“Other than death, what’s the worst that can happen?” Steve Braunias goes flying

“This is just about the greatest feeling in the world.” Photo / 123rf

OPINION

Fletcher took me flying. I caught two buses into the city on Tuesday morning and then boarded the southbound train to Takanini from platform 1 at Britomart station – the transport options of a man who never learned to drive, yet who thinks of himself as a great speedster on the open road when he rides an e-scooter. For the most part I walk the Earth. I am a wandering monk, a philosopher with a light footprint – I got out at Takanini station and walked to the nearby shops, where I studied a mural of planes at the nearby Ardmore Aerodrome. One of the planes seemed to be hurtling to the ground. I thought: fancy that, a death foretold.

Fletcher has written a best-selling book. From the Pilot’s Seat: Kiwi Adventurers in the Sky, published by Penguin, is a collection of his interviews with New Zealand pilots. It includes some very exciting reading, such as the story told by top-dressing pilot John Martin who suffered burns to 70 per cent of his body after crashing his Cessna near Te Puke in 1989, and the story told by flight instructor Carlton Campbell who was teaching a student to land a floatplane on Lake Wakatipu but the student panicked, submarined the plane, and the impact amputated the instructor’s fingers. I thought: I love reading stories like these but prefer not to live them.

Fletcher’s wife, novelist Kirsten McKenzie, is a friend. She mentioned his book and emailed, “If you’re interested, Fletch said he’d be keen to take you up for some aerobatics.” I was interested. He got in touch, and I texted, “Hoping to be given control for like 5 seconds if that’s possible.” He replied, “Yes easy.” I replied, “Woah.” He picked me up in his red Fiat at Takanini station. I said, “Mr McKenzie, I presume.” He drove through country roads to Ardmore. The aerodrome was as 1950s as the word aerodrome: lots of grass, timber sheds, space. A front was coming in, very dark clouds bringing rain, but he said not to worry about it, and gestured at blue sky out towards the Manukau harbour. I thought: I better tell him I can’t even drive.

Fletcher said in response, “Oh.” He was quiet for a bit, but regained his composure and his chatty manner when he parked up, walked inside a hangar, and touched, actually caressed, the wings of his white Citabria aircraft. It looked very light. “It’s very light,” he said, and talked about its metal tubing, and wood surface. He talked about things like the throttle. None of it made sense. He mentioned the sick bag several times. I thought: “That makes sense.”

Fletcher was a good guy and I trusted him 100 per cent. The only problem was that I didn’t know if I was good guy and I have never been able to put my trust in myself not to say or do the wrong thing, to generally freak out, to be a total drag. I sat behind him in the two-seater. He taxied on to the runway. He said we would do a circuit, and land. If I didn’t want to go back up, that was okay. I thought: “Other than death, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Fletcher lifted the plane up and it was actually really great, nothing to it, a bit of a wind gust that grabbed at the plane now and then. We did the circuit and kept on going – there was Rangitoto, there was the millky-tea water of the Firth of Thames, and then we turned south towards Mercer and there was the glint of the Waikato River, and there I was, given control, flying the Citabria over the Hunua Ranges. God almighty. The control stick was terribly sensitive and the slightest nudge shot the plane down like an arrow; an outright moment of panic brought the plane hurtling down towards the ground just like the mural of a death foretold. But Fletcher remained calm. “Might want to bring it up,” he said. I thought: “This is just about the greatest feeling in the world.”

Fletcher performed a few aerobatics including a loop, and a barrel roll, both of which meant flying upside down with pressure of 2Gs. Terrifying. But no need for the sick bag. The whole thing was a piece of cake. He handed back the controls a couple more times. The front had cleared and it was a beautiful day for flying. I flew a plane on Tuesday. It was good. I thought: “Maybe I should get around to learning to drive.”