A single photograph has ignited fierce debate across New Zealand in the aftermath of the devastating Mount Maunganui landslide. Captured nearly two hours after a local resident dialed 111 to report instability on Mauao (Mount Maunganui), the image shows several walkers standing precariously close to the edge of a large slip scar on the mountain’s flank. The ground beneath them appears freshly disturbed, with cracked earth and exposed soil hinting at the instability that would soon claim lives below.

The photo, obtained by the NZ Herald from a resident, was taken on the morning of January 22, 2026, amid heavy rain that had battered the Bay of Plenty region for days. It depicts a group of people—possibly unaware of the earlier emergency call—positioned on what looks like the rim of a significant failure zone. The slip scar is visible as a dark gash cutting down the slope toward the base where the Mount Maunganui Beachside Holiday Park sat. In the hours following this image, a much larger landslide would roar down the same mountainside, burying parts of the holiday park and leading to the deaths and disappearances that gripped the nation.

The timeline is stark. A concerned local called emergency services around 7:42 a.m. after noticing smaller slips and water pooling dangerously near tents in the holiday park. Photos from that time show staff in a golf buggy assessing the area amid waterlogged ground. Despite the report, no immediate evacuation or closure of walking tracks on Mauao appears to have occurred. By approximately 9:30 a.m., the catastrophic main slip occurred, sweeping through the campground and trapping campers under debris.

The photograph raises uncomfortable questions about response times, communication, and risk management in popular recreational areas. Why were walkers allowed—or able—to reach such a hazardous spot after an emergency call had been placed? Did authorities have insufficient information to act swiftly? Or was the mountain’s instability underestimated until it was too late? Critics point to the image as evidence of a potential gap in protocols: even if the initial call focused on the base, the upper slopes were clearly unstable, as proven by the photo and the eventual disaster.

Geotechnical experts have since been assessing the site, noting that prolonged saturation from heavy rain weakened the volcanic soil and ash layers on Mauao’s steep faces. Smaller precursor slips had occurred overnight and early morning, visible in the photo’s disturbed ground. A resident who provided the image expressed regret: “I’m kicking myself, I should have kicked up more of a fuss.” Others argue the walkers may have started from the opposite side (Pilot Bay) without knowledge of the developing crisis on the summit path.

The landslide struck at a peak holiday time, turning a beloved spot into a scene of horror. Six people remain missing, with recovery operations ongoing after police shifted from rescue to recovery mode. Human remains have been located, but the deep burial and unstable terrain make the process slow and dangerous. Families grieve publicly, sharing memories of loved ones like Susan Knowles, the 71-year-old grandmother passionate about horses, and the two 15-year-old classmates on a group trip. Tributes flow in alongside questions about prevention.

This incident is part of a wider pattern. The 2026 Tauranga landslides impacted multiple suburbs, with slips in Welcome Bay, Papamoa, and elsewhere triggered by the same weather system. New Zealand’s geology—steep hills, volcanic soils, and frequent intense rain—makes landslides the country’s most common deadly natural hazard. Yet popular sites like Mauao draw thousands of walkers daily, often with limited real-time hazard monitoring.

The photo has amplified calls for reform. Advocates demand better early-warning systems, including sensors on high-risk slopes, faster communication between emergency services and land managers, and automatic track closures during severe weather. Holiday parks and councils face scrutiny over evacuation triggers: why weren’t campers moved after the initial signs? Some survivors credit quick actions by individuals—like a teacher who warned people before perishing herself—but systemic failures are under review.

The image also highlights human behavior in nature. Walkers often underestimate risks, continuing routines despite visible warnings. The precarious stance in the photo—people standing on the very edge of failure—serves as a visual warning about complacency. It echoes past tragedies where photos captured moments before disaster, reminding us how thin the line can be between safety and catastrophe.

As recovery continues, the photograph remains a haunting symbol. It captures not just a moment of danger but a missed opportunity. Had the instability been acted on more decisively after the 111 call, perhaps fewer lives would have been lost. Investigations by police, geotechnical teams, and independent reviewers will examine the timeline, communications, and decisions made that morning.

For the families waiting for answers, the photo is bittersweet: proof the danger was visible, yet not enough to prevent the horror that followed. The community of Tauranga and Mount Maunganui mourns while reflecting on resilience and responsibility. Mauao, long a place of beauty and cultural significance to Māori, now carries scars both physical and emotional.

In the wake of this tragedy, New Zealand confronts hard truths about living with natural hazards. The walkers in that photograph—unwittingly on the brink—embody the need for vigilance, better systems, and collective action. As the mountain stands silent once more, the image endures as a call to ensure no future photo captures such peril unheeded.