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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 12, Issue 7 (October 1, 1937.)

“Spectre of the Brocken” — Experience on Mt. Egmont — Awe-Inspiring Spectacle

page 45

“Spectre of the Brocken”
Experience on Mt. Egmont
Awe-Inspiring Spectacle

(Rly. Publicity photo.) Mt. Kgmont (8,260 ft.) from Lake Mangamahoe, North Island, New Zealand.

(Rly. Publicity photo.)
Mt. Kgmont (8,260 ft.) from Lake Mangamahoe, North Island, New Zealand.

Nature presents at times in mountainous regions and other more or less unfrequented parts of the earth's surface, many wonderful sights. Of these perhaps most striking are the various forms of mirage. These are the result of reflection or refraction of light generally on the clouds or on the earth's surface. They occur only under certain circumstances. Fortunate indeed is the traveller who happens to be just where conditions favour such a happening. He sees a sight that he will never forget all his life.

Of all forms of mirage none is more grand and awe-inspiring than that known as the “Spectre of the Brocken.” It is seen most frequently on the Hartz Mountains in West Saxony, a province of Prussia, and owes its origin to the action of the light of the sun, setting on the clouds. It is somewhat remarkable that this nimbus spectacle is seen and has got its name from one particular place on the earth's surface, probably due to special atmospheric and climatic conditions. It has, however, been observed in New Zealand, though somewhat rarely. Men who have spent many years among the mountains have made special reference to some of the occasions on which they have had the good fortune to see this mirage, but only one appears to have seen it as did the writer during a descent on Mt. Egmont.

The Spectre was so named from having been first observed in 1780 on the Brocken, an enormously magnified shadow of an observer cast upon a bank of cloud in high mountain regions when the sun is low. The shadow, often accompanied by coloured bands, reproduces every motion of the observer in the form of a gigantic but misty image of himself.

The Brocken is a mountain in Prussian Saxony, the highest point (3,733 ft.) of the Hartz and indeed of North Germany. Its huge granite-strewn dome commands magnificent views in all directions, to Magdebury and the Elbe, Leipzig, and the Thuringian Forest, celebrated by Longfellow and Sullivan in poetry and music in the Golden Legend.

Some twelve years ago this great
(Govt. Publicity photo.) A Maori canoe scene on Lake Rotorua, North Island, New Zealand.

(Govt. Publicity photo.)
A Maori canoe scene on Lake Rotorua, North Island, New Zealand.

and notable sight was observed on Mt. Egmont by a small party of climbers, the late Samuel Turner, his son Cyril and myself. We were exceedingly fortunate in that only a few times has it been witnessed, as we saw it, on Egmont or in any other part of the Dominion. It was as unexpected as it was welcome. Mr. Truner had climbed in Prussia and practically every mountain range in the world and his name became a househould word in the annals of climbing in New Zealand. One of his most noteworthy feats was the pioneer ascent of Tutoko, a most difficult climb indeed.

What added to the experience is the fact that, whereas generally each member of a party sees only his own figure on the cloud, we had the good fortune to see all three figures mirrored distinctly on the cloud.

It is a coincidence that on the night previous to the climb, we were sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, Miss Murphy and some visitors round one page 46 page 47 of those wonderful log fires in the smoking room of the old hostel at Dawson Falls—while our visitors will recall the great blaze in a room which seemed more friendly and cosy than one gets now in the days of electric heaters and ranges—and the talk swung round to the “Spectre of the Brocken.” None of us had seen the spectacle but Mr. Murphy, and he only twice. Miss Murphy resurrected a long article descriptive of one previous occasion on which it had been seen. She added naively. “And it is a superstition about it, that a fatality always has been known to follow.” We read the article, talked a bit more and then went to sleep in preparation for the morrow.

Up betimes in the morning, we started for what we expected would be just an ordinary climb, such as two of us had often had previously. It was, however, Cyril's maiden adventure on the mountain and naturally he was full of interest and of anticipation. Actually it turned out to be the most extraordinary we or any other climbers on Mt. Egmont up to that time ever had.

We had decided to ascend by Stratford Ridge the best climbing when there is not much snow on the peak, and to return by way of Fanthams Peak (Rimutoto) to Dawson Falls. The journey up the east ridge and down almost to the tussock on the south was devoid of much interest, save for the fact that a heavy mist settled down when we were halfway up and thence forward until we reached the summit we saw at no one time more than fifty yards ahead. Direction finding was, under such circumstances, a matter of some difficulty. That we succeeded so well is a tribute to the mountaineering genius of Mr. Turner to whose judgment we naturally deferred. We had lunch in the crater and enjoyed tramping to various points of vantage, with a modicum of skiing, of course without the aid of modern skis.

The descent was begun about three o'clock and after exploring parts of the Peak, we were almost on the tusssock line by 4.30 p.m., with the late afternoon sun behind us and getting ready to disappear. Mr. Turner and I were a little in advance when suddenly we saw simultaneously a curious formation in the clouds away to the east.

One can imagine the somewhat awed feeling we experienced as this huge circle of cloud, set round by a faint rainbow, gradually forming itself as we watched. And this was followed by the framing in its centre of two figures—ourselves—much more than life size and then by the smaller figure of our youthful companion who had for the moment been separated from us as he went to look at something in which he was interested. When to this is added the recollection of the somewhat alarming story told us on the previous night, our feeling of mystery and awe may
The moving travel display featuring the scenic resorts of New Zealand, which created much interest at the Railway Grand Carnival Ball held recently at Hokitika.

The moving travel display featuring the scenic resorts of New Zealand, which created much interest at the Railway Grand Carnival Ball held recently at Hokitika.

be imagined. It was without doubt a most awe-inspiring spectacle.

It was really a thrilling and wonderful experience, more so to the youngster making his first climb and to myself who had made several. We talked it over with visitors who had since arrived and it was quite interesting to have seen a spectacle missed by climbers of much experience. To me it recalled a sight I had seen in the late afternoon from the old Stratford golf links when the form of old Taranaki was mirrored in the clouds near Tongariro and Ruapehu, whence came, so tradition tells, the former driven away in a fight for lovely Pihanga.

Mr. Rod Syme and Mr. J. P. Murphy, two of the foremost mountaineers in New Zealand, have seen the spectre on Egmont and Messrs. B. C. Aston and A. P. O'Donoghue, in the inland Kaikouras. But the general experience is that only one figure was reflected in the cloud.

Over the afternoon tea table the talk centred round the actual event and one felt that other climbers were a little envious and perhaps incredulous. But we had the satisfaction of knowing we had an experience very unusual in the history of climbing on the sentinel of Taranaki. It was quite unforgettable, a sight that will never fade from one's memory, truly the experience of a lifetime.

When the slump (now happily a thing for the past) hit the Old Country the demand for what are called “luxury lines” slackened off a lot, but according to latest advices the cigar trade in England is now livelier than it has been for many a day. We Maorilanders are not so partial to cigars as they are at Home, and during the depression the trade in them dwindled away to nothing with us. But the demand for tobacco remained as keen as ever. More especially was this the case regarding our famous toasted brands — Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Cavendish, Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold. These are always wanted. When things are bad the smoker craves them to buck him up; when things are good he wants them just because things are good! There's something about toasted that never fails to appeal to lovers of the weed, so sweet is it, so fragrant, so soothing and comforting. But beware of imitations! They're no good. No more like the real thing than chalk's like cheese.*