had the two paddles and used them all the time to keep the boat close to the cliff. The gorge was only about three hundred yards long, but it took us over an hour to get up and across it. We had reached the end of the face on one side, then we had to push off and paddle like mad to cross the river and in doing so we were swept downstream at such a rate that we finished up hanging onto a cliff face exactly opposite our camp site. The same procedure had to be adopted in order to gain the small beachhead we were endeavouring to reach.
Eventually we got there and were able to tow the dinghy along the water’s edge, but unfortunately the beach was only about eighty yards long and we had to cross again to the opposite beach.
At each crossing we were doing three times the distance we wanted to, it seemed like walking one step forward and two back, but we were actually getting upstream. Soon we were around the corner and were rather disappointed to find no helicopter. However, it could be just around the next corner so away we went towing the dinghy along the beaches, making a crossing, and towing it around the next beach. We were wading waist deep in most places in order to get the dinghy around the protruding rocks.
We had gone a couple of miles when Andy lost the complete sole off his boot and had to make the rest of the trip in sandshoes. This was pretty hard going for him as the stones were slippery and made his feet sore. Corner after corner had been rounded and still no sign of the chopper. It was well past midday, so I called a halt. While Fred got a fire going and heated the tins of beans for lunch, I headed up the steep bush-clad face to the top of the ridge to see if I could see anything that would give us a clue as to how far we still had to go.
The bush was thick. I fought my way through scrub, supplejack and other vines. Bush Lawyer tearing at my clothing didn't help either, but I eventually reached the ridge. Wild pigs had been here. There were tracks and fresh rooting all through the fern. I couldn't see any, but I got my rifle ready just in case. From where I stood, I could see the river weaving its way out of sight to the south and not far away a creek joined it from the east. The spot looked familiar to me and if it was the creek I thought it was, then the chopper was not far beyond it. I made my way back to the boys.
"There's a creek up ahead," I said "and if it's the right one, she's just around the corner."
"I sure hope so," said Andy massaging his feet "these shoes are giving me hell. There's your half tin of beans. You will have to eat them off your knife... the spoons are back at Camp Motu."
With half a belly full of beans and the thought of success not far away, we were in high spirits when we set off again.
An hour later we arrived at the junction between the river and the creek. Another ten minutes should have seen us standing beside the chopper, provided that this was the right creek. Obviously, it wasn't. We hadn't brought the maps, but from memory we all had a pretty good idea how the land lay and after much discussion, it was agreed that this creek was the first of two we had seen on the map and the chopper would be at the second. It was two p.m. We decided to keep moving until three and if there was still no sign of it, then we would return to the camp.
Around the next bend the going got really tough. We were high up a cliff face with the full length of the rope hanging down and tied to the dinghy which was bouncing about and tugging fiercely in the rapids. We edged our way around the cliff-face at short intervals and passed the free end of the rope to the next man who would pull the dinghy as far as he could then pass it on. The dinghy took quite a pounding on that stretch, but it was still afloat and it got us across the river again once we had passed the cliff.
It was almost three o'clock and we were now walking along a relatively long stretch of beach. We suddenly heard the drone of an aircraft engine and a minute later a Beaver was circling overhead. We all waved to indicate that we were all still in one piece. We were to hear on our return that the "Motu Motel" message had amused them and they had assumed by it that we were in good spirits. I waved and pointed upriver the next time they flew over. They understood the request and flew on upstream and circled again above the helicopter. It appeared to be about another two miles away. They returned, gave us a farewell wave of the wings and disappeared over the ridge.
We crossed the river at the end of the beach and came across the camp that Scotty and party had made. The ashes of their fire and the message they had made were just as they had left them. We stopped and had another discussion. Time was running out. We still had enough daylight left to reach camp if we returned now, but we were so close to our goal, and it had been a difficult task to get this far. I put it to the others that we could either return to camp, get some more food and do the trip all over again or we could go on until night fell, camp out with no shelter or food and be within a mile or so of the Bell which meant that we could be away at first light and be there within a few hours.
We all decided on the second option because it meant that we would have plenty of daylight to reach the helicopter, salvage what we could and return to camp. Besides, the trip up had been so strenuous that none of us really wanted to have to face it again. On the other hand, we were all very hungry and we knew we would have to go without food for another twenty-four hours, but we would make up for it when we got back to the camp. One consolation was that there was plenty of water to drink. With our minds made up, we decided to make the most of the remaining daylight and set off at once.
