Search and rescue... a tribute

Waimarino Bulletin, Volume 2, Issue 22, 30 October 1984, Page 8

Search and rescue... a tribute

A search may have its heroic moments, it may generate a strange tense excitement all of its own, but it is nothing without a backbone of people, you and me people, to hold it all together with an aim and a genuine concern. What you don't see on television are the volunteers waiting in the rain and wind to go up and look again, the pilots who have been working since five o'clock and won't finish until dark, the farmers arriving with shoeboxes of fresh scones. The extended search from Raetihi airstrip for the missing plane was a community effort. Friends and relatives of those lost were obviously overwhelmed by the experience, it was something foreign to city life. More than anything, it was about people, all kinds of people. Some in Swandris and gumboots, eatinggingernuts and drinking tea. Some in suits, bewildered, numb. And a lonely figure standing on the landing pad, arms folded, looking into the sky. All of them waiting. Waiting. Until a rush of acitivity, a helicopter landing, a new sighting, a new plan, a new hope? Hope is kept quiet. The Waimarino has had its share of tragedies, many of the people must have been there before, seen it before, realism could n't help but be a part of their nature. Yet underneath it all there was always the hope that maybe this time they'd find it, and maybe someone, something could be saved. Everyone was looking for some kind of answer.

There seems to me nothing more hollow than a person lost without trace, with nothing of substance to satisfy all the questions, all the emotions. Nothing to say goodbye to. The sight of a crashed plane is at least a tangible connection between life and death, it is real. And everyone knew it had to be somewhere, it really did exist. Countless times sightings were discussed, dissected, acted on, reappraised. Vast areas of land were combed. Engine power, manpower and willpower all brought together in one of the most intensive searches New Zealand has seen.

From my brief look out a helicopter window, I was awed by the extent of the exercise. With a kind of helpless frustration I viewed the miles and miles of forest below me, but always I was thinking it must be there somewhere, it just can't disappear into thin air. I have discovered I am not the world's most resilient, iron stomached, helicopter passenger. All credit to those who sat there, sometimes four hours running , with the doors off and the freezing wind and rain blasting them. Some people would choose to spend their Labour Weekend differently, I'm sure it didn't enter their heads.

Back on the ground' relatives quietly thanked all concerned. Some went up looking, perhaps on a personal mission to help cope with the loss. Then they would leave and it was back to the map,the acres of land , the bad weather. The search was an experience everyone wished had never had to happen, but as it did, I feel somehow many of those involved, particularly friends and relatives and in a small way myself, have gained something from being part of it. As the father of the lost pilot said to me, it restores jaded faith in human nature. Margaret Baker