Remembering William Arthur (Bill) Black

Early Queenstown morning, bloody cold; bolting the ‘Tyler’ side mount into the same side as the pilot, as usual I would’ve been displaying an overtly fussy and nervous disposition. Bill, the pilot to be, was already the older guy in the hangar, more-wise and more considered than any of us. In the time it took to put the mount in (maybe one hour) he had made it clear that he was the captain of the ship (and that wasn’t ever going to change) and he knew a thing or two about this filming business and how excited they can get… and we’ll be having none of that yelling and demanding stuff on board this ship, he said gently. I really liked him from that moment onwards.

He went on to explain how a loose glove or fancy scarf could blow out the open door and take out the back rotor, he checked our work and his prep and checked again (and again) before we took off – check, double check and then check again. From this day onwards I’ve always gaffer taped the lens hood so it would never get taken off by the slipstream, zipped up my pockets; secured those spare batteries.

Helicopters and film work have become a mainstay in the South Island. It’s dangerous work.

Bill Black contributed hugely to the TV commercial scene in Te Anau and Queenstown. When we worked together in the early 90’s he already was that guy who came from a different era, 1960’s deer recovery, live animal capture - the likes we will never see again. Flying skills honed in the South Island bush and mountain peaks. Unforgiving, dangerous. Not a world for the reckless or disordered operator.

Aerial shooting is dangerous at the best of times, even more so in the alpine terrain of the South Island. You had to look up and respect a man who had been on so many rescue missions in this unforgiving terrain and relied on more than just good luck to come back in one piece, more than 500 rescues in total. Amazing for a pilot that was mostly self-taught in a time when stretching the limits of the equipment was what a bloke in the New Zealand bush did and then there was the conservation work, the heli-ski industry and tourism. And a volunteer fireman. The record says 25,572 hours clocked with the collective up; for a time he held the world record for the most hours airborne in a helicopter.

“There’s a lot of noise around a chopper but that doesn’t mean you have to ‘slam the doors!’” - Bill was gruff and gentle and a wonderful human being.

With Bill in the pilot seat you could use words like ‘fly this shot in a dynamic manner’ – ‘we need to turn this thing on its end to get around’ – and he would do just that yet you were still within and on top of a stable platform and then he would want to know how we could make it better… I think I developed a language because of Bill Black’s need to get the shot right and for me to tell him what I wanted to achieve.

Meticulous with his preparation and not to be harried by us flash film guys that wanted just one more or could we leave now to get the light, but most importantly the way that Bill involved himself in the shot and contributed to making it better and then even better still.

On one occasion he put the aircraft into a steep dive and flew flat over a spur, circled back and paused for a moment. See that clearing he said, that’s where the first live deer capture was achieved – he might’ve mentioned a date in 1967 when Tim Wallis was running the deer meat business. Shooters out the side door, net guns, steep recovery, narrow gorges. Bill was a pioneer and flying skills adapted from live deer recovery were perfect for film work.

Later that day we dropped down into another clearing by a small hut. 44 gallon drums of aviation gas were stored in the open. He open the top of one but before he placed the pumping mechanism into it to refuel the helicopter he reached under the back seat and pulled out a stick, and then from a click-clack container he pulled a small cloth which he wrapped around the stick, he push the stick into the drum and then inspected it. He could see I was looking on curious, I asked the obvious. Checking for water in the fuel. It’ll put the wick out and then you’re into the bush, I asked him how many times he’s found water? – ‘Just the once’, was his laconic reply but you only get one mistake and it’s all over eh? – I did like his super cautious approach to flying and anything that added to the safe levitation was top draw in my world.

We did some spectacular work that day. Some of the best aerial shooting I’ve ever achieved. Flying seamlessly from valley to valley across mountain saddles filming climbers below – flying from one wind direction to the opposing in one smooth move, great flying from a master craftsman. Bill would talk the aircraft through the manoeuvres, everything on board was personal and close, even the mechanical device was given praise and reward for good work done. Keeping the machine level when hanging out the side door was vital to keep the rotors out of the top of shot on steep turns. Bill was the absolute master of this flying style. I would say the one and only.

There’s always an older guy in your life to tell you stuff that you need to get through the shit of the next bit. That person to say those things when they needed to be said and to settle the flow of youthfully induced ego and outrageous behaviour and like a man swept away in a flooded river you grab at all solid ground as the water sweeps you towards peril, a steady hand reaches out and grabs you and pulls you to safe ground - he might say something like – ‘and don’t slam the doors!’ – Not so much gruff but to the point. In the scheme of it all I spent very little time with Bill Black, a few weeks spread over a few years, which is way out of proportion to the wisdom I still carry that he instilled in me.

