When Ruapehu erupted on September 23, 1995, Korty Wilson wasn’t afraid.
Standing on her ancestral mountain on a beautiful evening, she watched the volcano explode into life after months of restlessness.
“I cried because I felt overwhelmed. I felt like I was in the right place at the right time. I was in awe,” Wilson remembers.
“I couldn’t hear anything. I just saw ‘boom!’
“It was actually awesome to be there, seeing what was happening. It was special.”
Around her, others reacted very differently.
“Some people were a bit afraid. People were running and screaming.”
Three decades later, Wilson was among scientists, emergency managers and iwi representatives gathered at Maungarongo Marae in Ohakune on June 19 to mark 30 years since the 1995-96 Ruapehu eruptions and reflect on the lessons learned.
For Wilson, of Ngāti Rangi – an uri (descendant) of Te Whare Toka o Paerangi (Paerangi’s House of Stone) – the experience was shaped by a lifelong relationship with the mountain.
“He’s our koro,” she said. “We’ve known this since we were probably in our mum’s womb.”
Her sister Deanna Wilson remembers watching the eruption from her mother’s home.
“We saw the black lahar going down the left-hand side of the maunga,” she said. “We were just in awe, calling out to each other, ‘Come and have a look’.”
The memories stand in contrast to the violent forces being released on the mountain’s summit.
Harry Keys, then a Department of Conservation scientist, remembers months of escalating activity before the major September eruption. Smaller eruptions, including one on June 18, had unleashed a series of avalanches.
Then, at three minutes before 5pm on September 23, the volcano unleashed one of the most dramatic eruptions in its recent history.
“I was with my wife and our two boys, who were quite little, looking at the lahars of the previous week at Tukino,” Keys said.
“As we drove off, on the Desert Road, I was thinking ‘thank goodness, we’ve got through the day, it hasn’t erupted, the skifield will be closed now.
“And then, suddenly, up it went – a jet of volcanic ash, boulders, steam and water, just flying out.”
On the mountain and viewed on a clear day from miles around, the eruption was spectacular. For those tasked with public safety, it was also deeply concerning.
“Most people are not on or around the summit where the hazards are really close and intense,” Keys said. “But rocks are coming out individually as well. Basically flying rocks.”
The rocks were hurled more than a kilometre into the air. Some travelled as far as three kilometres from the crater.
One landed on one of the trails on Whakapapa ski field, Keys said.
At the same time, water and debris racing down the slopes formed lahars that swept through parts of the ski fields below – “a major hazard”.
A decision made only minutes before the eruption may have prevented a tragedy.
The high-altitude Far West T-bar on Whakapapa Ski Area had closed for the day shortly before the eruption – despite earlier plans to leave the lift open later than usual.
“That saved many lives, possibly as many as 20 lives, maybe even more,” Keys said.
Had the lift remained open, skiers would probably have still been queuing or lingering on the upper slopes when volcanic bombs and ash began raining down.
“That was the closest shave. That was a very close event,” Keys said.
The close call continues to trouble Keys three decades later.
“National parks are open to everyone and free to visit. It’s a cherished principle,” he said. “But public access can’t outweigh public safety.”
Whether that means closing the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, shutting ski lifts or restricting access to high-risk areas, authorities must be prepared to act before the danger is obvious to visitors, he says.
The eruptions continued through 1996, spreading ash across a swathe of the North Island, as far as the Bay of Plenty and Whakaari, disrupting tourism, affecting infrastructure including roads, water supplies and power lines, and forcing communities to adapt to life alongside an active volcano.
Keys says a key lesson from that time is the need for fast and efficient communication.
“I’m talking about the first minutes, hour, two hours, five hours – when you’ve got to make a series of decisions very quickly.”
But for many who live at Ruapehu’s heels, the mountain remains far more than a volcanic risk.
“We don’t see the maunga as a hazard,” Deanna Wilson said. “When you live under an active volcano, you don’t really think of the volcano as that.
“That’s my maunga. He’s our koro.
“I mean, every day when you can see the maunga like it is today, you just feel blessed.”
LDR is local body journalism co-funded by RNZ and NZ On Air.
