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Testimonials

 Second Chance - by Adam Parer

On the afternoon of November the 16th 2009 my life changed forever, and like so many other people throughout NSW the Westpac Rescue helicopter played a crucial role in the experience. I will always be in its debt and eternally thankful that day the BAK helicopter plucked me out of a remote area north of Gulgong, NSW, and helped keep me alive. Hopefully that day in November marks an end to a period in my life that has been one of very mixed blessings.

I have also much good fortune; a great family, a career as a firefighter, and a passion for aviation. Ever since I can remember I’ve wanted to fly and it was this desire that has always filled my thoughts and free time. The paper airplanes soon became balsa wood models and later as an adult I leant to fly aircraft. But it was when I found hang gliding that I knew I had discovered the way to realise that lingering boyhood dream. Short of growing feathers this is as close as we come to being a bird. Unknown to me at the time it would also eventually lead me to the person who became my wife.

I was in Florida April 2001 when my life took this crucial turn. There competing in an international hang gliding event I met Lauren Deckel, the most incredible person I will ever meet. From the first split second it was a unique, special and mutual rapport that quickly developed over the following year. We completed each other in every way and our union in marriage was destined and the start of something big.

For a boisterous, outgoing and motivated couple it came as a shock when life didn’t start out so easy on us, in fact it seemed fraught with unexpected trials and trauma that never seemed to let up. On their own the problems were not unlike what everyone may have to endure once or twice in a lifetime but our run just kept on coming. There were moments when I could see our future together, impressions that would pop into the mind without warning accompanied with a sensation of complete contentment, contentment I experienced for the first time in Florida and only ever experienced when in the company of Lauren. Never did we doubt that better times were ahead, we just had to get through the rough patch.

Ill health was to become a constant companion but we persevered and came through every trial much stronger. The hardships forged a connection that still takes my breath away. We also enjoyed many good times but life in general was defined by uncertainty. We developed security in our bond, faith and reliance on each other which grew stronger with time irrespective of anything else.

Come 2009 the storm appeared to be settling; my wife had her chronic illness all but beaten and was in remission, and with her entrepreneurial flair she continued a rapid march up the career path despite the world being in the throes of the financial crisis. A glow of good times ahead, the life we always sensed was coming since our very first meeting in Florida finally seemed to be lighting the end of the tunnel. Our bright future was emerging as we always new it would.

It was a midmorning on Sunday in August 2009 when I had finished nightshift at the fire station when I drove to Murray’s Beach just south of Newcastle. I was meeting Lauren for an appointment with Stockland where we were to decide on which block of land to buy. Only recently we had toasted to our decision to build a new home, but I knew something wasn’t right. Lauren hadn’t been answering her phone and was late for our appointment, as each minute passed my concern escalated until I could wait no more. I rushed back to our house and ran inside, I reached the top the stairs to see my beautiful wife lying motionless and was never wake up.

After 7 years of marriage to a most wonderful companion; my teacher, student, soul mate, the most inspiring and most beautiful French woman, My Wife had passed away. I was 42, a widower, now without the most important part and the only part that mattered. In an instant life was and would never to be the same.

Her love was a blessing.

No emotional display, no amount of talk, no book can translate the horror you are plunged in to. In an instant it is like being hit by a freight train, completely stunned and floored. But the lasting effect is like being adrift in a boat, no land to be seen anywhere nor will it be for a long time, if ever at all. The wind is totally from your sails. No one can solve this situation for you. You’re all alone.

But I had a lifeline. The daily structure of fire fighting and the support of the entire Brigades staff helped carry me along even if only just a little. Such is the profession that firefighters seem to know when to offer help and when not to. And as my interest in flying would be there to focus on when the mind and emotions were capable. These provided respite and let me take the first step in coming to terms with what had happened. If only intermittently at first the Brigades and flying put the lightest breeze back in the sails. Both helped steer a course and slowly I limped back to life.

My return to flying hit the body hard. I had lost a lot of weight and simply carrying the equipment was nearly impossible at first. Soon I was encouraged back into competition and it was to be at The Canungra Classic in Queensland, the most prestigious Australian event in the summer season. Each day the hours in the air focused the thoughts and while the mind was trained on flying the glider the loss of Lauren carried on at another level. Never did the pain subside but somehow the flying counseled the loss. The sense of the tragedy was clarified during the intensity and concentration of flying. The next competition was just one month away at Gulgong and for the first time since I was actually looking forward to something positive in my life.

