When we designed the mural (1996 & ’97) I was the information source on this old creek. But I got the main thing wrong: A creek didn’t flow in the places where the Wiggle goes.

I hereby recant (as I’m fond of doing) in great detail (as I’m also fond of doing).

I thought that the Wiggle follows an old creek bed. Half right! Only the part from Duboce to Market Street actually does. Sort of. The other part, north and west of Duboce Park, was so sandy that nothing flowed on the surface except during storms. Sand soaks up a lot of water.

The 1876 Humphreys map shows a guess at the original course, ignoring the diversion it suffered in the late 1700s. See! Maps lie. The green rectangle labeled HOSPITAL became Duboce Park.

Luckily for my half that was right, an actual creek did emerge at the base of the southernmost dune, right at Duboce Avenue (about where Sanchez is).

Here’s a rundown of what I now know about that creek.

Location

It flowed from a spring that emitted water absorbed by the dunefield. From there it flowed strongly across what is now Market Street at about Church Street. It went down 15th Street at the base of a cliff (since removed) near Dolores Street. Then it went over to 14th and entered a freshwater marsh, which in turn flowed into the tidal waterway called Mission Creek at 14th and Folsom, about where Rainbow Grocery is today.

The Creek’s Past

Before I address the tricky matter of its name, here’s the creek’s prehistory: Going back 10,000 years, the bedrock valley that’s below the sand was an actual creekbed flowing all the way from Golden Gate Park down to the Mission District. It was the ice age and the dunefield hadn’t formed, yet. Starting about 5,000 years ago, a “village” called Chutchui was along the creek. It was actually more of a campsite used during summers by Yelamu Ohlone indians.

The creek’s brief history: The strength of the spring was Captain Anza’s cue to locate the Mission just south of the dunes. They needed enough water to irrigate crops and orchards. The creek was channeled almost immediately.

According to research by Christopher Richard, an irrigation ditch was dug to divert the creek southward from the source. The couple hundred residents of Chutchui were conscripted as the first labor for the Franciscan padres who founded Mission Dolores. Indians were called “diggers” but probably not for their new pastime as ditchdiggers. More likely, it’s because they made baskets from rhizomes dug out of the creek banks.

The Creek Today

The January 1941 flood on Market Street. This was 31 years before the Muni Metro and 60 or so years before the vent was installed that acts as a drain into the station today.

Today, the creek flows in the ground, through fill soils and in the sewers. In storms, the creek returns. When the sewers fill, the water flows along the gutters. At least twice a decade, a bigger storm fills the whole street with water. A tunnel entrance at Duboce and a vent at Church and Market allow it into the subway—something designers may regret some day. The Muni Metro, at both the Van Ness and Church stations, closes for a few hours while the water gets pumped out again.

The Creek’s Future

Eventually, the pavement will wash away and the creek will return. Simple as that. Whether the creek is restored by design or by the caprices of extreme weather is up to us.

Help Name the Creek!

The case for ‘Dolores Creek’

The creek remains unnamed. Anza called it Dolores Spring (Ojo de Agua de los Dolores) because the day (in 1776) was the Feast of Sorrows (dolores). His geographer, Father Font, called the creek Dolores Creek (Arroyo Dolores) in his journal from the same expedition. We could simply use this name, except it would be confusing: Within months of Anza and Font, Father Palou (a geographic ignoramus) applied the name to another creek flowing where 18th Street is—and it stuck. Using ‘Dolores Creek’ would require also renaming the 18th Street creek.

The case for ‘San Souci Creek’

In the winter of 1861 to ’62, the largest storms ever recorded caused deep pools of water to collect in the dunefield. One covered 25 acres, in the Panhandle Park (which didn’t yet exist). When the sand gave way, slurry gushed furiously along the creek’s original bed. The deluge was so strong that it crushed Francois Pioche’s mansion to matchsticks. He was one of SF’s top financiers and his ill-fated L’Hermitage “guest cottage” was one of the few houses nearby at that time.

The popular (but incorrect) notion was that the floodwaters had come from a different over-filled lake: Sans (or San) Souci Lake was where the low part of Divisadero Street is now. It lapped the doorsills of the San Souci Roadhouse at what is now Fulton and Divisadero. As a result of this storied flood, the creek valley became known as Sans (or San) Souci Valley until at least 1920. The valley extended to the Panhandle and Lone Mountain. It was graded for roads and developed starting in the 1870s.

