The Herald's New Zealander of the year.

By WARREN GAMBLE

Hovering over the tiny body of a missing toddler, Cliff Jones had a dreadful flashback. The Turangi search and rescue police officer had been here before; perched in a helicopter over the face-down body of a youngster.

Despite a desperate resuscitation attempt, the boy died.

Jones thought he was looking at an awful repeat when Tranz Rail rescue pilot Pete Masters caught the barest glimpse of yellow in dense green bush on the foothills of Mt Ruapehu.

As the machine's downdraft flattened the thick vegetation, the men could see 2-year-old Jeanne Chavance face-down, arms flung forward, motionless.

"I thought: 'Why couldn't we have been given another half-hour to get to her?'"

The French toddler had been at the Whakapapa Holiday Park with her holidaying family. Just after 6.15pm on October 3 her two brothers ran slightly ahead on a bush track alongside the park. Within minutes Jeanne was lost in a freezing mountain night, temperatures falling to near-zero, compounded by bitterly cold winds, sleet and snow.

Cliff Jones had been half the island away, in a warm movie theatre in Porirua settling in to watch The Bourne Identity when his pager beeped.

He had been in Wellington at the national police college on a training course.

After his National Park police counterpart and volunteer members of the Turangi search and rescue team filled him in on the search for Jeanne, Jones made a snap decision.

He has still not seen the movie.

"I decided then I was off. I just thought I might be able to assist the guys because I knew they might be a bit short on the ground."

Driving through the night, he got to the search base at the Department of Conservation's Whakapapa office after 1am. Snow and sleet greeted him as he reached the mountain.

Out in the field, members of the Turangi, Taupo and other rescue teams were searching through the thick scrub without success.

As he helped the other search co-ordinators, Jones says he thought of the distress of Jeanne's parents, Anne-Marie and Daniel.

At 7am he was assigned with a DOC officer to the Taupo-based rescue helicopter which Masters flew into Whakapapa at daylight, the first break in the weather.

They flew down the Whakapapanui Track, near where Jeanne was last seen.

After 16 minutes flying, trying to peer through the bush, came that glimpse of yellow, the colour of Jeanne's jacket.

Jones was dropped on a rock bordering the Whakapapanui Stream 50m away, and had to fight his way back towards her.

"My foot hit the back of her leg trying to part the bushes and her head came bolt upright, and it was unbelievable.

"She's alive."

Jeanne called out "Maman!", and began speaking in rapid French as Jones picked her up from where she had fallen in between rocks, her feet in a small pool of water.

Her legs were freezing, but her warm, waterproof jacket protected her vital organs, and its hood, which possibly fell over her head when she stopped, saved her life.

"I could see Pete's face (in the helicopter above) and I was just punching the air.

"Honestly it was just one of the most exhilarating things that has happened to me."

The rescue was national news. Jeanne's front-page smile lifted spirits at a time when the death of another little girl, Teresa Cormack, was being replayed daily in the trial of the man later convicted of her murder, Jules Mikus.

Jones' way of telling it - straight but with colour rare for a policeman - made him a natural media focus.

The father of four touched a chord with his admission after Jeanne's rescue when he brought her back to base: "I didn't want to let her go, to be honest. I felt like she was mine, and that I had to look after her."

At the start of this interview he makes it clear he should not have been singled out in the rescue aftermath, saying it was the prize for all the work done by everyone that night. He does not claim to be doing anything other than helping get the job done.

"It is all about teamwork. It is not a one-man band. Mate, I am only one gazillionth of it, I am one hair on the head."

In itself Jeanne's rescue was all in a day's work. In himself Cliff Jones is an ordinary bloke, but he embodies many qualities New Zealanders prize. Tough yet caring, independent but ready to lend a hand. A rugged competence in the rugged heartland.

He represents the spirit of dedicated police officers and around 3000 volunteers nationwide who spend long, unpaid hours honing their search and rescue skills, often putting themselves on the line to get others out of the tightest spots.

They are ordinary people (in Turangi the 77 volunteers include forestry workers, sawmillers, prison officers, clerks, sports shop staff) with a passion for the great outdoors, for finding those caught in its often deceptive charms.

Senior Constable Jones, 38, 1.95m tall, has been the officer in charge of Turangi search and rescue teams for 10 years.

Colleagues says his unique contribution is his passion to get the systems and resources in place, often against financial and bureaucratic restraints, so the volunteer teams can do the job expertly.

Jones applied to the force with rugby-playing Wellington mates on a dare, but he says "meticulous screening", meant only he got through; the others became lawyers and one, an accountant.

He came north to Taupo in the late 1980s after the Wellington team policing unit he served in was disbanded.