As we moved along a chilly wind sprang up and it started to get cold, so we started looking for a sheltered spot to settle down for the night. On and on we went, but once again each place was like the last, a small beach with no decent wind break. In the end we were forced to a halt as the daylight left us. We propped the dinghy up to shield us from the wind then we built a fire and all huddled up around it. We were all wet through and cold so we all stripped off and set out to dry everything we could. I was wearing two pairs of socks lucky for Andy, for during the night the flames crept along the log he had his socks on and burnt the feet clean off them. We all had a good laugh, especially when we found he had lost the tail of his shirt as well, but the laugh was really on me, as the shirt was the one that I had lent him the day before while his was drying.
The night seemed endless, and not long after midnight we were torturing ourselves by discussing what we would have to eat if we had the choice. That discussion ended rather abruptly as a shower of stones came down from above us. A couple of red deer had crossed the track further uphill and dislodged the stones. I got the rifle out, but it was far too dark. The topic got round to, sizzling venison steaks on our fire.
Our clothes were dry enough to put back on by this time and we snatched a bit of sleep, curled up on the Tea Tree brush. Sleep was pretty difficult, one side of you would freeze with the cold wind while the other side was nearly roasted by the fire, then you would turn over and reverse the process. Old Maui got more sleep than we did as he had more fat on him and did not seem to notice the cold at all.
DAY FOUR [17th May*]
The night passed and away in the distance the sun was rising, but it would be many hours before we would see it. I sat up and stretched my arms and sung at the top of my voice a few words from the old 'Banana Boat Song'…
"Day Oh! Day...ay...ay Oh! Daylight comes and I wanna go home."
This disturbing noise roused the others from their rest and after the language had subsided, I suggested a wee sip of "Adam’s Ale" for breakfast and set the example by wandering down to the river’s edge, scooped up a mug full of ice-cold water and gulped down a few mouthfuls.
It was about seven o'clock and bitterly cold. The thought of wandering around waist-deep in the river was far from comforting, still the first wetting is the worst one. I gave Andy a pair of my socks to replace his burnt offerings. I put on my boots which were new when we set off. So far, I had lost two heels, half the hobnails and the stitching was breaking away at the side of the right one. The rocks and water were doing a great job. Still, they did see the journey out.
The others were up and about by this time and we all had one last warm up in front of the fire before we put it out and set off on the last part of our journey upstream. No one was saying very much, I guess we were all thinking about a nice big plate of bacon and eggs.
For the next few crossings we were able to keep dry, but it didn't last long. Next crossing it was a case of leap out or go over the rapids and before we had time to think, we were into the river and clambering for the rocks. From here on we had trouble as the river was a mass of boulders from one side to the other and on up the banks to the base of the cliffs. There was nothing for it but to carry the dingy. It was not very heavy, but the bulk of it made it extremely awkward to handle. The boulders ranged from four to six feet in diameter and we were up, down and in between them like ants for about half-a-mile as well as being forced to cross the river a quite few times. Once again, the old dinghy took a lot of punishment. Two hours passed and we didn't seem to be making much progress, but we must have been getting somewhere because the cliffs were closing in to form another deep gorge. We had noted a gorge on the map as a point of reference. The helicopter was located only a few bends away from one, or to quote what had become our stock phrase... ‘Just around the corner’. It was this phrase that helped keep the boys’ spirit up as each time we got round a bend, I would say "It's just around the corner." The mere fact that it very well might be what kept us going.
You could dream about it all you liked, but the mention of anything to do with food by this time was forbidden. This gorge required us to adopt the hooked-pole technique that we had used to tackle the last one. Fred and Maui paddled while Andy and I worked the poles. We rounded a bend to see just ahead of us, the creek we had been looking for, the last one [Te Kahika Stream]. This was it, she was just around the corner. Spirits were once again renewed.
The Motu River showing the location of the damaged helicopter.
