“She’s so tired… my babies are still under there somewhere”: A father’s broken plea as the Mount Maunganui landslide nightmare deepens and rescuers fear time is running out

What began as a peaceful night at a seaside campground has turned into a living nightmare that refuses to end.

Standing ankle-deep in mud and twisted debris, a grieving father collapsed into the arms of rescuers and iwi volunteers, his voice cracking as he whispered the words that have haunted the entire search effort:

“She’s so tired… my little ones are still under there somewhere.”

In just seconds, a massive section of hillside gave way, sending tons of earth crashing down onto the campground below. Tents were flattened. Cars disappeared beneath the soil. Families were buried before they could even run.

Two young children vanished beneath the collapse.

Now, days later, the rain still pounds the site, turning the ground into unstable sludge and forcing search crews to work in near silence — listening for any sound that might signal life. Helicopters hover overhead. Floodlights cut through the fog. And hope is growing thinner by the hour.

Rescue teams say conditions are becoming increasingly dangerous, with the soaked hillside threatening to shift again at any moment. Yet volunteers and first responders continue digging by hand, refusing to leave until every possibility is exhausted.

Locals describe the father’s eyes as “unforgettable” — hollow, fixed on the earth that swallowed his children.

“He just kept staring at the hill,” one witness said. “Like he was willing it to give them back.”

Officials have described the collapse as the result of extreme weather, but whispers are spreading through the community. Was it truly just a freak storm? Or did years of erosion and hidden instability set the stage for disaster?

Geologists are now examining whether the slope showed warning signs long before it failed. For families waiting nearby, the answer may bring little comfort.

As night falls again on the wreckage, the search continues — slower now, heavier, filled with the unspoken fear that miracles may no longer be possible.

Candles line the edge of the campground. Children’s shoes sit in the mud where tents once stood. And one father still waits, clinging to the last fragments of hope.

Miracles do happen, people say.

But in the silence of the dig site, many are asking the question no one wants to hear out loud:

Is this the moment hope finally runs out?