He began relieving in Turangi, a town with a tough reputation, but found the work and the place could be rewarding.

On his second day he was involved in a search in the Tongariro National Park for two overdue hunters. The ground and air search found the two men - one had suffered a broken leg - and Jones found his calling.

Growing up on a Wairarapa farm had given him a love of the outdoors.

Working with a highly skilled team of volunteers, challenged by extremes of weather and terrain while trying to save lives: it was an addictive mix.

Senior Turangi volunteer Blake McDavitt was among those won over by Jones' enthusiasm. An experienced hunter and fisherman, he had been reluctant to join search and rescue teams because of what he then saw as their "Dad's Army" approach.

But he says Jones' innovative thinking, his professionalism, his drive to set up specialist groups like river rescue and cliff-face rescue teams, convinced him.

"He's a crazy bastard," says McDavitt. "He's one of those guys who's always thinking. I guess he's hyperactive to some extent."

The officer in charge of the neighbouring Taupo search and rescue team, Senior Constable Barry Shepherd, agrees.

"He's 110 per cent enthusiasm. Sometimes he's like a missile, you have to reprogramme him quite frequently. He's a good bugger."

Jones does not know how many rescues he has been involved in during the past decade - at least in the high hundreds.

The good days, like Jeanne, are balanced by those who die. The frantic rescue bid he recalled, hovering over Jeanne's body, was of a 3-year-old boy pulled from the Waimarino River. On the helicopter trip to Taupo there were promising signs, but the boy died in hospital.

"The family had been screaming at me to save him, save him, and I had to go and tell him we did not save him.

"You can do that as many times as you like, but it never gets easier."

One of the most desperate rescues came in September 2000 when a freak spring snow storm trapped Auckland father-and-son team John and Matt Painting in the Kaimanawa Ranges.

Rotorua search and rescue volunteer Brian Pickering, who by coincidence was walking the same track, stumbled across the pair in the blizzard and risked his life to stay with them overnight.

Jones co-ordinated the search with the area's expert volunteers. The first team turned back at 3.30am after two hours of crawling on hands and knees due to 80-knot winds. The second team reached the trio the morning after a 15-hour trek which should take five. All three suffered hypothermia.

Jones says the hardest part was telling Pickering the first team had to turn back - "just the desperation in his voice". Shortly after that cellphone contact was lost.

The rescue showed the value of the hundreds of hours of training, the courses Jones and McDavitt insist the volunteers undertake, and their team spirit.

"Cliffy is the sort of guy who keeps morale up," says McDavitt. "He is one of those guys it doesn't matter what the situation is, he will stay calm and present a feeling of confidence to people."

That rescue also highlighted the lack of extreme weather clothing for the volunteers. Police fund the transport and logistical support for rescues, but the budget does not stretch to specialist gear.

Undeterred, Jones came up with a monster fundraising auction. Turangi businesses and individuals pitched in and within weeks there was enough to buy the first of 27 sets of protective clothing.

Jones says he could not put in the time and effort without the support of his partner, former world champion rower Brenda Lawson.

The pair met in Wanganui, and have two boys, Lochie, 2, and 11-month-old Danyon, named after a family friend, Olympic champion swimmer Danyon Loader. Jones has two sons from his first marriage, Ryan, 12, and Connor, 9, making for a full and boisterous home during their visits.

The family have a rambling farmhouse at Pukawa Bay, overlooking the western shores of Lake Taupo. It is a work in progress, given the demands on their time.

Jones has recently switched from frontline police duties in Turangi to work in the commercial vehicle investigation unit, partly to spend more time with his young family. You get the impression that it is not enough to satisfy his thirst for action.

His search and rescue role is a paid part of his police work. He is the co-ordinator for incidents in his patch, covering some of the country's most extreme terrain, including parts of the Tongariro National Park and the Kaimanawa Forest Park.

His colleagues say he goes beyond the call of duty in training, fundraising, and developing the search and rescue teams.

"I enjoy the work and I enjoy the people I work with," says Jones. "They are people you would want coming for you if you were in trouble.

"We try to make a difference and we try to set up a system so that if one day it is my kids that are lost, or my friends' kids, or my mate, there will be people on it with the skills to find them."

Jones is always on call. On Christmas Day two years ago he was out at 6am running the successful search for a tramper lost in the Tongariro National Park.

This Christmas he has been warmed by a card from the Chavance family, who are still touring New Zealand. A photograph of young Jeanne holding a thank you sign was enclosed. The card says: "Jeanne and us are very glad to wish you all the best for 2003.

"Thanks to you we will have a very happy Christmas. Jeanne speaks often about you. She asks for the monsieur who found her."