Waiting for Matariki to rise

There’s a bend in the shared pathway out on Otago Peninsula just before you round the corner to Broad Bay. It’s nothing grand — a stretch of smooth asphalt, a bench or two, the kind of place most folks walk or pedal past without much thought. But this week, just before dawn, I’ll be standing there, steaming coffee in hand, waiting for Matariki to rise.

Matariki — known to astronomers as the Pleiades star cluster — is a little bundle of stars that appears low in the northeast sky just before sunrise at this time of year. For Māori, its heliacal rising — its first appearance above the horizon at dawn — marks the beginning of the new year, a time to remember those who’ve passed, give thanks for the harvest and set intentions for the months to come.

What moves me most is how Matariki reminds us that ancient people didn’t just look at the stars — they listened to them. They patiently watched out for patterns that repeated. The return of Matariki meant the shortest days were behind us. It was a celestial calendar, yes — but also a seasonal guide woven into the rhythm of planting, fishing, storytelling and remembrance.

This year, we celebrate Matariki on June 20. I’ll rise early, walk that quiet track with my binoculars tucked under one arm and find my spot. If the sky is kind, Matariki will gleam just above the Portobello peninsula. On calm mornings, the harbour turns to dark velvet, and the stars — Matariki among them — reflect on its surface so perfectly it’s like seeing the sky twice. The stillness becomes part of the show.

Then I’ll head straight to the museum, where we’ll gather for our annual hautapu ceremony — an early morning karakia shared with whānau, colleagues and friends, honouring both tradition and community.

People sometimes ask why I bother getting up so early, especially in June. But watching Matariki rise isn’t just an act of stargazing. It’s an act of gratitude. A moment of connection — with the past, with this land and with skies that have spoken to people for centuries.

And besides, on a still Dunedin morning, with the stars above and below, there’s no place I’d rather be.