That fateful day last November it was the 2nd day of The Gulgong Classic, one of Australia’s premiere circuit events at a location renowned for its world-class flying. During past events there it has been usual to soar for hours, travel distances over 200km and attain altitudes of 10 000 feet. This year the conditions proved to be uncharacteristically rough and difficult to negotiate but the support staff and ground crews were organised and the competition went ahead. I remember hearing Laurence say to me earlier that year, with a smile of inner pride and genuine encouragement “Go and fly Adam, it’s what you love to do”. With her blessing I could achieve anything and from now on this was my life; flying.

At midday I watched the Gulgong airstrip fall away as my hang glider and I were pulled skyward behind the tow aircraft. After releasing at 2000 feet above ground level I cautiously started the designated course; a flight 209km to the township of Manilla just north of Tamworth. The conditions were not easy and mild turbulence required some effort to negotiate the way. First we would fly over the township of Dunedoo then over the Liverpool Range before continuing above the Breeza Plains and on to Manilla. It would take about 4-5 hours to complete this task today.

As usual the field of competitors eventually broke into ‘gaggles’. A gaggle is a group of four or five pilots that tend to match speed and direction allowing them to continue along within visual distance of each other. It speeds the pace much like a group of cyclists in a race. My gaggle included four very experienced pilots and together we slowly made our way north, searching for the hot thermals that take us up thousands of feet and provide us with the altitude to cover more distance and more time to search for the next thermal.

We were now about 30km from Gulgong at 6500 feet and gliding about 100 metres apart, ‘feeling’ our way for the tell-tail signs of the next column of rising air. Then I felt something unlike anything familiar in 20 years of hang gliding. Slowly but surely the nose of the hang glider pitched over and despite all of my control inputs the airmass I had flown into forced the glider onto its back. Quickly the glider righted itself but just as quickly it flipped onto its back for a second time. This rotation is referred to as a ‘tumble’ and exerts violent reversing forces onto the structure of the wing. After the second tumble my hang glider sustained major structural failure, the wings folded together and entered the beginning of a lateral spin, like a sycamore seed.

Rapidly the G force built to unimaginable levels, so much so my arms and head were overpowered and forced out away from the spin preventing me from reaching my parachute handle. With each rotation the glider (which is made of carbon fiber and aviation grade alloy) was being ripped apart. Even if I could have recovered the glider from the spin now it was no longer airworthy. I needed to get to my parachute. The spins continued to build in speed generated loads more than 12 times the force of gravity at which point the connecting structure which joins my harness and I to the hang glider tore away. Immediately I was thrown from the mangled glider and could hear the speed of air increasing as I began a free-fall to earth.

Only a handful of in-flight separations have been documented in hang gliding and unbelievably I was witness to the one 18 months earlier while competing in Forbes. Austrian team pilot Andreas Orgler managed to quickly get to his rescue handle and successfully deployed his parachute but since our equipment is not designed for the power of a free-fall his parachute literally tore apart from the violent airflow and he continued to fall right before my eyes. When terminal velocity has been achieved the pilot has always perished. It is an extremely rare event but our worst nightmare. His accident lingered in my mind for many months afterward but it prompted me to update all my rescue equipment to the latest and best available.

I was now 6000 feet above the ground and rapidly accelerating towards earth, I reached for my rescue handle and pulled several times when I realised the parachute was jammed inside my harness. Over the next few seconds, as the other pilots watched and willed my parachute to emerge and stay in one piece, I continued to fall in a vertically position straight down. My speed accelerated with the deafening roar of terminal velocity, nearly 300kph. No hang gliding equipment is tested for these conditions and the likelihood of working is unlikely but it was my only hope.

As I fell and struggled to release the parachute without fear or panic. I had a clear impression of what was happening and an awareness of my position and orientation in space, how fast I was moving and how long I had before I reached the earth. Individual thoughts did not come to mind. Everything seemed to be considered and assessed as one and all at once in an overall impression. I noticed the horizon moving more and more into the field of view with ever and the sound of the airflow as I hurtled towards the ground was deafening and corresponded to all the other cues. Amongst it all was the impression of my wife, our life together. All of this went through the mind at the same time while I wrestled with the parachute handle.