With the creek contributing to the flow, the river through the gorge was really swift and the sheer cliff face we had come up to had very few hand holds or places to hook the poles into. It was necessary for Fred and Maui to row furiously for the five or six feet till we could reach the next suitable niche in the cliff. It was during this stretch of the trip that Andy started losing his sense of humour. We had reached a position where Fred and Maui were rowing like champions, but they were getting us nowhere. I was standing by with my fingernails exposed, ready to dig into anything that would hold us. Andy was stretched out at full length over the bow missing the next crack in the cliff by inches when all of a sudden, he screamed out in desperation, "Row! Row you black bastards!" That terminology wasn't used in the worst of circles and considering the circumstances the two Māori boys took it without comment. At this point I grabbed my rifle by the barrel and using it as a paddle, assisted Fred and Maui move the dinghy forward the crucial few inches. We hung on there for quite a while, getting our breath back and preparing ourselves for the next move which required us to row across the river to the beach clear of the cliffs.
It was an all-out effort by all concerned. Fred and Maui rowed with the oars, Andy with the pole and I with the rifle. Oxford and Cambridge would have been proud of us. We were almost to the other side when we started losing ground. At this point Fred leapt out with the bow rope and saved the day. Across once more. We towed the dinghy up the beach, around another bend and there it was, across on the other side a hundred yards or so away, looking for all the world like a lost child’s toy as it was dwarfed by the surrounding landscape.
It was certainly a great sight and cheers of delight echoed up and down the valley. The Māori boys did a haka on the beach and were then so keen to get across to the helicopter I reckon they would have swum had I not reminded them that we needed their assistance to get the dinghy across. They all went for a walk up the beach to get a closer look at the Bell while I towed the dinghy round a few protruding rocks to a suitable position to make the final crossing.
When all was ready, I called them back. They climbed aboard then I pushed the dinghy away from the rock and leapt in myself, or at least that was my intention. The dinghy moved away from the rock a little quicker than I anticipated and as I floundered into the dinghy, my boot caught the protruding inflation nozzle vulcanised to the side and ripped it clean off. It dropped into the river leaving a two-inch diameter hole from which the air gushed like a blowing whale. You've never seen so much activity in all your life. Within five seconds we had abandoned the ship or to be more specific, it had abandoned us and drifted away like a limp jelly while we floundered our way back to the rocks.
Luckily, I still had hold of the rope so when scrambled ashore I was able to drag the dinghy in. If I could have gathered all the heated air that was escaping from Andy as he was telling me what he thought about it all, I reckon I could have re-inflated the dinghy and vulcanised the nozzle back on with it. "Here we are twenty miles up the river, no tucker, no dinghy, no repair kit and the valve at the bottom of the river." He shouted. "You knocked the bloody thing off... you dive in after it."
I started laughing, then Fred and Maui joined in. Andy stormed off up the beach a bit to cool off. When the laughter subsided, we got back to the situation at hand. I leapt into the river and after a bit of scouting around, managed to recover the valve. We placed it in position, but as soon as we applied any pressure it just popped out again. By this time Andy had cooled off and had come back to lend a hand. What we needed was some form of packing. A piece of cloth folded over a couple of times, dampened and wedged in place around the nozzle would probably do the job we decided. We scouted about, but couldn't find any.
"Here's some." Said Andy, ripping the exposed tail clean off my shirt in one quick tug. "You knocked it off so we'll fix it with this." It happened so quickly that we all collapsed on the rocks laughing. Andy was happy again and we quickly positioned the nozzle and tied it in place. It leaked badly, but we could keep up with the leak rate by pumping every few minutes. Ten minutes later we were across, and Fred and Maui were off leaving Andy and I to pull the dinghy up onto the beach. We strolled up to the chopper and the sight of old Maui sitting at the controls with a smile from ear to ear is a sight I'll never forget.
The Bell in a sorry state 20 miles up the Motu River with the leading edge of one of the rotor blades draped over the cockpit. While the engine was running down, the right skid sank into the sand and the rotor struck large boulders. The arrow on the beach indicating to aerial searchers the direction the crew were headed.*
In the excitement of reaching our destination we had forgotten that our clothing was wet through, but it wasn't long before the cold wind reminded us of it, so we got to work. The chopper was certainly in a mess. The unbalanced rotor had torn the engine from its mounts and stirred the whole works around like a wooden spoon in a porridge pot. Pieces were smashed everywhere, and it was evident that there was not going to be a lot to salvage. Even if there had been, we certainly couldn't have taken much, with the dinghy in the state it was in. It was going to be tricky enough getting ourselves out in it.
