A year has passed since Cyclone Gabrielle cut its deadly path across the North Island. 1News reporter and Hawke’s Bay local Henry McMullan remembers what it was like being in the eye of that storm.
As Cyclone Gabrielle approached Hawke’s Bay in February last year, I was doing what everyone else in the area was doing – seeking solace in social media updates from Civil Defence.
Relief briefly swept over me as those updates reassured us that the situation was going to be monitored overnight. Little did I know that within hours, thousands of lives would be turned upside down.
I woke to a flurry of calls at 4am from the Breakfast team, looking for live crosses from the cyclone’s fallout for their broadcast.
I told my partner I was off. “See you soon,” I said.
But it would be days before I saw her again. Days in which I didn’t know if she or our home had survived Gabrielle’s relentless assault.
A bitter reality sets in
As I made my way to Hastings on February 14, the extent of the devastation became clearer.
Rivers were still rising and had transformed into destructive forces, wiping out roads, power lines, and communication networks. Isolation from loved ones across the region became a bitter reality for many.
With all communications down, I began driving and collecting footage and stories of whatever I could.
Driving through flooded highways, I realised this storm and the damage it left in its wake was different. It was colossal.
Amid the chaos, ordinary people turned into extraordinary rescuers, venturing out in boats to save stranded individuals.
I vividly remember stopping on the highway to film what I thought were farmers rescuing their sheep from drowning. But they were simply good Samaritans, just doing whatever they could.
Hans Paaymans and Chris Howard were driving past the paddock when they saw the flock were in serious trouble. (Source: 1News)
That same scene was happening right around the East Coast. Three locals navigated a boat along State Highway 5, rescuing people from rooftops.
“Are you guys from the Navy?” one person asked as they and their family were rescued from their home.
"Nah, we're just three Māori boys," said Mikey Kihi, Rikki Kihi and Morehu Maxwell.
Being stuck on the other side of town later that day in a dark hotel without power and without hearing from my partner was surreal.
It wasn't until I boarded a helicopter the next day that I grasped the full extent of the damage in the region.
My hometown had been swallowed by Cyclone Gabrielle - fields turned into muddy wastelands, homes shattered, and once pristine green hillsides scarred from thousands of landslides. The land was crying in the aftermath of the storm, and I too welled up as I witnessed the heart-breaking scenes below.
Navigating the aftermath
I had never been so thankful I had “prepared” for the cyclone by filling the gas bottle the night before the storm reached Hawke’s Bay.
BBQs would soon become the norm for every meal. And after a day's work, my partner and I would join the masses heading to the airport to try and use the wi-fi there to connect to the world again.
But I was constantly reminded that we had nothing to complain about.
In the weeks that followed, communities rallied together, clearing debris and offering each other support. But the magnitude of the disaster overwhelmed those efforts.
Esk Valley, once vibrant, became a forgotten silt valley.
Residents, frozen in limbo, awaited decisions about whether they could stay and rebuild their homes.
The most proud and stoic farmers, accustomed to facing challenges head-on, were brought to tears by the enormity of the situation.
A slow recovery
As the region slowly re-opened, the scars remained.
State Highway 2 connecting Napier to Wairoa was closed for months, cutting the lifeline of the East Coast off. At the road’s re-opening ceremony, locals challenged authorities to “never let this happen again”.
“This road is a lifeline for so many whānau; it’s not fair to worry if we’ll be cut off every time it rains,” a Wairoa local said.
The year that just wouldn’t stop raining cruelly kept reminding East Coasters of the cyclone’s force.
Anxiety levels grew with every downpour. You could see it in the faces of schoolteachers and children – will this bout of rain cut them off again?
A year on, I didn't expect to be so disheartened during an interview with a retired couple who survived raging waters that fateful night, but whose property is frozen in time.
As they took me on a tour through their beloved home last week, the property still hasn't been cleared, serving as a poignant reminder of that day of chaos.
A stuffed teddy, still coated in silt, waits patiently at the entrance. Artwork that held so much priceless sentimental value is now unrecognisable, torn with dry, dusty silt and growing cobwebs.
They are considered lucky flood recovery residents, opting for an insurance cash pay-out and a yellow-stickered home, but they still live in a caravan on their property. They walk 200 metres to the old cow shed for their bathroom and kitchen, which consists of a BBQ and air fryer on the workbench.
What now?
So, what have we learned since February 14 and where do we go from here?
The report from an inquiry into Civil Defence’s response is expected in March, but for many on the East Coast, the delay is demoralising. Calls for accountability grow as some local authorities remain in their roles despite the tragedies.
A call for justice reverberates, challenging the powers that be to act swiftly and prevent such a catastrophe from happening again.
The many different scars left by Cyclone Gabrielle still run deep.
But the East Coast spirit endures and as we reflect on the past year, those scars serve as a stark reminder of the need for preparedness, resilience, and a commitment to the safety and wellbeing of communities outside of the main centres too.
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