In less than 15 seconds I had fallen 4500 feet when with 2000 feet remaining and with only seconds away from certain death the parachute came free. Like a freight train the air exploded into the canopy and in an instant my world became pain. In that split second the parachute slowed me down from somewhere near 300kph to 30. I felt as though I had been torn in two and was certain I had broken my back. Despite the pain I looked up and saw the parachute was in one piece. I looked at my hands and tried to wriggle my fingers, they moved. Still enclosed in the harness and hidden from view I feared most of all for my legs. I tried to move them and I felt the feet wriggle back and forward. Relief was short lived. I had survived but the taste in my mouth along with the pain confirmed I had serious internal injuries.

The parachute slowly brought me down with the airflow now just a quiet hum. The earth seemed to float in the distance and hovered out of reach, but my concerns for my health grew. Color vision started to fade and slowly my sight began to black out. I realised while I had survived the parachute opening I may end up succumbing to the injuries sustained during the rapid deceleration. I stared into the blackness and thoughts went to my wife. Even while coming to terms with her unexpected death months earlier I still never gave my own mortality a second thought, until now. The thought came ‘I was going to join her’ and with that a sense of peace came over me. The possibility of death was not entirely unappealing.

Time slipped by for I don’t know how long but I came back with an awareness I was not dying, it was not my time, and if Lauren could she would be shaking me telling me in no uncertain terms “Survive! Live!” Quickly the pain returned worse than ever. Shock set in me and I lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes I was on my back in the middle of the countryside looking up at the blue sky and for a second I’d forgotten everything that happened, and then it all flooded back. In amazement I said out aloud ‘I made it’. Then pain hit me. I needed to get out of the harness. I was still attached to the parachute which dragged me across the ground now and then when a wind gust came through. As I was unclipping the harness buckles a voice caught my attention, “Can I give you a hand there son?” Fate was on my side, the farmer who owned the property was in the area for the only time in 8 months and when my parachute touched down it startled some cockatoos. As they took flight the farmer looked over from a neighbouring paddock to see what had scared them and noticed my red parachute on the ground a little further upwind.

He had a phone with coverage, he called the ambulance and drove out to meet them and led them back along the winding trail to the landing site. What seemed to be hours of incredible pain and an inability to breathe were more like 45 minutes before the ambulance was on scene. The ambulance officers assessed my condition and soon decided a helicopter evacuation was needed. 30 minutes later the Westpac rescue helicopter arrived and only then I knew I had a good shot at survival. The crew was fantastic, calm and on the ball and left an overriding impression of professionalism. They flew straight to John Hunter and dropped me off at emergency.

A CAT scan revealed 9 broken ribs with 6 being severely dislocated, a fractured sternum, a collapsed right lung and a flail fracture of the chest. Blood was also pooling in the left lung. I was very lucky to be alive. A week later I was out of hospital and on the road to recovery.

Only recipients of the Westpac Rescue helicopter service know how important it really is. How much value do we put on a life, on your life, on your love ones? There is nothing we would not do to ensure the safety of our family. I doubt even the helicopter staff truly realise what a service they provide.

Since that day I have lauded the role of the WRHS not because they saved my life but because I now have a thorough understanding of what it does and its brilliant level of performance it continues to deliver day after day. Due to its unique flexibility and effectiveness the WRHS is without a doubt the pointy end of the NSW rescue service and impressively it operates 100% without government assistance. Bang for buck any contribution to the WRHS is exceptional value for money. Such a unit requires a lot of professional staff and a vast infrastructure to keep those precious helicopters in the air. Every cent donated is worth it.

It has been three months since the accident and yesterday I visited the helipad at Broadmeadow for the inaugural Rescue Club luncheon. All members hope it becomes an annual event. Today is our 8th wedding anniversary. I am alive and well, still here to remember the occasion and the people who made my life special. Thanks to everyone involved with the Westpac Rescue Helicopter Service.

   

 

 

Fisherman overboard

By Westpac Rescue Helicopter Service Pilot Mark Goolmeer

At 3.45 AM on 1 August 2009 we are awoken by a call from the Ambulance Control Centre requesting we assist the Police with a search for a man missing from a 5 metre fishing boat near Port Stephens. Information is minimal and it is believed he has been missing for one hour.

We depart at 4.06 AM in Westpac 2 with Aircrewmen Danny Morris and Sandy Brown, Paramedic Rod Day and myself. Paramedic Kate Wooten agrees to stay behind to make room for our wetsuit-equipped rescue crewman.

En route Danny is able to liase with the police and speak on the telephone with the remaining fisherman to try to get a better idea of what has actually occurred so we may best plan our search.