We removed what parts we could safely manage, collected the survey instruments that Scotty’s party had placed up the hill above flood level and I also removed the BELL sign off the cockpit bubble. After we had gathered all we could carry this trip, we took the precaution of removing the doors so that the water could flow right through if the river flooded and not sweep her away. That was the theory anyway.
Bell 47G, ZK-HAC as it was last seen by ground parties.
It was almost mid-day by the time we had packed the dinghy and were ready to go. We gave her a few more pumps of air, climbed in and set off down the river. It was certainly a pleasure drifting in the relative quiet between the rapids and for the first time we were able to sit back and admire the grandeur of the place. An ominous roar announced that we were arriving at the first of the larger rapids. We pulled ashore, clambered out and let the dinghy drift through the rapids while we steadied it with the ropes. She was looking a bit saggy by the time we reached calm water, however a few strokes with the pump fixed that and we were away again.
The next rapid was long, flat and had no rocks sticking up so we decided to shoot this one and see what happened. Into we went and she was away like a cork. Andy manned the bow with a pole while we used the oars to try and keep her straight. We gathered speed and discovered that we were heading straight towards some rocks at the centre of a bend. Everyone was shouting directions as we flashed along beside the cliff face. Andy just managed to fend us off the rocks in time.
You certainly had to act fast in this rafting game, but we had made our first successful voyage across rapids all the way down the next calm patch we could talk of nothing else and when the next one loomed up, we knew what to expect and were all prepared. From then on we made good progress, shooting the good ones and letting the dinghy down on ropes over the bad ones. We even managed to get through the rocky patch that we had previously had to carry the dinghy over by leaving one man in it and the rest on the ropes.
As we were drifting along in a quiet patch when we spotted some fine feathered friends and with the aid of the rifle, we managed to bag one each. The thought of them stewing in the camp oven when we got back urged us on. We were so hungry and started discussing what we would have with them, but it wouldn't have fitted in the oven. Time was moving on, but progress was good and by four o'clock we bobbed over the last rapid, passed through the gorge near the camp and there it was.
Fred leapt ashore and immediately went up to see the horses. He was back in a minute and judging by the look on his face something was wrong. Three of the packhorses had escaped from the roped enclosure, crossed the river and disappeared down-stream somewhere. Another had slipped over a bank, broken its neck and was dead, but the riding horses were still with us. It was a bitter blow and as we were already cold and hungry, it didn't help improve our feelings. Still, there was nothing we could do about it now as it was too late, so we all set to work gathering firewood.
After warming up a bit in front of the fire we felt a little happier and set to work preparing the birds for the stewing pot. We let them boil for half an hour with the potatoes then we started adding the rest of the ingredients. Tins of peas, beans, asparagus and mixed vegetables and soon the two-gallon camp-oven was full to the top. The only ingredient missing and one that we really missed was salt. Still, salt or no salt, half an hour later we were into it with plates filled to the brim.
The birds weren't cooked properly and were tough as hell, but we couldn't wait any longer and not a word was said about it. All you could hear was the sound of flesh being eagerly torn from the bones. This went on for another half-hour and at the end of it, the pot was so cleaned out that it hardly needed washing. This was all washed down with a couple of mugs of good old billy tea, after which we stretched out in front of the fire having decided that the dishes could wait. Our clothing had dried out and apart from the gloom over the dead horse, the camp was a very contented one. A couple of hours later when the bloated feeling had subsided a little, we stoked up the fire for the night and retired to our sleeping bags.
DAY FIVE
Nothing could have woken us that night and the sun was well up by the time we surfaced. After breakfast we dismantled the camp and set all the gear out in piles. With the packhorses missing, we would have to put a packsaddle on one of the riding horses and load it up. The rest would have to fit in the dinghy, but looking about us there was gear everywhere, still we'd fit it in somewhere.
The night fog had gone and the heavy dew sparkled in the undergrowth. All about us was pleasant to look at and we set about packing up in a happy frame of mind. We let Fred pack the horse with the packsaddle first and when he had finished, Maui put aside all that he and Fred would be able to carry on the other two horses with them. There was still an awful lot left for Andy and I to carry on the dinghy with us packsaddles and bridles by the ton, it seemed. We carried it all down to the water’s edge and after pumping the dinghy up, we pushed it into the water and started loading it. We evenly distributed the items so that it would sit level in the water and carefully placed them so that no buckles or sharp articles would stick into the sides. By the way the dinghy was filling up it didn't look as though there was going to be room left for Andy and me, but eventually we got the last item loaded and climbed aboard ourselves.