Perhaps the creek should be called San Souci Creek, as I did on my early Thinkwalks flyers. I like that name because sans souci means carefree in French.

It was often spelled to match the San in ‘San Francisco’. Since someone saw fit to drop an ‘s’, I hope to drop an ‘e’ and make Carefree Valley into Carfree Valley someday! I predict spelling-wars if the creek is named San Souci.

The case for ‘Chutchui Creek’

When I pose the question of naming to folks on my walking tours, the consensus is often to name it for the Yelamu campsite. Sadly, I have little information about its location(s) and less about how we came to know the name.

Have another name for the creek?

Please contribute your comments and suggestions below!

As mentioned in my previous post, the access to old articles has increased amazingly. And that access helped me to break this story.

Or at least rediscovered…

A 25-acre Phelps’ Lake in San Francisco’s Panhandle?

I’ve just solved a mystery described in my previous research on the south area of Divisadero street. Back when it was a winding path through the dunes, Devisadero, as it was known, connected the Mission Dolores to the Presidio. The incorrect story had settled into this version over the years: San Souci Lake, located at Divisadero north of Hayes Street, burst its banks in 1862 and flowed to 7th and Market where it destroyed Pioche’s house—an impossibility by gravity alone, since it’s a different watershed! Thus the mystery. But now I’ve found that a second lake existed along Divisadero, just to the south. I see that my conjecture was correct: the flood was toward the Mission Dolores, instead, and destroyed a different residence of Francois Pioche than his 7th Street location.

My newfound solution clears up some mysteries and debunks errors found in the files of many libraries and archives, biographies,  articles (pdf) and books (search the linked page for ‘San Souci’). Of course, my discovery creates other layers of mystery.

The topic connects with the gigantic storms of 1861-62 that I’ve been studying. I just sent a letter to Janet Sowers, who is the hydrologist in charge of the SF-PUC historic watershed map, asking her to consider including the lakes on the map.

Click to enlarge. The brownish, Y-shaped lake at the bottom, right of this detail is Laguna Honda, but what are the two long lakes in the area between the "mission mountains" and Lone Mountain (with cross at top)? And is the flowy thing crossing Market Street at about church street the flood path described in the articles below? What do you think? Please add your comments at the end of this blog post.

The two Divisadero lakes may be considered “vernal” lakes, meaning formed by seasonal rains, but they may have lasted years or come back every year. To be clear, the two lakes are Phelps’ Lake and San Souci Lake. Phelps’ Lake seems to have existed only briefly—possibly only a few months in 1862, but probably also repeatedly after rains in other years. It may be the lake shown in the middle of a birds-eye view by George Goddard (detail shown).

San Souci Lake may have existed for a few years or even many years. In this post, I’ll describe full chapter and verse of evidence for Phelps’ Lake only, as I have covered some aspects of San Souci Lake previously. I think San Souci was a more enduring lake, and was mentioned more often in later documents, but it’s not to be found on any image I know—unless it’s also one of the Goddard map anomalies shown here in the detail. San Souci Lake is, however, mentioned some in the articles presented below, and guess-drawn in on my old blog post where I began describing my research on this topic.

These two lakes were apparently (based on 1850s coast surveys) separated by a linear dune about 60 feet high running along what’s now Hayes Street to the west from Alamo Square.

Evidence for Phelps’ Lake

This serious accumulation of water may have only existed after strong rains, in varying shapes depending on dune shifts and rain depths. As far as I can tell, it (or something like it) was only recorded by Americans as having existed after the big storms of 1827 (mentioned in Article 4, below) and the extreme months of deluge in 1861-62. I’ve found specific dating of its presence for about three months, after which it was reported to have drained suddenly and catastrophically on March 15, 1862 at 1:00 a.m.

I’ve found four written mentions, all quite detailed and provided below, of a long lake, sometimes linked to the Abner Phelps home, or as threatening the Francois Pioche home. It’s sometimes described as in the Mission mountains—the term frequently used for hills in the outskirts of early San Francisco. The Phelps home still stands, though it has been moved a block or so from its original location at what is now Divisadero and Oak streets. (Perhaps the move was in reaction to the formation of the lake.) The Pioche home location is still unclear, but it was near Church & Market streets of today. Pioche was a financier and owner of Market Street Railway. By January 19, 1862, a long lake one quarter mile wide had formed in the dunes. The details of its demise are better accounted than its location.

