There's a fat gardener, thin gardener and the main man.

An unlikely triumvirate running 'TRG” – the code for Tauranga City Council's most successful commercial enterprise – the airport, gateway to the city, gateway to the Bay.

An unlikely triumvirate because fat gardener and thin gardener probably don't know de-icing boots from papi lights, or ailerons from altimeters. But they keep the gateway groomed to a nicety, thank you very much.

And they leave all the aeroplane stuff to the man universally known simply as ‘Ray'. Ray is Ray Dumble.

He's a big bear of a man. He would probably hold his own in the Steamers' engine room. He's the boss, and his business card reads: Airport Manager. It could also read shrewd operator.

Because in 13 years he's grown the airport business 500 per cent – from a turnover of $1 million in 2002 to $5 million today. 'Flourishing,” he says.

And TRG has been regional airport of the year twice under his stewardship. Is it all Ray's doing?

'No!” said one industry source. 'But he's a bloody big part of it.”

And Dumble's turned a tidy little surplus of $1.5 million for the city, for you and I – the ratepayers. We don't get to play with it though. It's invested straight back into the business.

But with numbers like that, he must be a favourite son in the soggy, spore-ridden corridors of Willow Street.

That same industry source also told me Ray Dumble and the airport business was sacrosanct – the politicians wouldn't dare meddle with it.

'Councillors love getting their weird hands on things and fiddling. But they wouldn't mess with the airport. It's working too well.”

But it could easily have been very different for Ray. And the airport for that matter.

'When I first applied for the job, I didn't even get an interview,” he says.

Ray doesn't mind telling a story at his own expense. Another guy was appointed but never took it up. 'I wasn't even next in line,” says Ray.

He says he basically telephoned and invited himself for an interview when it was re-advertised. 'I remember they made it difficult. They gave me 45 minutes to mock up a 10-year development plan.”

History tells us he did a good job.

'Link 579 cleared Tauranga-Wellington two at flight level two zero zero, Dotar One departure, Squawk five zero two two.”

A Dash 8 pilot is talking gibberish to the tower. They have their own language. It is a language of clarity for safety's sake. When the towers speaks it is parroted back by the pilot. No room for misunderstanding.

It was a tongue in which Ray himself was once fluent.

Because in a previous life, he was an airline pilot.

But he got a bad back. 'I had it operated on but a year later it packed up again.” Seems you need a strong back and legs to work those pedals in an emergency. It ended a career.

Now he gets his flying kicks vicariously from his first floor office with 360 degree views of the airport and environs, by being around planes, passengers and pilots.

That Dash 8 on the tarmac wears Air New Zealand livery. Ray's more Country Road – sleeves rolled fashionably and open neck, more Fed farmers than big city corporate.

'I only wear a suit quarterly.” That's every four months when he meets with city hall to explain the business.

He understands planes, pilots, airports and passengers intimately and passionately. 'I love my job.” Yes, he flies the business with the same relish he flew 737s. 'And I am proud of the airport.”

We're now sitting in an airport lounge – a place for people and travellers – 285,000 of them last year and a further 20 per cent this year. On passenger numbers, it's the 12th-busiest airport in the country.

But right now it's deserted – not a soul. 'We're between flights,” Ray explains. He's more keen to tell me about his 'smart sparrows” – the ones doing low passes over our heads.

'They fly in to scavenge and then hover in front of the sensors to trigger the door to get out again.” That's smart.

'And no I don't have names for them …….do I Rodney?” he says to a sparrow. This is a bear with a face that would struggle to be serious, sad or angry. He is also a bear with a delightfully common touch.

A dungaree'd baggage handler yells: 'Gidday Ray” and the airport manager's busy day stops while he shoots the breeze with ‘Daph'. She slings six tonnes of luggage daily – it's the toughest gig at the airport apparently. Ray throws a couple of suitcases on a trolley while he's about it.

'Make sure it's got a tag,” Daph reminds the boss. This is a boss who connects and mucks in.

And he's an accessible boss and airport manager. A punter called him direct. 'Was the 6.45am late leaving this morning Ray? Is everything alright?”

”They want to know about their airport. It's people being in touch with their city and their airport. Thank God we have these problems. It means we are going forward.”

And there was another stakeholder, another ratepayer, calling in a favour. Could Ray hold up a flight because he was running a bit late? There are things Ray can't make happen even though I suspect he would like to.

That terminal – Ray has stretched it every which way since he's been overlord (500m2 when he arrived and now 1700m2) and it's only going to get bigger. The council has just agreed to thrown another $4.5 million at the airport – extensions to the baggage collection, baggage make-up, check-in areas, Koru Lounge and and departure lounge – and it won't cost you and I a cent. They money will come from cash reserves.

But it's what's beyond the front door of TGA, beyond what we mere passengers get to see that is staggering. It is an enterprise of sprawling, revenue-producing proportions. Everywhere you look is making money.

'CTOT four zero, start approved, Link 579.” The third of five daily return flights to Wellington disappears into the gloom to the west. Ka-ching! Another $400 of landing fees into the airport coffers.

Yes, $400 every time a jet puts down, $10 for smaller planes and more than 70,000 air movements a year. You do the math. That traffic makes ‘TRG' the 5th busiest controlled airport in the country.

Understandable when you gaze around the more than 100 hangars containing more than 100 fixed wing aircraft and 15 choppers – all of them paying ‘board' to Ray and to us. Ka-ching!

'Airports are exciting places. Fascinating places” enthuses the terminally enthusiastic Ray.

Is it the busyness of an airport, the expectation, the adventure, the tears, hugs, greetings and farewells, the whiff of aviation gas perhaps and tortured jet engines? But he's right.

A rowdy Harvard announces its departure followed by a gyrocopter, an odd contraption, and then a bi-plane. Perhaps the best free show in town and you don't have to be a plane spotter to enjoy.

'People come to the airport to have fish and chips” says Ray. 'They just watch and they're not all wide-eyed ten-year-olds.”

It gets even more exciting and fascinating when the boss takes you places you have only ever wondered about – like the blacktop, the tarmac.

'Tauranga Tower. This is Airport One, request to operate seal 07/25 one zero minutes.”

Just like the pilots, just like the gardeners on their tractors, we need clearance to venture onto the main runway in Ray's Ford Territory.

From an aircraft window at 30,000ft a runway seems perilously small. But now, standing in the middle of one, I am reassured. It's vast.

Eleven acres of asphalt. It disappears out of sight 1km to the east, another 850m to the west and half a football field wide. It's big.

'[That's] $2.5 million to reseal,” offers Ray. It's an industry of numbers.

Like the number 550 – the acreage the airport company has stewardship over. That's the size of the average farm.

And a sizeable chunk of it in high density commercial and industrial land, about 120 leases, all turning valuable dollars for the city

The boss is riding the perimeter fence for us. Down Aerodrome Road to Hewletts Road and then west to Waimairie and everything in between.

'Bob Owens may have built Bunnings Warehouse, but it sits on our land,” he confirms.

'This is such a neat place to work. The complete spectrum of people.” He's well satisfied with his lot.

Ray can't drive past the airport fire house without stopping, without chatting. 'Got my finger on everything,” he laughs.

Ray's wife once worked at the airport. She was a traffic controller. I wonder if she talks the lingo at home?

'Romeo Alpha Yankee – calculated time for breakfast four zero. Start-up for golf approved. Squawk, five zero two two.”