Once aboard the first task was to pump in some more air, then with Andy up front with the pole and myself equipped with an oar, we pushed off. Fred and Maui had already departed, the horses knew that they were heading for home and were already halfway across the first crossing when we came round the bend. We weren't wasting any time ourselves. We shot the rapid and must have looked funny piled up like we were as I could see a grin all over Fred’s face. Around we went, through the calm patch and down the next rapids. This was becoming so routine now that we were getting a bit cocky and dodging rocks by inches. With all this extra weight on board the dinghy was losing its air fast and we had to keep pumping it up again every few minutes.
We were ahead of Fred and Maui and quietly drifting along when we spotted the missing horses grazing amongst the scrub. This was too good to be true. At the end of calm patch, we beached the dinghy and had unloaded the bulk of the gear by the time Fred and Maui joined us. The horses weren't too eager to be caught and it took quite a while, but we were determined and won in the end and soon had them saddled up. With the packhorses loaded up the dinghy looked a lot better. We retained enough gear to act as ballast as she was pretty lively with no weight on board. From there on the two parties travelled side by side.
Our next run down the rapids was going to be a bit hectic as there were two big rocks close together and sitting well out of the water. We had planned to pass to one side of them, but as we got closer to them our speed had increased and it became impossible to change direction. All we could do was try and keep her nose straight and hope for the best. We shot right between them, over a three-foot drop that almost doubled us in half at the bottom and as we were swept along Andy pointed to a big pointed branch that we missed by inches. If we had hit it we would have been gashed from bow to stern. This gave us quite a start and we decided that we would have to take a little more care if we wanted to get home in one piece.
There were big logs lying wedged in and about the rocks all down the river. We came across one that was about twenty feet long and three feet in diameter, perched fair on top of a boulder about fifteen feet high. There was a big groove worn in the log caused by the water rocking it back and forth on the rock. Others were caught in the undergrowth high up the banks. They gave us an idea as to how high the water level rose.
It was a great feeling drifting along, the sun streaming down upon us and the cliffs towering above was a marvellous spectacle which was helping us forget the hardships of the past few days. We were so wrapped up in nature’s handiwork that we had failed to keep an eye on the air pressure. It was well down and we were now so close to the next rapids that we didn't have time to pump it up. To add to the excitement, as we entered the rapids we saw that there was a creek coming in from the right and where it entered the river there were a set of ten waves about six feet apart and three feet high. I floundered over to the back and started to row the dinghy into a position where we could best cope with the situation. It felt like we were riding on a jelly and it was hard going so Andy grabbed the other oar and together we managed to get the nose straight just as we hit the first wave. We're in for it this time, I thought to myself. The dinghy rose to the crest of the first wave and halfway over she just folded in half due to the lack of air pressure and the bow plunged to the base of the next wave. When the stern came down the nose shot up and in this manner, we followed the exact contour of the full set of waves. We were shouting directions at one another and paddling like mad. On the bank, Fred and Maui were watching the performance in fits of laughter.
"Row! Row you Pakeha bastards!" Maui screamed at the top of his voice. We weren't able to appreciate that joke until we were once again in calm waters, they'd got their own back. We certainly kept a close eye on the dinghy’s condition after that. It was a lot of fun going over those waves the way we did, but we were sure concerned at the time.
The next lot of excitement occurred a few hours later, just after we had finished lunch. We were making a cautious entry into some rapids when we spotted a submerged log with a spiked branch sticking out of it in such a position that we were being swept directly toward it. Andy leapt over the front to try and hold us back, but the dinghy almost bowled him off his feet. I leapt off holding on to the end of the rope. The water was up to our waists and very swift. It was a tremendous struggle to get ourselves to the shore let alone tow the dinghy along which was pulling away on the end of fifty feet of rope as well. When we got ashore, we were able to let the dinghy down through the rapids without any further problems.
