Kelsey Waghorn: White Island volcano survivor’s gruesome injuries revealed – as she relives the moment the world erupted in a deadly fireball, killing 22 around her and maiming 25 more

Kelsey Waghorn: White Island volcano survivor’s gruesome injuries revealed – as she relives the moment the world erupted in a deadly fireball, killing 22 around her and maiming 25 more

Amid the island’s terrain, two streams meandered toward Crater Bay. These natural pathways were a familiar sight, often used by the group to regroup after traversing the landscape. It was here, in the shadow of the island’s volcanic features, that discussions about the water’s taste would take place, offering a brief respite from the otherwise relentless pace of the tour.

Though the streams appeared similar at first glance, their flavors diverged sharply. One carried a metallic tang, while the other offered a sharp, acidic bite. As I guided the group through these observations, a sudden cacophony of voices erupted—people shouting, gesturing, and reacting to something unseen. That instant, the world shifted. I recognized the chaos, and in a heartbeat, the island became a scene of erupting fury.

Kelsey Waghorn, then 25, was among the 47 visitors on New Zealand’s White Island during its December 9, 2019, eruption. She documented the event in her book, a testament to the trauma and survival that unfolded. A photograph from April 2020 captures her, her injuries still visible as her legs began to mend.

Within moments, the eruption claimed 22 lives and left 25 others severely wounded. Two bodies, however, were never found, adding a haunting layer to the aftermath. Time seemed to stretch during the crisis, as if the seconds dragged like minutes. What felt like a brief span of ten to twenty minutes was, in reality, 120 seconds of terror.

Aerial images reveal a dramatic scene: New Zealand Defence Force personnel working to retrieve remains from the volcanic terrain. Yet, even in the face of such urgency, the surreal nature of the event lingered. The sky was bathed in a striking contrast, the plume of ash and gas towering above the island’s peak, creating a scene both mesmerizing and lethal.

There was no thunderous warning, no rumbling hint of danger. The only sound was the frantic calls on radios shouting, “ERUPTION! TAKE COVER!” and my own voice urging, “Everyone, with me! Run!” My instincts, honed by safety training, propelled me forward. I sprinted along the track, navigating a field of boulders before taking cover behind a rocky outcrop.

‘This feels just like our drills. This is insane.’

The absurdity of the moment seeped into my thoughts, a fleeting laugh escaping my mind as I scrambled for safety. Most of the group followed, while a few veered left, seeking shelter behind another mound of stone, still within sight. We were roughly 400 meters from the main crater, but the distance seemed vast.

As the group settled behind the rocks, a new realization dawned. The pyroclastic surge, a phenomenon I had studied, was now bearing down on us. Its approach was swift, yet my mind raced, making the movement feel slower than it was. The surge, dense and hot, carried volcanic debris and gases, a deadly wave that could not be outrun.

‘My exposed arms started to feel like they were on fire.’

The heat was relentless, and for a moment, my right elbow remained unscathed because I had shielded it with my hands as long as I could. A companion, Jake, joined me in the shelter, his voice trembling as he called my name. I reassured him, whispering, ‘It’s going to be okay.’

Though time slowed for me, others were still in motion. The eruption had left no room for hesitation, and every step toward safety carried the weight of uncertainty. As the pyroclastic surge approached the northern wall, it became clear that the worst-case scenario had materialized, and the island’s fury would not be so easily contained.