White Island Whakaari: The Elusive Prize
We began today with high hopes of spending the morning wandering on an active volcano. White Island or Whakaari, as it is known to Maori, is situated in the Bay of Plenty, on the Northeastern side of New Zealand’s North Island. It is a volcano that continously pours out steam, with occasional blasts of ash and rock. From the sea floor the volcano is around 760 metres (2500 feet) high with the island being the 321 metres (1053 feet) that are above sea level. The sight of the island steaming away in the morning light, with the colours of sulphur and patches of greenery clinging to it, is a glory to behold. Even on such an inhospitable place there is animal life, with a number of substantial gannet colonies on those outer island slopes that are best protected from the sulphur and steam.
According to Maori legend the island volcano was created when the Polynesian high priest and navigator Ngatoro-i-te-rangi was lost in the cold interior mountains of New Zealand’s North Island. He called to his sisters for help; they in response sent fire through Whakaari (White Island) to Rotorua and to the mountains where Ngatoro was freezing- thus creating the central North Island volcanoes of Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe and Tongariro.
In more recent times White Island had human inhabitants. In the early twentieth century a mine was established to dig sulphur for fertilizer. The miners worked in appalling conditions with the acid steam rotting their clothes and boots, irritating their eyes and turning their teeth black. The fertilizer they made was of dubious quality; it was better used as weed killer. The only consolation the miners had was that the area around the island was a superb spot for fishing. In September 1914 the visiting postman could find no trace of the ten workers on the island. It was soon learned that they and the entire mining settlement had been buried in a landslide. The bodies were never found, the only survivor being a cat named Peter the Great who was returned to the mainland and was reputed to have afterwards fathered most of the kittens in the Bay of Plenty. A further mining camp was set up in the early 1920s, but by 1930 attempts to mine on the island were abandoned.
For us our hopes had to also be abandoned. Tangaroa, the god of the sea, was not cooperative. The rolling sea made any landing attempt impossible. We had to content ourselves with circumnavigating the island a number of times and taking photos of our elusive prize. Whakaari is another reminder of the awesome powers of nature, a home of Ruamoko the Maori god of volcanoes and earthquakes. The recent tragic earthquake in Christchurch reminds us of might of nature and our own fragile hold on life; lets do what we can to help our fellow strugglers.
So we set forth on what remained a beautiful day. Passing the picturesque Mayor Island (Tuhua to the Maori, who quarried obsidian there) and the dramatically rugged Aldermen Islands. Our path was made wonderful by sightings of flying fish, Mola mola (sun fish) and Manta Rays. Travelling around these islands by sea, has been a privilege I have enjoyed immensely and trust that all aboard have enjoyed it as greatly as I have.
