The Night the Witches Ride
Long before the bonfires of Beltane crackle on May Day, there is another night. A wilder one. On April 30th, as twilight pools in the valleys and the last light bleeds from the western sky, an older magic stirs. This is Walpurgisnacht—the Witches' Night, May Eve, the threshold before the threshold. In the folklore of the Germanic and Nordic lands, it is the night when witches were said to fly to the summit of the Brocken in the Harz Mountains, where they danced with horned spirits around towering fires until the sun rose on the first of May.
For modern witches, Walpurgisnacht 2026 falls on the night of Thursday, April 30th into the dawn of Friday, May 1st. It is a liminal time—a hinge between the cold half of the year and the warm, between the disciplined work of spring and the wild abundance of summer. If Beltane is the festival of fire, Walpurgisnacht is the smoke that comes first, drifting through the trees, calling something old and free up out of the earth.
The History of Walpurgisnacht
Walpurgisnacht takes its name from Saint Walburga, an 8th-century English missionary who was canonized on May 1st. Her feast day was layered, by the Church, over much older pagan observances—particularly the Germanic spring festival that marked the final retreat of winter. The folk tradition that survived was contradictory and rich: Walburga was invoked as a protector against the very witches and spirits who were said to be most active on her night.
By the medieval period, the legend of the Brocken—the highest peak of the Harz Mountains in central Germany—had taken root. It was here, the stories said, that witches gathered on Walpurgisnacht to feast and dance before flying home at cockcrow. Goethe immortalized the scene in Faust, and today towns across Germany, Sweden, Finland, and the Czech Republic still light enormous bonfires on April 30th to drive away winter and the spirits riding on its back.
From Folk Fear to Reclaimed Magic
What the medieval Church feared, the modern witch reclaims. Women gathering on a mountaintop in the dark, dancing barefoot around a fire, defying the rules of the daylight world—this is not something to be banished. It is something to be honored. There is a part of the witch that belongs to the woods, to the smoke, to the wild wind that moves between the worlds.
Walpurgisnacht and Beltane: Two Sides of One Threshold
It is easy to confuse Walpurgisnacht with Beltane, but they are not the same. Think of them as evening and morning of one long sacred day. Walpurgisnacht is the wild, untamed half—dusk, smoke, banishing, the witch's flight. Beltane is the bright, fertile half—dawn, fire, blessing, the lovers' meeting.
If you celebrate both, you walk the full arc of the threshold. On the night of April 30th, you release, banish, and travel between worlds. On the morning of May 1st, you welcome, bless, and root yourself in the new season. Many traditional Beltane bonfires were in fact lit at dusk on April 30th and kept burning until the May Day sun rose—one continuous fire spanning both holy nights.
How to Celebrate Walpurgisnacht in 2026
You do not need a mountaintop or a coven to honor this night. The Brocken lives wherever you light a fire with intent. Here are four practices, scaled for any space.
1. Light a Banishing Fire
Outdoor firepit, indoor cauldron, or a single black candle—any flame will do. The work of Walpurgisnacht is releasing what winter has shown you. On a slip of paper, name what you are leaving behind: a fear that has grown stale, a relationship that no longer fits, a story you have outgrown. Burn it carefully. Do not save the ash. Bury it, or send it to the wind.
2. Cleanse the Threshold
Tradition holds that Walpurgisnacht is when malicious spirits are most active. Practitioners across Europe still cleanse their doorways on this night. Sweep your front step. Wash your doorframe with salt water. Hang a sprig of rowan, juniper, or birch above the door. Burn cleansing herbs—rosemary, mugwort, or cedar—and walk the perimeter of your home, letting the smoke move through every corner.
3. Take a Wild Walk
If it is safe to do so, walk outside after dark on April 30th. No phone. No music. Just you, the air, and whatever the night offers. Let yourself feel the part of you that does not belong to ordinary life—the witch beneath the witch. Notice what stirs. Notice what calls. The wild walk is a small act of flight, and it counts.
4. Sit Up Until Midnight
Walpurgisnacht traditionally ends at the stroke of twelve, when April surrenders fully to May. Light a candle at dusk and let it burn until midnight. Sit with it. Read, write, scry into the flame, journal about what is being released and what is being welcomed. When the candle is snuffed at midnight, the door closes. Beltane begins.
A Simple Walpurgisnacht Ritual
For those who want a more structured working, here is a short ritual you can complete in under thirty minutes.
You will need: a black candle, a white candle, a heatproof dish, dried mugwort or rosemary, a small piece of paper, and a pen.
Begin in darkness. Sit before your altar or any small clear surface. Take three slow breaths. When you are ready, light the black candle and say:
I light this fire on the Witches' Night. I call back what winter took. I release what no longer travels with me. I open the door, and I close the door, and I walk between.
Write on the paper what you are banishing. Be specific and unflinching. Burn it in the heatproof dish, adding a pinch of mugwort or rosemary to the flame. Watch the smoke until it thins.
When the smoke has cleared, light the white candle from the black candle's flame and say:
From the old fire, the new fire. From the dark half, the bright half. I greet what is coming. I am ready to be remade.
Let both candles burn together until midnight, if you can do so safely. At midnight, snuff the black candle and let the white one burn down on its own. The threshold is crossed. Beltane has begun.
The Quiet Power of May Eve
It is tempting to skip past Walpurgisnacht and arrive at Beltane already cleansed, already blessed, already in the bright morning of summer. But the witches who came before us understood something the daylight world forgets: you cannot bless what you have not first released. You cannot welcome the new self until you have honored, and let go of, the one who carried you here.
Walpurgisnacht is the pause between exhale and inhale. It is the moment after the old story ends and before the new one begins. It belongs to the wild ones, the wandering ones, the women who knew that a fire on a mountaintop in the dark was not evil—it was the oldest kind of prayer.
Light your fire on the Witches' Night. Release what winter showed you. Then walk through the smoke into Beltane's morning, lighter than you came.