He tells us the two of them departed Port Stephens about midnight and headed towards Broughton Island. He had fallen asleep and awoke about an hour later to find the other man was missing. He also tells us the missing man was not wearing a life jacket or has any survival gear.

He provides us a lat/long that we load into our GPS navigation system. We see that this position is almost at Broughton Island and head straight there.

Now, better informed, we discuss our plan for the search and prepare the aircraft. The rear seats are moved so Sandy and Rod have a good view from their windows and we arrive in the search area at 4.20 AM and descend to 1,000 feet.

There are six boats visible to us in the area and we get the fisherman to “talk us in” so we can identify his boat.

Eventually we are able to do this by getting him to flash his lights so he is distinct from the others. He is about 2 miles south of Broughton Island and 4 miles off the coast.

Since we have been talking to him he has been able to determine from the track plotter on his boat the approximate course the boat has been steering over the past hour. He now reverses his course to follow that track back, hoping to find the place where the man may have fallen over.

Our Night Vision Goggles (NVG) are working well. They allow us to see the horizon, the coast line and the various boats and lit features. Without them it is pitch black.

Unfortunately the moon has set an hour ago and the surface of the water although visible, shows little detail.

The only area where we can see the surface of the water clearly is that within the beam of the nightsun searchlight. It’s 50 million candlepower beam is now controlled by Danny and focused to the left of the aircraft where both he and Sandy have a clear view.

The search commences at 1,000 feet and 80 knots. Initially this will be a track back to the south towards Fingal Island and then we will turn and make a series of parallel tracks gradually making our way towards the coast. We still don’t know exactly where he fell over, if he is injured, or where he may have drifted to. Our best estimate of the search area is fifty square miles.

This type of search pattern is fairly routine, we have done it many times before. The radios are turned down low, cabin lights are dimmed and all eyes are scanning outside.

In the aircraft cabin, warm and snug, it is hard not to reflect on the possible outcome.

In many cases the chance of finding anyone is slim.

Outside it is a clear winter’s night with a light south westerly wind and a moderate swell. The air temperature is 8 degrees C and the water a chilly 17 degrees C.

We know only too well that a person immersed in water will cool at a rate 25 times faster than normal and under these conditions will be exhausted in 2 to 7 hours.

It is now 4.45 AM and the man has been missing for over 2 hours. The police boat has rendezvoused with the fishing boat and interviewed the fisherman and they now have a better understanding of what happened. They continue their search and are joined by vessels from the coast guard, coastal patrol and various other private and commercial operators.

There are three small islands near the entrance to Port Stephens and we know that on previous occasions we have found survivors there. All three are searched thoroughly. We descend to 700 feet and do 2 orbits of each before proceeding with our search pattern.

Danny and Sandy regularly report seeing sea birds skimming the waters surface and a few lobster pots but little else.

On completion of the search grid we ask the police if they have any further information that might narrow the search area. They reply they have nothing new to add and ask us to look at the three islands. This we do once more and notice the police boat using their hand held spotlights doing the same.

Approaching 5.30 AM we have about 15 minutes remaining before we will have to return to base for fuel.

Decisions are made by the crew as a whole and at this time we ask ourselves-

What can we do better? What have we missed doing? Where will we look next?

It is agreed we will start back at the beginning. We go back to our original starting point near Broughton Island and start south again.

We have time for one more look at the islands and then as first light appears on the horizon we climb to 2,000 feet and turn for home. Our NVG’s, now no longer needed are stowed on our helmets.

It is 5.41 AM and the man has been missing for over 3 hours.

The flight back gives us time to re evaluate things so far and plan the next step. Danny takes the opportunity to speak to the ambulance and police controllers to see if they have any updates or new information- they don’t.

For all of us it is a welcome break from searching below.

Visual searches of this kind can be quite disorientating for the crew who are constantly looking down. Deprived from seeing the horizon and with the aircraft turning and maneuvering it is difficult to know which way is up and the inner ear plays tricks on you and creates symptoms similar to sea sickness. The guys in the rear were starting to get quite nauseous.

We touch down at the base at 5.56 AM with minimum reserve fuel remaining and the crew sets about “hot re-fueling”. I will stay at the controls with the engines running while the fuel is pumped aboard. This is the quickest way for us to get airborne again.

