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Tarawera​—New Zealand’s Volcanic Disaster

By Awake! correspondent in New Zealand

CAN you imagine what it would be like to be awakened in the early hours of the morning by the sound of a mountain being torn apart? How would you feel if you looked out the window and some 20 miles [30 km] away saw towering flames and a continuous shower of red-​hot stones shooting through the air? And then felt the ground under your bed begin to shake? Terrified, you say? Well, that’s what happened in Rotorua, located in the central region of North Island of New Zealand, at 2:00 a.m. on June 10, 1886, when Mount Tarawera erupted. Then the village of Te Wairoa became New Zealand’s Pompeii, buried by its own Vesuvius.

For those who lived in the area and survived, it was a dreadful experience. One eyewitness said: “We saw a sight that no man who saw it can ever forget. . . . The mountain had three craters, and flames of fire were shooting up fully a thousand feet [300 m] high.” Another, having gone outside to see the spectacle, said: “The wind increased, and we had scarcely reached the house when it began, as we thought, to rain heavily. The windows were smashed in, and we found that what we had taken for rain was scoria and stone. . . . Between earthquake and fire we stood expecting death.”

The explosion of the 12-​mile-​long [19 km] mountain range created a chain of nine deep craters. Steam combined with flying ash fell like rain. The villages around the lake, along with their Maori inhabitants and others living there, possibly 155 of them, were buried, many under mud several feet [several meters] deep!

Some six thousand square miles [16,000 sq km] of bush and farmland were covered with mud, and volcanic debris sprinkled even the decks of ships a hundred miles [160 km] off the coast. The unsurpassed wonder of the world, the Pink and White Terraces, “marvels of natural architecture in shining silica,” were destroyed and with them the sacred bones of Maori ancestors. (Wild New Zealand, edited by Reader’s Digest) This was a catastrophe of monumental proportions for the peaceful South Pacific island.

Maori Village Life

In the ancient village of Te Wairoa, nine miles [14 km] from Mount Tarawera, life prior to the eruption was peaceful and prosperous. Situated in the bush on the shore of a cold lake, Tarawera, it lacked the thermal activity of villages closer to Rotorua. Even on cold days, Ohinemutu village had areas of warm grass. However, for its time, Te Wairoa was unique in other ways. It was laid out with streets. Houses on half-​acre [0.2 ha] blocks were individually owned and fenced off rather than all together on jointly owned tribal land.

Positioned conveniently near Lake Tarawera, two hotels in Te Wairoa provided welcome relief for the weary European tourists of the 1880’s. There they could rest from horse-​and-​coach rides and the bumpy, well-​weathered bush tracks. The next day, in their best Sunday dress, as was the custom, they would undertake the journey to the Pink and White Terraces. By then famed as a wonder of the world, the terraces were described as “large white basins graduating in size . . . towards the summit and filled with water of the most lovely blue colour encrusted round with sparkling dazzling white . . . and the Pink Terraces all bright pink, with the same lovely blue water in the large shallow basins.” Young Maori children splashed in the hot mineral pools scattered along its steps, and adults bathed to soothe their tired bodies.

Below the terraces, in the muddy green waters of Lake Rotomahana, were bubbling hot springs. Some rose like fountains from the surface of the water and were so hot that the native Maori cook was able to boil his kumeras (native potatoes) or koura (freshwater crayfish) in them. The tourists enjoyed tasting these delicacies during lakeside picnics with the Maori guides, like Kate and Sophia who ferried them to the terraces in boats made from hollowed-​out trees.

Warning of Disaster

The eruption of all three peaks of Mount Tarawera was totally unexpected. The Maori names Wahanga, Ruawahia, and Tarawera all suggested fire, but there were no volcanic craters on the mountain and so no hint of danger. In fact, for centuries the dome of Tarawera (as the whole mountain came to be called) had been considered a safe burial ground for Maori ancestors and was tapu, or sacred. So it is likely the names referred to the reddish nature of the soil. Some unusual but minor activities had occurred, such as when Sophia ten days earlier had walked to the creek where the boats were left, only to find them high and dry on the creek bed. As she stood there, a sudden rush of water, like a wave, lifted the boats up and then dumped them back on the creek bed. The only real warnings, in retrospect, were the unusually frequent earthquakes and the high thermal activity on Lake Rotomahana. Although these caused some apprehension, they gave no hint of the devastation to follow.

An Emotional Visit

Today, a hundred years later, tourists arriving at the excavated site of Te Wairoa, now called the Buried Village, initially have little empathy for the terror that night brought.

Neither did we, as we followed the winding paths among the remains of Maori whares (small houses), excavated since the 1930’s.a Fantail birds swirled around our heads as our steps stirred their favorite insects. It was hard to believe the violence and terror that rained down on the people that once lived there.

We paused at the entrance to a dimly lit whare and stepped down to the former ground level. We thought of the mud-​covered baby’s shoes and the rusty 19th-​century cot we had seen earlier on display. Did they belong to a child who lived in this little house? Did she play on the mud floor we now stood on?

At other displays we were fascinated as we gazed at a bottle of wine dug up in 1949 and three jars of pickled walnuts uncovered in 1963, all with their seals intact. What would hundred-​year-​old wine and walnuts taste like? we wondered. It didn’t appeal! Our hearts were saddened, though, to read on display the old newspaper accounts of survivors. Mrs. Haszard, mother of four, was uncovered alive by rescuers only to find three of her children, one on either side of her and one still in her arms, smothered to death by the fallen mud and ash. Pinned down herself by the sheer weight of mud and rafters from the house, she had been powerless to answer their cries for help.

The Aftermath

It is of little concern to the 50,000 people of Rotorua today that they live in the shadow of such a violent mountain. Nor is it a worry to the more than 800,000 tourists each year who experience the many unique activities and places this thermal region has to offer. From deep in the ground, some New Zealanders pipe up thermal steam and mineral water to heat their indoor and outdoor pools. Yet, in the back of their minds, they know that the superheated water they see rising through fissures in the ground and collecting in boiling mud was once, many years ago, evidence of hidden energy that blew apart a mountain called Tarawera and buried the village of Te Wairoa.

[Footnotes]

[Picture on page 16, 17]

Mount Tarawera and its four mile [6 km] rift, with Lake Tarawera in the distance

[Pictures on page 18]

A typical Maori whare, or hut, that was buried by volcanic ash

Interior of an excavated Maori whare, showing fireplace and utensils

Remains of bakery oven destroyed in 1886

[Credit Line]

Above photos: Published with the permission of The Buried Village