I’d gotten to know the skipper recently and he generously offered to get me on-board under the cockpit familiarisation program. (please no Airplane movie quotes about grown men naked) It took a few weeks to organise the paperwork, involving a security/background check and the help and support of other staff at the airline, and next thing I knew my tickets arrived by email and we were all go.

Being a flight-sim junkie and a Boeing fan in particular to say i was stoked to get to ride in the pointy end of a 737-300 (my personal favorite) would be the understatement of the millennium. Instructions arrived for where and when to meet, I turned up on time for one of the first times in my life, then we were through the security gate (skipping the queue of course) and into the briefing room for prep for the flight.

Was fascinating to sit in on the flight preparation process being a fly on the wall as the guys worked diligently through fuel, passenger and freight loading, weather conditions and forecast, and how they would affect alternate airport selection. At the time of the flight we’d just had a non-stop week long storm all over the country and the flights were to be right in the middle of it. Miraculously winds seemed to calm a little on the morning of the flight, and you’d hardly know it was still blowing during push back, taxi, takeoff and climb out to the south.

The skipper politely but firmly asked for a quiet cockpit below 10,000’ on departure and the same when on approach so I did my best to stick to the plan and bite my tongue, sitting quietly taking it all in with a huge and no doubt stupid looking grin across my face. Taking off is a buzz back in the cabin anyway right but it’s a whole different perspective and thrill from the cockpit. We were relatively heavy with a full passenger load and enough fuel to return to the North Island if necessary but even so the sporty 737 was up and away in no time.

Cloud was blanketing the Auckland approach area at about 9,000’ so soon after breaking off the LENGU1A departure on runway 23L the skipper spotted a 737-sized hole in the cover which we slipped gracefully through (for passenger comfort of course) to a lovely clear blue expanse of sky above which we remained in till cruise and all the way down the west coast of both Islands.

Though we were heading into a brisk sou’wester, and had a fierce jet-stream below at one point, we made pretty good time tracking the upper airways to pass near New Plymouth, to the west of Nelson then down over the southern alps for a top of descent near Mt Riley.

As we passed the northern tip of the South Island the guys pointed out an approaching aircraft on the TCAS traffic warning system. A few moments later we spotted the company 733 on a parallel track 1000’ above us heading back in the opposite direction to Auckland. It arced silently by in the distance with the morning sun glimmering off the hull, vanishing out of view to the north as quickly as it had appeared.

I was able to listen along to ATC radio comms via the jump-seat headset as the crew were passed from Auckland departures, tower and approach then the various regional Christchurch control sectors as we headed south, and finally to Queenstown tower on approach there.

The approach into Queenstown was via the rather technical RNAV 23Z approach which passes over Cromwell then weaves and winds along the Kawarau gorge descending gently along the way until finals for Queenstown. It’s a spectacular approach as a passenger as for much of it you are looking at the tops of mountains that are above you as the aircraft is descending along the gorge. From the cockpit the view was simply amazing. I think I just sat there mouth open or grinning like a schoolboy for most of it. It sure is a tough day at the office for these guys when the weathers like that.

Got to learn a lot from the crew about the RNAV capability (this approach cannot be hand-flown) and the limitations and history of the system. Very cool stuff which saves a huge number of missed approaches when operating in reduced visibility conditions at Queenstown. On this day however there were few clouds and very scattered, much to the skippers dismay, I’m sure he was hoping it would clag in to give me an impression of the feel and tension of flying a low visibility approach in such hostile terrain.

On the ground in Queenstown I also got to go on the walk-around inspection with the first officer wearing one of those super fashionable fluro-vests. The tarmac was warm, the air was full of the smell of jet fuel, the APU was still roaring at the back of the aircraft, and the aircraft surfaces glistening in the bright central Otago sunshine, which all meant it was complete and fantastic sensory overload, and another nice touch on the whole experience. I did my best to listen in as the F/O explained the elements and states he was looking for, and did lots of head-nodding and pretending to look like I knew what he was talking about.