12 minutes later we lift off into the early morning dawn. Shortly after we receive a phone call from Australian Search and Rescue (AusSAR) based in Canberra. The police have asked for their help in coordinating the search. The very experienced specialists at AusSAR will have considered a host of factors, including- the place of departure, destination, tides, currents, wind and swell conditions to come up with a search plan. They give us 4 coordinates, effectively the 4 corners of a box they want us to search. Danny quickly loads these into our GPS and we can now see a picture of the box. It is very close to the same area we have been searching only now extended to cover about 2 miles further out to sea.

It is almost daylight as we descend to 600 feet to start the first leg of the box at 6.22 AM. We begin at the most seaward point as this is the new area that we have not yet covered and turn south. The increasing daylight is most welcome. We can now see much larger areas and have a better chance of finding something.

We talk through the search brief again. We remind each other of how to report a sighting- state what you have seen, a clock angle direction, a distance and most importantly not to take your eyes away from it. If you look away it can be very difficult to spot something again amongst the whitecaps.

We continue paralleling our track gradually working our way back toward the coast. Twenty minutes later on a south bound leg the sun rises over the horizon behind us, casting warm amber streaks across the water below. It is 6.44 AM and the man has been missing for over 4 hours - the search continues.

We have almost completed the boxed area that AusSAR requested and at 7.13 AM are on a southbound leg passing 500 metres to the east of the second largest of the islands, Boondelbah.

Did I see something? A little unsure I say “ I think I have something” I continue looking… it is a person’s arm… waving. It is hard to believe. But that thought can wait. “right, 2 o’clock about 100 metres a person..waving”

I turn the aircraft right, Rod sitting behind me is the only other crew member that will be able to see what I can. An interminable moment later he confirms he can also see the person.

Continuing the turn it becomes apparent that shortly I will be blinded by the rising sun reflecting off the water.

I check with Rod that he has the survivor sighted as I am about to lose contact. He confirms he has.

It only takes a few seconds for the aircraft to pass through the “blinding zone” and I am relieved to be able to see the survivor once more.

I do not want to look away, and ask Danny to call out speed and altitude from the instruments as I slow the aircraft and descend to approach the man.

We are about 15 metres from him and the aircraft is in a hover 10 metres above the water.

It is our first good view of him. His face is pale and he is struggling to keep his head above water and obviously completely exhausted. The rotor downwash is almost drowning him. I move the aircraft back a little.

Normal practice is to winch our rescue crewman down to the survivor but we all agree that this will take too long and that this man needs assistance right away. We will jump Sandy in.

Danny gives me directions and positions the aircraft to the right of him and guides me down to a safe jump height. At about a metre above the water the rotor downwash is kicking up quite a bit of sea spray and partially obscuring the windscreen.

Sandy already in his wet suit only takes a few moments to get ready- then jumps.

He surfaces only a metre from the man and gives us the (I am OK) thumbs up signal. I back the aircraft up and once assured Sandy and the man are OK, we move onto the next step.

We take the opportunity to advise the Police and Ambulance controllers that we have located the man and are preparing to winch him aboard. There are questions asked about his condition. All we can say at this point is he is conscious and exhausted. Danny also requests an Ambulance to meet us at the Nelson Bay football oval as we expect to have him there in a few minutes. It is 7.16 AM.

Danny, who has been sitting next to me in the front now has to move to the rear of the aircraft to operate the winch.

This can only be done with the aircraft on the ground as he has to actually get out of the aircraft and then re-enter through the rear sliding door. So the obvious closest spot is the island only a few hundred metres away. But there is nowhere flat enough to land on.

The island rises 15 metres above sea level and is surrounded by a rocky cliff with large craggy boulders scattered about its base. The upper sloping level is almost completely covered in long green grass. In the early morning light it appears as a strikingly pretty place.

We quickly assess the flattest part we can find and try unsuccessfully to land. Although I can get the skids to just touch, the uneven ground and the grass will not let me land. Danny guides me to another spot only a few metres away and once again we are unable to get the aircraft on the ground.

Running out of options we decide to get Danny to climb out of the aircraft in the hover.

I will keep the aircraft just above the ground and Danny will climb out onto the skid, step off onto the ground and then climb back onto the skid to get back in through the rear door.

This is a procedure we practice quite regularly and is accomplished within a minute and we are ready to head back to Sandy.

As we approach, Sandy signals he is ready to be picked up.

