The Hood River News, Hood River, OR., December 22, 1909, page 1


     The heavy snowfall in December, with the prospect of more, has caused many residents of Hood River to believe that weather conditions here are unprecedented, but Captain H.C. Coe, one of the oldest living pioneers in this section of the Columbia river basin, says "no."
     Captain Coe has been in the Hood River country since '54. With his brother, Eugene Coe, he formerly owned the townsite of Hood River and still has large property interests here. He was one of the pioneering steamboat men on both the upper and lower Columbia river, and took an active part in the Indian wars of the 70s.
     "The way the present winter started," said Captain Coe to the News man, "reminds me very much of the winter of '61-'62, that most severe in my experience. In the long and glorious summers we enjoy many people are apt to forget the cold and deep snow falls of some of our winters. There is no use, however, in dwelling on other winters as compared to '61-'62.
     "What has happened in the past may happen again. One in Hood River never knows what kind of a winter they are going to have, until it is past, and my advice is to always prepare for and expect the worst, and be glad if you are disappointed. There was a legend that the Indians were very fond of repeating to us by way of consolation, of a winter many years previous to '62, when so much snow fell that it did not melt off the ensuing summer. Their horses died, and many of the Indians also, and had it not been for a very plentiful run of salmon in the spring all would have perished for want of food.
     "Our first winter in Hood River (1854) then known as Dog River, was a delightful one; a little snow and freezing weather in December. Early in February we made garden, and not a frost after that to do any damage. The year 1858 was the record breaker for deep snows, five feet and one inch on the level, and not drifted. Our record for that winter is missing. However, it was chiefly notable for the quantity of snow on the ground at one time, rather than for its cold or duration, for by the middle of February the ground was bare. But '62 was a record smasher of note. Snow fell on the 19th day of November '61, and from that time until the 22nd day of April the ground was never entirely clear of snow. November was a month of disaster. Fifteen days of rain and three of snow is the record. From the fourth until the tenth, five days, the rain came down in torrents. Hood river was full from bank to bank, four or five feet higher than it has ever been since. They Willamette valley above Oregon City was transformed into a great lake. Steamboats navigated the country roads, miles away from the main channel, rescuing farmers who had taken refuge on house-tops and barns. Buildings of all descriptions came down the river, over the Oregon City falls intact, and on down past Portland to the Columbia river. The entire flats on the East Portland side of the river up to what is now known as Union avenue was covered with wreckage and drift many feet deep. Some eighteen inches of snow fell during the month. In December we had ten days of rain and three of snow, nineteen inches of snow during the month. On the 19th the mercury went down to 22 degrees and never got above freezing point but once until February 15th. On January 16th, the thermometer registered 24 degrees below zero, and the general mean was only 10.45 degrees for the month. Seven feet of snow fell and there was four feet two inches on the level at one time. The river closed January 1st and navigation was not resumed until the 12th day of March. This was the year of mining excitement in the Boise and Northern Idaho countries, and the casualties were many. Some six or eight persons were frozen to death between John Day's river and The Dalles, among them I.E. Jagger, a son-in-law of R.R. Thompson of Portland. Several people lost their lives between The Dalles and Portland, and report had it that every house between these points had from one to two more or less badly frozen. But the craze was on. Miners had made their way up from California, and were not to be deterred by a snowstorm and a little cold weather. Men but illy prepared to withstand the rigors of an ordinary winter, some without money and but a single pair of blankets, rushed headlong into the awful gorge of the Columbia, without a vestige of a road or even a trail to guide them, facing the fierce gales that drove the blinding snow in clouds into their faces. It was my fortune, or misfortune to have to make a trip to Portland at the very commencement of winter. The steamer Idaho went down to the Cascades on the New Year's day at, her last trip; the lower river was closed, so Wells Fargo's messenger, Jones, and myself took a small boat at the Cascades and made our way through the drift ice to the mouth of the Sandy river and then went on foot to Portland, reaching that place about 8 o'clock that night. On the sixth I was ready to return, and in company with Lew Day, a well known express manager, noted for his pluck and endurance, left Portland in a two-horse hack for the Sandy river, to which point there was a fair wagon road. We drove across the Willamette on the ice, and reached Joe Latourelle's in good season. On our way to Sandy we met Geo. H. Knaggs, a well known middle river steamboatman, and several others, on their way to Portland. They were badly used up and tried to dissuade us from attempting the trip. But we were not built that way, so continued on our trip. At Latourelle we found 28 miners on their way to the Boise mines. That night it commenced to snow, and was about 12 inches deep by morning, and a bitter east wind howling down the river. Day and I soon I left the miners behind and broke the trail the entire distance to the middle cascades, which we reached in good season, where we were cordially welcomed by John Barzee, the genial manager of the portage road then operated on the south, or Oregon side of the river. Snow fell all night and was over two feet deep by morning. A few miles above the cascades we met Captain E.W. Baughman E.F. Coe and Engineer John Girty, of the upper Columbia river, but now of The Dalles, and bound for Portland, then, as now, the mecca of the Northwest. We had some hard falls picking our way around Shell Rock Mountain, then noted far and near as the worst place on the route. We reached Mitchells Point that night completely done up. Day gave out about a mile from our destination and I thought it was all over with him, but he finally got on his feet again and made our stopping place. The wind had blown a living gale all day drifting and driving the snow in our faces, and adding greatly to the difficulty of the trip. We reached Hood River early the next morning, the snow measuring three feet deep. In March we ran out of provisions and I made two trips on the ice to The Dalles, hauling back flour on a hand sled.
     "Stock of all kinds suffered, and it was said that east of the Cascade mountains not a hoof of range stock was left. A good many cattle died here in the valley. Jenkins and Benson lost in the neighborhood of one hundred head and Piece and Weathereaux, north of Belmont, nearly as many more. None of our cattle died for want of food, though we lost several of our best cows from feeding on pine leaves. The ice in the Columbia froze to a great depth. At the foot of the rapids at Cascades, Captain John McNulty, of the steamer Idaho, told me that it piled up fully eighty feet high, and at The Dalles I saw a sixteen-foot pole run down a crack its full length without touching water. On the 21st of March we cut a trail through the snow and ice across Hood river and drove our cattle to the barren hills west of Mosier where an abundance of bunch grass remained, and our troubles were practically over for the winter."

©  Jeffrey L. Elmer