'God on a 30m rope': Behind the scenes with the people who will save your life this summer

They’ll have reached an icy edge, and the end of their endurance.

The weather will be appalling, their situation terrifying.

A speck in the mountains, all their desperate anger, and regrets, and fear will amount for nothing compared to the maelstrom that’s overwhelmed them, their cries for help stripped away by the wind.

God on a 30m rope. Wānaka Search and Rescue members hanging on a strop underneath a helicopter during an exercise.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

And then...

And then, says Bill Day, chairman of Wānaka Search and Rescue (SAR), this is what happens.

“We get the message, see where it is, and one of our guys, who’s just walked off a building job - 10 minutes later he’s here, and 30 minutes later he’s on the glacier.

“We put him on the end of a strop, and this guy who’s never going to see anywhere else in his life coz he’s going to die, suddenly sees God on a 30m rope under a helicopter.

“Our guy comes in, lands next to him, detaches himself from the helicopter strop, attaches himself to this guy trapped on the slope, calls in the helicopter again, attaches himself, and a few minutes later they’ve landed, and they’re getting him in the helicopter.

“That’s not atypical for us. These guys are not normal.”

Wānaka Search and Rescue chairman Bill Day, flies his helicopter during an exercise.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

Day describes search and rescue volunteers as “quintessential good bastards who get out of warm beds on stormy nights to go and look for strangers.”

For someone who made his name as the head of Seaworks, a hugely successful marine services company, the mountains might seem strange territory for Day.

And that’s what he thought a decade ago when he was invited by local SAR legend, former cop Aaron Nicholson, to join the organisation in Wānaka.

But Day soon realised he had skills that could help - business stuff, people stuff, financial stuff.

Everyone brings something to the party, from specialist alpine ability, to canyoning expertise, to bush knowledge, to cliff rescue skills, to tech and logistics nous at operations base.

Wānaka Search and Rescue members during an exercise.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

And they all come from somewhere different: Electricians, mountain guides, gardeners, physiotherapists, builders, shop assistants, pest trappers, hotel owners, tree-trimmers - you name it.

“There are a whole lot of alpha people here,” says Day. “But they’re actually all good bastards.”

These are the people who will drop everything this summer to answer emergency calls from those who are out in the back-country, out of their depth.

Beyond personal satisfaction, there’s no reward, and scant public recognition.

Often, even the SAR members’ families have little understanding of what they do, and the risks they face.

Day remembers flying the parents of one of their members to Lochnagar, a remote alpine lake, where Wānaka SAR had been involved in a recent rescue.

“And we opened a bottle of whisky, and I showed them the photos of what Davie had done.

“And his mother had tears running out of her eyes. And a week later, she died.”

A helicopter observation team during a search.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

Wānaka SAR stalwart Gary Dickson says it’s pretty simple why he does it.

“I’m a mountaineer. If something happened to me out there, I want someone decent to come and get me. And I’ve got a whole lot of mates in the same boat.

“I’m not one of those people that sit there and go, ‘Blah, blah, someone should do something about that.’ I hate those people that moan and don’t offer a solution.

“You do something about it. And if you’re going to have a solution, you might as well be part of it.”

Things weren’t always so positive with Wānaka SAR, however.

Dickson remembers how volunteers used to just turn up with their own gear; they operated on $1000 a year from police; and at one stage in the late 90s, they were going to be disbanded.

“And we said, do we want that to happen? No.”

Wānaka Search and Rescue members prepare equipment before a search.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

So “a bunch of mountain-guidey, climby types” took over training, and a hugely successful fundraising operation resulted in a new base on Wānaka’s edge, filled with all the equipment volunteers need.

Dickson has never had to be rescued himself, but knows it could happen.

“You’re up against all these variables with nature, right. There’s a shit-load going on.

“And that’s why we like it - otherwise it would be boring as shit, wouldn’t it?”

While things have changed for the better in Wānaka, with great community support, gear, and facilities, Dickson says this is what’s needed if people are going to be saved.

“There’s no such thing as easy. If you think it’s going to be, it’ll turn into a shit fight.”

A canyon team member during an exercise in Mt Aspiring National Park.
DANIEL CLEARWATER / SUPPLIED

To this end, Dickson raises the idea that SAR members should be paid, as they are in some locations overseas.

At present, the only people who get paid are the helicopter pilot, and the police who are part of rescue operations.

And it’s not just rescues that volunteers give up their time for - there’s extensive training involved, which Bill Day likens to “sharpening the sword so you can do it better next time.”

But in the meantime, regardless of recompense, Dickson says he’ll carry on being involved.

“Oh hell yeah. Not lying down yet. Not dead.”

A canyon team member prepares to descend a stream during an exercise.
PATRICK TIMM / SUPPLIED

Of course, not every SAR mission ends up saving someone.

“There are some really sad ones, definitely,” says volunteer Jana Dodds. “Often you just retrieve a body.

“But even that, bringing someone home, is so valuable.

“My husband’s a hunter, and if something ever happened to him out there, I’d hope he’d come back to me.”

Dodds says you have to be empathetic to victims, but also have to be able to deal with inevitable tragedy and sadness.

“Nobody makes you do this. But the first time you do it is a steep learning curve - coz it’s never going to be what you think it’s going to be.”

A Search and Rescue member is winched from the bush in Mt Aspiring National Park.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

On a high shelf in the Wānaka SAR incident management room, a room ringed with photos of past operations, whiteboards, awards, and high-vis jackets, is a thick black book.

It’s the Remembrance Book, and it contains the names and stories of dozens of people who didn’t make it home alive, but the Wānaka SAR team brought back to their families.

Each page tells a little about the victim, where they died, and the rescue effort - serving as “a piece of history on which we can reflect“, an inscription notes.

“It’s important,” says Day.

“It’s a part of who we are, and what we are. It’s significant.

“We’ve only got one person out there that we haven’t found, and they’re in the bottom of Lake Hāwea - a kayaker. But everyone else we’ve brought home.”

The Remembrance Book at Wānaka Search and Rescue’s base.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

Just outside the SAR base is a rhododendron bush that flowers in spring.

It’s in memory of 15-year-old Dion Latta, whose death still lies heavily in the memories of Wānaka’s SAR team.

On New Year’s Day 2012, Latta was swimming in the Motatapu Gorge near Wānaka when his foot became wedged in a rock cleft at the top of a 3.5m waterfall.

Latta was left hanging upside down, with his face in a pocket of air behind the waterfall allowing him to breathe, but the force of the water meaning he couldn’t bend up to try to free his foot.

More than 15 Wānaka SAR members raced to help - their third rescue that day - and spent three hours in the water with Latta, offering comfort and assistance as they tried to save him.

After considering amputating Latta’s foot, they formed a human barrier to dam the river, allowing a rescuer to dive down and release Latta’s foot.

Latta was flown to Dunedin Hospital, but died there from hypothermia.

Mt Aspiring National Park is the backyard for Wanaka SAR members, and the location of many of their rescues.
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES

“It was one of the most tragic things we ever did,” recalls Wānaka SAR life member Phil Melchior. “And there are still people who are involved who are getting counselling, or it’s raw.”

When Latta’s family asked if they could place a plaque at the SAR base, remembering Dion, Melchior says they feared the building could end up looking like a crematorium, and instead suggested planting a tree.

So now, the rhododendron is a reminder to SAR members every time they walk past - about Latta, and about the importance of their job for families, whatever the outcome.

Wānaka Search and Rescue team prepare for another exercise
MIKE WHITE / SUNDAY STAR-TIMES