Sandy would tell me later of the difficulty he had preparing the man for winching.-

Once in the water he had inflated the upper portion of his wetsuit to act as buoyancy and suggested to the man to hang onto him as that would keep them both afloat. The man, totally exhausted was unable to hang on. His arms were cold and cramped and could do nothing to help himself and on occasion slipped below the surface.

Perhaps, having been there so long his will power and energy had finally run out.

Sandy kept him above the water and struggled getting the rescue strop around his arms to prepare him for winching.

As we commence the winching procedure I no longer have a visual reference below and Danny now commands the position of the aircraft. He calls me to move the aircraft forward, back, left, right, up and down to keep it in position as well as doing the actual winching. It is not an easy thing to do and it is a skill our aircrewmen are well versed at.

The winch hook is lowered to within a metre of Sandy. But he doesn’t move toward it.

Normally he would be able to swim that short distance and hook up but it soon becomes apparent that he is supporting them both and unable to move. We quickly back up and re-position.

On our second attempt Danny places the hook in Sandy’s hand and he has no trouble hooking them both up.

The winch up to the aircraft is straight forward although it is becoming increasingly obvious the man is in a poor state. He is totally limp and unable to do anything to help himself. He is wearing a polo shirt and briefs.

Upon reaching the door the problem now becomes getting him in.

You would think that would be relatively easy but the narrow door way is tricky to negotiate with an almost dead weight.

I start moving the aircraft forward toward Nelson Bay – slowly. The cabin heater is switched on and turned up to high and I await the call of “door closed” so I can accelerate to maximum cruise speed.

I note on my knee pad “pickup at 7.20 AM.” My best guess is he has been in the water for four and a half hours.

The guys in the back are having quite a struggle getting him inside but eventually do so and lift him onto the stretcher. Rod quickly assesses him and makes the call to take him straight to John Hunter Hospital.

I pass this on to Ambulance control who will alert the Emergency department at the hospital that we will be there in 13 minutes.

The police also want us to ask him his name. They want to be sure we have the person they are looking for, so they may call off the search.

Sandy attempts to ask him but is unable to get a response. It appears he is so cold and exhausted he cannot answer. Or perhaps his core body temperature is so low his brain and other functions are being affected.

Whatever the reason- for the moment, we cannot provide the police with an answer.

Rod continues to treat the man who is now wrapped in blankets and being monitored with various pieces of medical equipment. He appears to be warming up, in the now, stiflingly hot cabin.

Just prior to landing we are able to advise the police that the man has recovered a little and been able to tell us his name. It is- Bill.

Touchdown at John Hunter is at 7.38 AM. The aircraft is immediately shut down and when the rotors stop we are met by the wardsmen with a trolley and the heated blankets we requested.

Rod accompanies the man to Emergency and a few minutes later we are airborne for the 3 minute trip back to base landing just before eight o’clock.

The routine tasks conducted at the end of the mission, re-fueling, conducting checks on the hoist and re- configuring the aircraft seem to pass in a bit of a daze. We are all feeling quite euphoric and the tiredness from the long night seems to have disappeared.

It is hard to believe we found him. Few searches turn out that way.

As we hand over to the dayshift crew I can’t help but wonder what adventure awaits them at the next phone call.

Courtney's Story:

On their way from Sydney to the family's Wollombi property in November 1997 Courtney Cruickshank, and her mum, Lyn, were involved in a horrific motor vehicle accident.

Courtney suffered severe head injuries and was lifted by the Westpac Rescue Helicopter Service to the John Hunter Hospital were she remained in a coma for two weeks before being transferred to the Prince of Wales Children's Hospital - where she spent four months in care.

Her parents, Peter and Lyn, believed that if it were not for the outstanding care of those in the emergency services then Courtney would not have been here and gone on to completing her studies and then graduating from University in education.

But in 2004/2005 Peter Cruickshank's top thoroughbred, Court In Session, won a series of races, and he decided it was time to give back to those who helped Courtney almost eight years previously.

Last year the Cruickshank family made special presentations of $10,000 to both Westpac Rescue Helicopter Service and the John Hunter Hospital and $20,000 to the Prince of Wales Children's Hospital.

The Helicopter Service has placed the generous donation in a fund to purchase a new twin engine helicopter in 2010. It is stories like Courtney Cruickshank that makes sure that no call for help will ever be unanswered and that no person will ever have to pay.

Courtney Cruickshank (pictured centre with green top) and her family with those who helped her in 1997 from Westpac Rescue Helicopter Service, John Hunter Hospital and NSW Ambulance Service.

 

 

 

 

  

  

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