After a slight delay with refueling we were back in the seat, paperwork signed off, security doors closed, passengers in place, and we were pushing back for the start-up and return to Auckland. Takeoff from QN was even sprightlier than before with engines uprated a little and packs off due to heavy load and local environment. The 737 leapt into the air and climbed purposefully out to the west up and over Frankton then turning on the climb around Kelvin Heights to double back over the airfield before joining the track back to the North Island.

The return leg was another dream experience for me, getting to watch out for other procedures I’d missed on the way down, listening in on the ATC conversations a little more intently, and to hear a little more from the guys about their chosen career, their flying histories, impact on lifestyle and family and their near term prospects given the imminent retirement of the 737 airframe and movement of staff to the A320 platform.

Being the simming uber-nerd that I am I kept the guys busy with questions and luckily for me they were more than happy to answer, and then some. Was thrilled to discover the panels are very well modeled in the simulator as compared to the real thing so was great to see some familiar processes going on, and to learn as much as I could about some others in the 1:45 or so of flight time per leg.

I got so much out of the experience its hard to know what and how much to write about it so I figure I’ll keep it pretty brief. I have to acknowledge the obvious though, that it was a huge privilege to get to fly these two legs with the crew. In these days of heightened security, and time-poor and competitive professional and service demands there really aren’t many opportunities like this available now.

To the crew that hosted me on the day, your guys are awesome!. Kiwis are well served by our national airline, should be proud of how well if operates and fares in the modern age of global airline competition, and if you two are anything to go by we’re in bloody great hands when we do choose to fly. Thanks so much guys.

It has to be said that we are pretty stoked to have ended up at Turoa for a couple of days skiing on what is their biggest EVER recorded snow-base, currently 4.5m…. or to put a little more emphasis on the statistic…

FOUR POINT FIVE BLOODY METERS OF SNOW!!!

Christ it was good fun these last couple of days, a clear blue sky day mostly on Tuesday, a bit cloudy since then but how the hell can you complain about visibility when you’ve got this friggin awesome snow base underneath the skis. For most north-island skiers its a bloody struggle to get through fresh powder, especially when the entire bloody field is covered in the stuff. Funny tho, it never seems to be a chore to have to get back on your feet and dust off a covering of dry powder. Never ceases to bring a smile to your face, and its a crack-up seeing someone else wipe-out in it and do a disappearing act.

Actually had the day off today, thats what comes with approaching your 5th decade I guess. No more getting up there at 9am every day and skiiing till you drop at 4pm. Christ its great fun, I just love the winter trip rolling around each year. Such a buzz, almost everyone on the mountain is fizzing with excitement, you hear people whooping it up, not coz they’re trying to annoy or impress you, its coz they’re so stoked to be in this amazing alpine environment.

As you can probably pickup, I’m basically having a great break.

What sprang to mind, especially being the first week of May, was memories of goin duck-shooting with my granddad Wilfred Stringer (or Willy as everyone knew him). When I was about ten years old I started shooting with him every season. A couple of years earlier I’d begun shooting with my Father and his brother on one of the swamps near Ohaupo but I think I turned out to be too much of a liability for them. It was a bloody dangerous access-way wading out across mud flats in the pitch black to get to their maimai, plus I’m a hopeless shot and having three guns in one posse just ain’t right.

So it was that after a year or so I was dispatched for subsequent seasons down the road a little to the convivial lake front spot that Willy shot from.

We could park the car and walk down a nice solid farm race to a paddock near the lake, duck under the electric fence and creep silently across the dry grass to the waters edge, and calmly and safely slip up the gangway and into the posse. There was no risk of falling into the water or being drowned in the mud by slipping off the make-shift death-trap manuka gang-plank down at the swamp that Dad shot at.

The thing I loved about shooting with Willy didn’t have anything to do with actually shooting ducks. It really didn’t matter too much to him or I exactly how many ducks we bagged during the day. Some days we’d shoot a few each, on others maybe none. The beauty of it was just sitting in the maimai, just me and my pop, him quietly telling me endless hard-case stories about shooting days gone by, things that happened on the farm, horses he was gonna bet on, birds and wildlife and plants we could see from the posse and me sitting there greedily taking it all in.

