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THE TARAWERA ERUPTION |
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THE TARAWERA ERUPTION |
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The white terraces consisted of a series of vast curved silica basins filled with beautiful turquoise blue water. The edges seemed to cascade over the sides, like frozen waterfalls. The pink terraces rose more steeply, like a giant staircase, and they were the most delicate shade of pink.
Tourists who came to see the terraces often stayed at the Rotomahana Hotel in the village of Te Wairoa. From there they were rowed across Lake Tarawera in long boats to Te Ariki village. From Te Ariki they walked to Lake Rotomahana and were paddled in canoes to the foot of the terraces.
On the morning of June the 1st, 1886, as the tourists were crossing Lake Tarawera, a strange apparition was seen. Out of the mists of the lake a Maori war canoe appeared. It was paddled by warriors wearing traditiional clothes. Suddenly, when the canoe was about a half a mile aways, it just disappeared.
When the tourists arrived back at Te Wairoa there was much talk of the phantom canoe. Old Tuhoto, a tohunga or Maori priest who was said to be over one hundred years old, claimed that they had seen a waka wairua or spirit canoe. He said that it was an omen, and that a great calamity would befall the land and it's people.
Some people laughed and said that it was only a mirage or reflectiion of their won boat. But there had been a strange tidal surge on the lake that morning.
In the early hours of the morning of June 10th, the people of Te Wairoa were awakened by a violent shaking of the ground. Those who went outside witnessed an amazing scene.
Out across the lake they could see the huge black bulk of Mount Tarawera split open like a great tree stump. From its belly a great column of fire roared hundreds of feet up into the sky. The massive flame was streaked through with traces of grey, yellow and red. Above this hung a monstrous black cloud through which flashes of fire danced vividly.
From time to time, huge balls of fire were hurtled outwards from the centre, like the sparks from a giant firecracker. Some of these red hot rocks landed in the lake with a great hissing sound.
Shortly before 2.00am, it became very dark, as if a storm was about to break. The huge dark cloud that hung above the mountain was no ordinary storm cloud. It consisted of tons of rock, ash and mud. A hail of stones began to fall from the sky, followed by a deluge of mud and ash. Those who had been watching the spectacle were forced to retreat to their homes and whares.
But even there they were not safe. The ground continued to shake with great violence, and the village was pelted with tons of rock, ash and hot mud. Some people were completly buried in their houses; others were forced to abandon their homes and try and find shelter in that wild night.
Many villagers made their way to the whare which belonged to a Maori guide called Sophia. It was one of the few building to survive the deluge.
At the Rotomahana Hotel, the owner, Joseph McRae, and number of guests gathered in the smoking room. But shortly after 4.30am the roof gave way, and the rocks and mud began to fall through to the room below. Joseph McRae and his guests were forced to retreat to the drawing room. Even here they were not safe, and eventually they decided to leave the hotel and seek shelter elsewhere. Most reached guide Sophia's whare safely but on of the guests, Mr Bainbridge, was crushed when the verandah of the hotel collapsed.
In the home of Mr Hazard, the school teacher, the family and friends took shelter in the drawing room, where they hoped the iron roof would protect them. But soon the walls began to buckle under the pressure of tons of mud and ash. Just as Mr Hazard was putting out the fire, the roof suddenly caved in, killing him and burying his wife and children under a great pile of mud and wreckage. The survivors hurried to the verandah, but soon a fire broke out, and they were forced to spend the rest of the night in a nearby chicken house.
Shortly after 6.00am, the downpour seemed to ease. Because of the darkened skies the dawn did not seem to break until much later that day. When the survivors finally ventured outside, it was if the whole world had changed. The village as they had known it had disappeared, buried beneath a massive layer of sticky grey mud. The whole valley was lifeless and desolate.
There seemed little they could do. The ground was still shaking violently, and they were afraid another eruption might occur at any minute. Most of the survivors decided to make for Rotorua, in order to seek help and safety.
As they entered the Tititapu bush, they discovered that the once lush native trees had been reduced to skeletons. On the other side they were met by a rescue party. The women and children went on to Rotorua while the men returned to Te Wairoa to help search for survivors.
Many of the houses in the village had been cmpletely buried under mud and ash. On one occasion they heard a dog barking, and they began to dig. Suddenly the dog burst from under the ground and raced away yelping.
As they dug among the ruins of the school house, they were amazed to see a hand appear, and they discovered Mrs Hazard, still alive, but pinned under fallen wreckage. Sadly her three young children had been smothered under the weight of mud and wreckage.
Old Tuhoto, who had predicated the disaster, survived for four days, buried in his whare. However, he died soon after his rescue.
Serveral days later a party crossed the lake to see what had become of the people of Te Ariki. To their horror they found the whole village had disappeared and its people along with it. The village of Moura had also been obliterated, buried under great masses of volcanic mud and ash.
Lake Rotomahana had simply evaporated. In its place was a steaming valley, pockmarked with craters and fumaroles, or steaming holes. From these craters sulphurous ash and rattling volleys of stones belched forth. Steam rose from pools of boiling mud.
The beautiful pink and white terraces had gone for ever, shattered into a thousand 
fragments or buried beneath tons of ash and lava. The hills all around were grey with ash, and some were coated with glistening mud, like the icing on a cake. Far away in the distance Mount Ruapehu could be seen with a cloud suspended above its crater.
Now, Mount Tarawera sleeps. Tourists still visit the area but now they come to view the evidence and results of the eruption of 1886 and to imagine how it must have been before the monumental natural disaster wreaked such havoc and destruction.