The 56-year-old has lived there most of her life and her family know the land well, including how it floods, such as this year, during Cyclone Bola in 1988, and in the middle of last century.
Ten months ago the river, which is this week running steady but well below its banks, turned into a torrent at a sharp elbow.
“When it’s in flood and there’s too much flow in the awa it can’t turn any longer and it snakes its way across and takes the shortest route to the sea, which unfortunately is through North Clyde, and that’s what brought the flooding in Gabrielle,” McIlroy said.
It was up to a couple of metres high in places and left deep deposits of silt in its wake, much of which is still sitting on McIlroy’s property. Like many, she’s unsure what to do with it.
Now, the focus is turning towards making sure such a flood will not happen again.
“It’s a very difficult kaupapa because of the size of the catchment that contributes to this awa and because of this turn here.
“The main thing is we’re trying to move towards the least impact on people’s homes and marae and urupā.”
Whatever the solution, it could include channels across land or stopbank work.
The effect of Cyclone Gabrielle has taken a toll. Until there was better flood prevention in place, McIlroy acknowledged anxiety every time there was a storm warning.
“The isolation - that impacts us heavily. Communication - we lost communication. We couldn’t even ring 111,” McIlroy said.
“It wasn’t a good experience. It’s traumatised a lot of our people and that’s not been addressed.”
On February 14, McIlroy’s sister warned her the river was rising, so she and her family got out safely, having already packed bags just in case they had to evacuate.
Stopping to warn others, with the rising water lapping at their car tyres, they headed to Pūtahi Marae, which is on higher ground.
After a few weeks, McIlroy and her husband returned to their damaged house - a family home built by her grandfather - where they lived until a couple of months ago.
They made do as best they could, with no hot water - washing dishes in an improvised sink using a garden hose.
“We had no shower for eight months, so we had to go and take the family to the marae,” she said.
“You do what you’ve got to do. Lucky that some organisations donated that fridge and stove, so we were able to set up something, and [kaupapa Māori organisation] Tātau Tātau of te Wairoa gave us some tables and chairs.
“We were able to live like this for quite a while.”
In the depths of winter it grew cold, but McIlroy had the fireplace checked out and given the okay.
She was not sure when the house could be repaired, as the family did not have insurance.
Now, they’re living in two cabins, she and her husband in one and her children in the other. She has a Christmas tree up in the corner, with decorations salvaged from their house - a nice reminder of pre-cyclone life.
The cabins are comfortable, clean and warm. The second one arrived through Tātau Tātau o te Wairoa two months ago, allowing McIlroy and her husband out of their damaged home.
She describes such efforts as co-governance at work, although she wondered if Wairoa had been forgotten about at a national level.
“I feel like we’ve been treated like the poor cousin. Per capita, Wairoa was the worst affected and 70 per cent [affected were] Māori.
“We’re high in deprivation statistics here so it’s really hit us hard, but I take my hat off to our Māori organisations that have gone all out for us.”
While plenty of people wait to get back into their homes, some have returned.
Rowley Powdrell is working to clear silt from his property. Photo / Jimmy Ellingham / RNZ
A few kilometres west of Wairoa, the river rose over State Highway 2 to flood Rowley Powdrell’s family homestead, forcing him and wife Larraine out until a month ago.
Inside the house he points out the newly repaired skirting board, saved by a neighbour, who is a carpenter.
“He took them off without cracking any of them. They’re all heart rimu.”
The 77-year-old said the homestead was built in 1874 and had remained in the family, who farm the area. He was the fourth generation to live there, while the sixth generation was already on the wider family property.
Powdrell lived through Cyclone Bola. He said the 1988 storm was worse in some ways, but did not rival this year’s storm for the silt it left behind. It was everywhere, and Powdrell had spent the winter digging it out of his property.
On February 14 he saw the water rising, so managed to move out plenty of furniture.
The water was so strong it sucked away eight cords of firewood Powdrell had stored.
The garden and many trees were wrecked by silt, and Powdrell and his wife had to rent a house a couple of kilometres along the road while their home was repaired.
He has replanted grass straight into the silt, but continues the slow process of clearing his section and the buildings dotted around.
“I’ve got a couple of guys from up the road coming to help me. You need that otherwise you’d never get through it,” he said.
“They’re saying there’s going to be a drought. That hasn’t happened yet, but I believe it might later. The weather’s difficult.
“A digger has not long gone from my nephew’s pace [next door]. He’s had to pull out because he’s getting stuck. The digger was getting stuck in the silt, right against the toe of the hills.
“He went out and said, ‘I’m not coming back until the country dries out a bit.’”
Powdrell was clear on what needed to happen next.
“We need some service to this river. It needs, possibly, a dredge. It needs something worked out with it, properly.
“Since they’ve stopped taking metal out of the river I think the river’s got shallow. That’s not helping.”
As summer approaches, Powdrell faces more long days busy with clean-up work.
“There’s no use sitting back. You must help yourself. You’ve got to get stuck in.
“I’m very lucky here that I’ve got terrific neighbours and they’ve all come down and helped. There were 40 or 50 here helping. It makes a huge difference.”