Some days the weather would be like it was today. Clear blue skies and a warm sun striking the cold early morning lake, steam lifting lazily off the surface of the water. Pukekos screeching at one another around the lakes edge, and the occasional plane in the distance taking off from Rukuhia airport.

On those days there wasn’t a hope in hell of shooting a Duck, but we simply didn’t care. The two of us would sit there in our warm dry socks and gumboots, sip away at the thermos of hot tea, eat the roast-beef and pickle sandwiches Nan had prepared the night before, and ponder the fortunes tomorrow’s shooting might bring.

Ahh..the simple life. Good memories

Well its all over, the V8 supercars event has been and gone from Hamilton, and thank God coz I really dont think all this drinking during the day for three days malarky is sustainable for old folks like me any more.

What a bloody awesome event!!!

I took Friday off, and being the late starter that I am made my way round to Vike’s by about 11am. He had a pre-poured Rum-n-coke waiting patiently for me, we gargled a couple of those and hit the pavement for the short walk across the bridge to Frankton. Friday was practice day, no racing, but you wouldnt have known it based on the noise on the track and the number of punters in the stands.

Saturday and Sunday were race days, and apart from the well advertised big boy V8 Supercars class there was also a bunch of other awesome support events. NZ V8s, Porsches, Minis, Toyota single seaters, and in between loads of petrol-head targetted entertainment like drag-cars, stunt motorbikes and of course lycra clad grid girls and dancers.

Kym was keen on the GT3 Porches (fast, sexy, expensive to crash) coz Mitre10 Mega sponsors young Daniel Gaunt who did well finishing in the top 10 in all three races over the weekend with a respectable 3rd-overall for the event.

I was keener on the Grid-girls. I forgot to take my binoculars on Saturday but put them to good use on Sunday as far as critiquing the outfits and haircuts the girls were presenting. Vike, Woodster and I took a number of glancing blows from Kym when caught out being less than subtle. Apparently grunting and poking each other in the ribs and pointing with one hand while holding binos with the other is not acceptable adult behavior.

When it was all over on Sunday night I actually felt kinda bummed out, like when you leave a multi-day music festival, or head home from a great holiday or someit. But the thing that picked me up again was planning how to tackle the event next year when it rolls back into town. One dilemma is deciding whether or not to tear yourself away from the track action to check out the stalls, demos and stuff outside the racing itself. No regrets how time was split this year, but may check out more of the off-track action next year.

Like most lads growing up in NZ at the time I played Rugby as a kid. At primary school we charged about in bare feet all through winter skating across thick frost with feet so numb you couldn’t feel them. At intermediate age and for the 1st couple of years of high-school I played club-rugby for Ohaupo.

For one reason or another (mostly alcohol and selfish leisure time pursuits) by the time I left school I just kinda lost interest in getting up early on the weekends, practising in the dark in the cold winter, and sliding about in the mud getting dirty and injured.

And in the decades since I last played a game (actually I did play a few in London in the early 90′s) I just haven’t really felt the tug or need to identify as strongly with a sport that seems to obsess so many that don’t even play the bloody thing.

Don’t get me wrong (actually feel free if you must) but I do love to watch a good test match. I get along to a few NPC and Super-whatevers a season, and I scream and yell along with mates in sheds and lounge-rooms every month or so.

It’s just that… I honestly couldn’t give more than a couple of shits about the All Blacks losing the world cup.

I’m not disappointed in the players especially, I don’t hate the French, I don’t want to kill the ref, I don’t care whether the coaches (whoever they are) resign or get sacked, I don’t care about rotation, etc etc etc…

This now means of course that I will have to wear a titanium-strengthened cod-piece everywhere I go in Hamilton in case I get kicked in the nuts (yes Woody/Vike, I’m on to you!!!).

But so be it. Life goes on for Christ’s sake.