Higher Learning
Nelson Aviation College is quietly taking Motueka to the world. Alastair Paulin of the Nelson Mail goes along for the ride with one of the many international pilots earning their wings in the skies above the town.
Three thousand feet above Motueka, Mohamed Al-Mahroqi stalls the Cessna 172. As the engine noise fades, the plane's nose tips and I see Tasman Bay rushing up to meet us. Mohamed quickly pushes the throttle forward the nose lifts and the aircraft levels out.
Flight instructor Kayne Meijer turns to me, flashing a wide grin made more Top Gun-like by his reflecting aviator shades.
"Nice and docile," he says gently, as if pacifying a baby. Perhaps I look like I'm on the verge of tears. Kayne and Mohamed share the easy smiles of men for whom stalling aircraft high above the sea is just a day at the office, albeit an office with an incredible view.
For Kayne, that's exactly what it is. "It's better than sitting in a cube with walls around you," he says.
After two years of study at Motueka's Nelson Aviation College, Mohamed is already a qualified commercial pilot. This practice flight is part of his training to gain his instrument rating, the qualification he needs to fly commercial jetliners.
Mohamed is from Oman, an oil-rich country that borders Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. He came to Motueka in March 2007 to become a pilot, and is one of 19 Omanis (and six Mohameds) studying at the college.
The Omanis are the largest group among the 32 international students at the college, which has trained pilots from all over the world, including Saudi Arabia, Mali, Vanuatu, Libya and Finland. In recent years, most of the international students have come from Japan.
Mohamed also looked at flight schools in Britain, Canada and Australia. He settled on Motueka partly because of cost it is cheaper than Australia and Britain and about the same as Canada but mostly because of the college's reputation and high graduation rates on independent flying tests. He heard about it from a work colleague whose son had studied there.
Giles Whitney, one of the college's four directors and its head of visual flight rules, says it has agents in Japan and Oman. Penny McKay, the college's chief executive, made a promotional trip there several years ago. But he attributes the large numbers of Omanis to connections between graduates and current students. "In their culture, word of mouth is very important."
Based on Mohamed's good experience, his 19-year-old nephew Ahmed Al-Harthy started at the college last month.
Mohamed scotches my theory that the rise in Middle Eastern students is a response to post-9/11 restrictions on American flight schools, telling me that United States pilot qualifications are not valid in the Middle East.
At 29, Mohamed has already had a career, running the financial side of large engineering projects for an Omani petroleum company. He typifies the trend toward more mature students, says Giles.
Mohamed had relatives who worked for Gulf Air and caught the flying bug early. "I was always fascinated by aircraft how can this machine stay in the air?" he says.
He hopes to be accepted into Oman Air's pilot programme later this year, furthering the link between Motueka and the fast-growing airline. Of the 19 pilots in the programme's last intake, eight were trained here.
He says he is about 75 per cent sure he will get a slot, which would mean more training on commercial jetliners in Jordan. "It's like a car; if you drive a small car, you need additional training to drive a truck."
The airline recently ordered about a dozen new aircraft, and Mohamed believes they will need pilots. He does not know what the starting salary is, but "it's very good pay, and it's tax-free. Plus, you get to see the world".
He loves to fly, and happily for me, since I am his passenger exudes an easy confidence about his ability. "It's not as hard as it looks."
Adjusting to Motueka was more difficult. Mohamed grew up in Oman's capital Muscat, a city of glittering high-rises and low-lying traditional white buildings that is home to about 1 million of Oman's 2.5 million people.
Motueka struck him as very small, and he had a hard time adjusting to driving on the left. While a group of Omanis does attract some stares in the town, Mohamed has experienced no problems because he looks different or because of his Muslim faith.
Mohamed says the Omanis, like other ethnic groups at the college, tend to stick together. Giles adds that the way they look after each other helps new students assimilate, recalling a time when he arrived on a Saturday to find a group of Omanis sharing a home-cooked meal on the floor of the college kitchen.
Kiwi food took Mohamed some getting used to as well. He misses mandazi, an East African doughnut, as well as his favourite dish, mandi a rice and lamb mixture similar to an Indian biryani. The local Indian restaurant "does the job for now", but he admits that at first, its fare did not seem like any Indian food he recognised from his university years in India.
International students tend to stay in accommodation at the college when they first arrive but quickly find local flats and boarding.
With an enrolment of about 90 students paying about $70,000 for certification courses, and 21 fulltime staff, the college is a major contributor to Motueka's economy but one that, being self-contained at the Motueka Aerodrome, tends to be low-profile.
Perhaps a better way to explain it is to say that much of the college's work, happening high above Motueka, does not register with residents. Giles estimates that as much as 80 per cent of the air traffic over Motueka is from the college. The surrounding airspace is divided into seven flight zones so the instructors can ensure no one area gets buzzed too often.
Flying is not all glamorous. The first thing Mohamed does before our practice flight is clean the windscreen, as squished bugs can be mistaken for approaching aircraft. Then he checks the lights, flaps, ailerons and propeller for any faults, and takes a sample of the fuel, holding it up against a white background to check its clarity, as if it were wine.
He checks the technical logs to see if previous pilots have noted any handling faults, and to make sure maintenance is up to date, then gives me the all-clear to clamber in.
With headphones on, I can hear the chatter of other pilots as they tell each other what they are doing. "Motueka traffic, I'm climbing to 1500 feet." Motueka airspace is uncontrolled, meaning the pilots have to be alert to all the chatter to know what other aircraft are doing and adjust their moves accordingly, rather than being instructed by an air traffic controller.
There are several other aircraft nearby but once we get a clear path, we are soon speeding down the runway. At 100kmh, we lift off and climb at 600ft (182 metres) per minute as we follow the Motueka River to its mouth. At 2500ft (762m), the air cools, and once we are over Tasman Bay, Kayne gives Mohamed his first direction. "Make a medium turn back toward Kaiteriteri."
He guides Mohamed through a series of medium and steep turns, and after a 360-degree turn at 100 knots, tells him: "That's perfect. Are you sure you haven't flown this plane before?"
While I'm digesting this disconcerting news, Kayne points out the glorious vista below us. "The best part of flying around here is the views over the Abel Tasman."
Then it is on to practising stalls, where the engine doesn't actually stop but is slowed to a point where the aircraft starts to fall, in order to practise recovery manoeuvres.
I hear the engine slow and quieten. A warning buzzer sounds, and as the plane's nose dips, my stomach sinks before Mohamed pulls us back up.
Mohamed finishes with a series of landings and takeoffs, circling above Mytton Heights to prepare for the approaches. From above, I can see that the college is laid out like a propeller, with two "blades" housing the classrooms and the other two accommodation.
As Mohamed taxis back to the college, Kayne judges his final landing. "Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Just roll in and gently brake."
We all smile as we climb out of the plane, aware that not many people get to have this much fun at work.
Soon after that flight, Mohamed aced his final instruments test, a three-hour flight that took him from Nelson to Wellington and back, wearing the "hood", a long-peaked cap that restricted his vision to just the aircraft's instruments.
He's now back in Oman, enjoying home-cooked food but not looking forward to the temperatures of a Middle Eastern summer. He'll miss New Zealand's snow, which he had never seen before, and some of the friends he made during his two years at the college.
Maybe he'll pass them in the sky at 30,000 feet some day.