At half-past three we stopped to check our location and wait for Fred and Maui to catch up. Judging by the way the valley was beginning to widen, we weren't too far from civilisation. When they arrived, I asked if they would prefer to make camp for the night or complete the journey in the moonlight. We all decided to continue on our way. From then on Andy and I really put our backs into the rowing while Fred, Maui and the horses managed to keep pace with us all the way. After an hour’s solid going the country really started to open up, indicating that we were almost out. Sure enough, as we rounded the next bend, there was the bridge and at five on the dot we all reached it together. The light was fading fast, but we had made it.
Luck was really with us that day, for just as we were unloading the dinghy, a friend of Maui’s pulled up in a truck. He offered to take us to a phone where we could ring Opotiki and arrange some transport. So we loaded all the gear onto the truck while Fred and Maui tended to the horses. With that taken care of we bid each other farewell, then Fred and Maui headed off home to their own places.
When we arrived at the Public Works Department camp-house to make the phone call, we were given another excellent meal. The truck arrived and an hour or so later we were back at our hotel. It was Saturday night and ‘town was the caper’. We really looked a sight, clothes wet through, hair not combed and unshaven since we left five days before. However, we were made very welcome and Junior lost no time in showing us to the bar. I brought out the BELL monogram and presented it to the hotel. Junior said he would have it mounted on the shelf above the bar.
Questions came at us from left right and centre and we emptied many a ‘shout’ while we recalled many of the amusing incidents of the past few days. I could feel a nice glow coming on as the evening progressed. We were invited to a party at the hotel proprietor’s son’s house, so we hurried off up to our room to shower and shave and change into our first set of really dry clothes for a week. It felt so good to be clean and dry again and it sure was going to be good climbing into these beds we were sitting on later. A car was waiting to take us to the party so off we went. There was a great supper and plenty to drink. Everyone was in a happy mood, singing and dancing and generally having a really good time.
DAY SIX
At three a.m. the party died down and before we had time to protest, we were whisked away to another party that was still in progress. Once again, we were made very welcome and kept entertained for another couple of hours. During the conversations, we heard that there was a team setting off at six to do a bit of fishing and Andy, being a very keen fisherman, was all ears. Needless to say, he was invited along. We returned to the hotel to change out of our good gear. While Andy went off fishing, I sorted out all our camping gear and so we didn't even get to check out those comfortable beds.
I rang Scotty to inform him that we were back and arranged for him to come and pick us up later in the morning. By the time I had all the gear ready, Andy was back with two really nice Snapper. Scotty turned up shortly after, so we loaded the gear aboard the van, had a few parting drinks with Junior and the locals then set off for home.
We arrived back at seven p.m. and went round to the Managing Director’s home to make a report on the state of the helicopter and tell our story. Again, we faced a barrage of questions and by the time we had delivered a full account of the past week, our host’s second bottle of whiskey was close to empty. The job was over. We had not recovered as much as we had hoped to, but under the circumstances we had certainly done our best.
NEWSPAPER REPORTS
The local newspapers had followed our trip with interest and had done a good write-up. The reporters were at Scotty’s place when I arrived there after dropping Andy off at his home. After we had partaken of a first-class meal, I recited the story once more for the morning edition. It was well after midnight when I finally arrived home and when I hit the pillow, I sure didn't have any trouble whatsoever getting to sleep.
DAY SEVEN
The following morning at work we received a report from the Opotiki Public Works Department that there had been heavy rain the night we left and the river was up seven feet at the bridge. They didn't think it would be very likely that the helicopter would still be where we left it. We reported this to the insurance company and they wanted to know exactly what the situation was so we made another trip up the river, in the comfort of the Beaver this time. When we arrived in the area it was still raining and after a bit of scouting around we spotted the Motu River. It certainly was in flood and the waters were dirty with clay and silt washed down from the hills. We flew on up the river valley for a while until we eventually came to the Bell’s final resting place. It had been swept off the rocky beach and deposited in the deep water of the gorge just round the corner. We circled a couple of times then flew home.
THE END
Footnote:
There is a place called Helicopter Rapid on the Motu River, less than half-a-mile upriver from Te Kahika Stream, possibly named by the surveyors, a result of their experience there.
A few parts of the helicopter were later salvaged and used as a bridge.*
*New Zealand Rotary Wings by Janic Geelen and Ross Macpherson, 1995 pp. 9, 10.
Written to commemorate the first 50 years of helicopter operations in New Zealand.
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