"He's got it sorted out," the publican nodded. Back on earth, he was just another local. That day, he had been above us most of the day. He loves gliding, is expert at it, and this is where he finds peace. The McCaw family farm in the Hakataramea Valley is just down the road. He had been up there all day," the publican said pounding out every word in a staccato rhythm while pointing toward to the sky. In New Zealand, 'Richie' means only one thing- Richie McCaw. Behind the main bar, the publican peered up and down at the Australian strangers, and said: "You've just missed Richie." That night, we headed to the only pub in town, lured by the pork belly, lamb roast and kumara. This is where the gliding aficionado comes. We were in glider heaven, as Omarama is known worldwide for boasting exactly the right conditions, winds, landscape, thermals to lure the best, especially during those summer months. Wherever we looked were state-of-the-art gliders cruising over the countryside, tranquilly floating above the mountains, dipping its wing towards another pasture and then off to a far away valley. When heading towards our designated overnight stop at Omarama, not just the ever-changing scenery, the lush environment entranced us, but also all these specks of white above us. MacKenzie Country in North Otago on New Zealand's South Island is S-P-E-C-T-A-C-U-L-A-R, repeat S-P-E-C-T-A-C-U-L-A-R.Ī few years ago the family were camper-vanning its way along the memorable bush tracks from Christchurch towards Queenstown and then up to the Wild West Coast. Yet again, Carter had kicked the Waratahs into oblivion. More than 48 hours on, this pair was arm on arm celebrating a title.
Carter was his meal ticket, the man who would in a day or two determine whether he could boast another Super Rugby title, and so he was willing to do whatever he could to ensure that the team maestro was in tune.īy the time the pair left the field, the rest had gone home. Usually this job is for the team lackey, but Deans was oh so smart. On and on and on.ĭeans was the ever-willing sheep dog, wagging the tail by retrieving the footballs wherever they went and kicking them back. He then practiced every form of kick imaginable- the chip kick, the bomb, the kick into the corner, the infuriating ever bouncing this way and that kick, the banana kick, the cheeky chip in behind the defensive line, the box kick and then some goal kicks. Carter situated himself at various spots around the ground, on the halfway mark, near the sideline, somewhere in between, close to the goal sticks, constantly moving. For the next half-hour or more, the pair was involved in a master class of kicking drills. Daniel Carter and his coach Robbie Deans. In the end, there were two figures left on the field.
Several just wandered off downstairs to the change rooms in search of a reviving bowl of scorching pea and ham soup. Others were carrying on about requiring a rubdown. Some made out that they had suddenly twinged their hammies. It was too cold to prolong any unnecessary activity. The Crusaders were at a suburban ground finishing off their last training session before the weekend's Super Rugby finals, and the players were using every excuse to disappear early. It was one of those polar Christchurch mornings where it may have been sunny but there was still no reason to be outdoors.
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You have reached a degraded version of because you're using an unsupported version of Internet Explorer.įor a complete experience, please upgrade or use a supported browserĬrusaders greats will even be missed in AustraliaĮSPN columnist Greg Growden takes a trip down memory lane as Dan Carter and Richie McCaw prepare to wave goodbye to the Crusaders and Super Rugby.
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