We put our lives in their hands. It would be fair to mention that the earlier days of aerial camera work had a certain gung-ho element to the execution of some of the shots. The Tyler and Magnum side mount was the weapon of choice… the camera operator sat just on the edge of the machine and on the edge of the slipstream. We were mainly chasing cars across the South Island tundra (damn it, if someone hadn’t put these white posts down the side of the road we could get lower you know?) or flying through the Alps (so cold the camera would freeze).

We got to the end of the shooting process and landed - our day complete.

Bill and I viewed the final hero shot; I happened to mention a small thing that could make it better in that ‘if only’ kind of way (thinking that it would be if only in an ideal world). Bill asked to see the shot again, then again. He said I see what you mean, let’s do it again, I know a better spot he said. I was blown away by the commitment and the professionalism, so in falling light we redid the shot at a slightly different location (it might’ve been inside the national park – who’s looking? – nothing was said)… It was perfect.

Checking for water in the fuel – you only get one chance at this. The lessons were not complex, nor were they delivered with any overt wisdom, yet they have stuck with me and have informed many decisions I have made since. Thank you Bill, you shared a part of yourself that cut through the bullshit of the film business and put us in a place of learning and beyond our self-importance.

So long Bill Black. RIP. Pilot extraordinaire. Legend.

Waka Attewell

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I first encountered Bill Black while working for Harris Mountains Heliski in the 1990s - there was always a little buzz when we heard Blackie was flying up form Te Anau to work with us for the day, he was immensely popular within the Heliski industry and with good reason - clients loved to be flying with such an experienced and notable pilot and for his part Blackie would often work the crowd by giving them little zeroG thrills passing over humps and ridges with that big grin on his mug.

Heli-guides loved the way he could effortlessly deliver them to postage stamp sized landing zones above their selected runs but it was more than that - there was a sense that Blackie had your back if things got a bit interesting - his rescue career was proof enough of that.

Once when heli-skiing in the Branches station (behind Queenstown) we were caught out by the weather, a sudden snow storm had engulfed the mountains and we were stranded on the hill. More than 50 people with no real way to get to safety. Blackie lead from the front and in near white out conditions he flew his chopper up river beds and ravines meters off the ground so he could stay in visual contact with the creek bed or rocks and finally one by one he was able to locate and extract the groups to safety.

I was in the last group to be rescued - we had skied down to a frozen riverbed and painted the snow with luminous red paint so Blackie could see the surface with enough clarity to land, on the way out virtually all I could see was white, I still have no idea how he did this but you had the sense it was just another day at the office for him.

Another season and this time a stunning spring day - I had misjudged the pickup spot for our run - we had skied too low - and the only option was to pick up from a little mini shelf I had to dig in the wet snow; Blackie bought his machine in and with the grace of a metallic ballet dancer placed the tip of one skid into the completely inadequate shelf I had dug. The Punters got the thrill of their lives having to clamber one by one into a hovering helicopter and when I had the skis loaded I jumped in next to Blackie fully expecting to get an ear full but as he peeled away from the slope he was wearing that same huge grin on his face - Blackie was enjoying this, it was what he was made for.

Years later I has the pleasure to fly with Bill Black as a cameraman, we were shooting aerials for the NZTB using the Tyler side mount - this is before the days when a helicopter shoot meant sitting at a control panel drinking a latte, to fit the Tyler mount both doors come off the pilots side of the machine and the mount goes in the back behind the pilot.

Forward looking shots can only be achieved by the pilot flying sideways and the cameraman panned hard to the left, at a certain point you cannot pan any further left lest the machine comes into shot, at that moment it’s all on the pilot to find a bit more pedal to get you the angle, Blackie was a master of this and during every shot he would be verbalising his requirements directly to his machine as if this was the secret sauce to getting more pedal. “Get ‘round ya bastard, easy now, easy now, not like that! - get back around ya ******* ”.

Blackie had a real eye for this kind of flying and was a fountain of inspiration for shot ideas, above Lake Wakatipu he even took us directly through the smoke trail of the TSS Earnslaw as he thought it would look great on film - and it did.

A big part of me loves the way that after all of these adventures, all of the danger, all of the selflessness Blackie passed away of natural causes while in retirement, that says something. Today writing this I can still see his contagious grin - RIP mate.

Simon Baumfield