At Wye River, aviation begins and ends with a heron coming in to land on a half-submerged log. The afternoon, April, white cockatoos turn on complete air shows above the ridge. Black ones, a wholly different story, cruise slow majestic the valley. On fair days, though not for a while, Tiger Moths motor east just above the headland, the white of incoming waves kept slightly to their left. Only at surf carnivals, or for surveillance reasons undisclosed, a ludicrous helicopter upsets the harmony with its angular swivels. Surfers are elegance itself, by comparison, taking flight on an elevation of water.