This account of a long lake may clear up the heretofore unexplained body of water of that approximate shape and location drawn on a very detailed George Goddard birds-eye view. The Goddard view was published in 1868.

I found it most useful to refer to the Coast Survey of 1857 & ’59 to see the land forms that controlled the water flow at the time. Note the long dune west from the Orphan Asylum, along what is now Page Street, and another parallel dune, as mentioned, north of that at about Hayes. The gap in the Page dune at Fillmore would have allowed the water to flow toward Pioche’s property near 14th & Market, although I don’t know the exact spot of his home, yet, so it could have been a little farther north.

Many later sources incorrectly describe the flow from the burst Phelps Lake as having been from San Souci Lake, and as having inundated Pioche’s other property at 7th and Mission. They are proven wrong by these articles.

Article 1

January 19, 1862 article in the Daily Alta California
CITY ITEMS [see 2nd item]
A New Lake — The recent heavy rains have formed a lake of considerable size in a basin high up in the Mission mountains, north-east of the Mission Dolores, and about midway between the same and the Protestant Orphan Asylum. So great was the pressure of the accumulated waters, early yesterday morning, that the residents in the vicinity procured a gang of twenty laborers and proceeded to strengthen the weak parts to prevent a crevasse and overflow. The danger threatened the elegant grounds and residence of Mr. Pioche, formerly occupied by the late Mr. Hart [located somewhere above Dolores street current and below what's now the Lower Haight], as well as the residences of Mr. Haight, and some six or seven others. Work was kept up without intermission all day ; and although the waters had subsided since, watch was maintained last night. The above lake, we are informed, is nearly a mile long, by over a quarter of a mile wide ; but being located amidst the sand-hills, it is expected it will subside in a few days. [It didn't subside until it suddenly broke through the reinforced sandbank March 15, 1862 at 1:00 a.m., based on the articles below.] The gullies and basins of the Mission mountains and large sandy tract west of the city, between them and the Lone Mountain, are all full of water, and an immense volume of water is pouring into the Lobos Creek, and the various tributaries of Mission Creek ; but, beyond the overflow at the Willows, little or no damage has as yet occurred.

The above article describes the location as NE of the Mission but there is no basin NE of the Mission, so I assume they mean NW. People in San Francisco were often quite vague on locations “out behind the Mission” or “near the Orphan Asylum.” A line drawn equidistant from the Asylum and the Mission crosses through the basin at the Panhandle, right beside the Phelps house. This article doesn’t mention Phelps, but a follow-up article, below, seems to identify this lake with Phelps. The exact match between the further details in the two articles makes it clear that the two article reference the same lake, and the more accurate one (implied in the article to be “inspected” by the author—maybe in a visit to the site) says the lake was half a mile west of the Asylum, putting it near the Phelps home and in the same watershed as the threatened Hart/Pioche home.

Article 2 — a tiny blurb

January 23, 1862 article in the Daily Alta California
CITY ITEMS [see last item]
Drained: the lake that formed in the Mission hills behind Mr Pioche’s residence has been successfully drained from its northwest extremity.

Article 2 seems to indicate that the lake level was lowered in a controlled way, although the use of ‘NW’ seems another directional mistake. I explain both mistakes in the above two articles as follows: People thought of Mission Bay as the “bottom” of the map, since the area was always approached from that side by SF residents. So calling “up” north, when it’s actually west, would explain why the lowest elevation edge would be called the NW extremity and why the position would be described as NE of the Mission.

As for the lake being drained: More extreme rains followed, and water must have risen again, judging by articles 3 and 4. Also, the surrounding hills gradually released rainwater and would have refilled the lake, regardless of new rain.

Article 3

March 15, 1862 article in the Sacramento Daily Union
The Reported Triumph at Manassas — Excitement and Rejoicing — Destructive Flood — Arrivals. [see 4th paragraph]
A lake about half a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide, among the hills near the Mission Dolores, broke through its bank at one o’clock this morning, and precipitated itself into the valley below, utterly crushing and destroying the splendid residence of M. Pioche, with the fine garden, stable and carriage houses, and carrying away one hundred feet of the Market Street Railroad [which ran on Valencia Street]. The grounds and gardens of Woodward are damaged to the amount of four thousand dollars, being buried in nearly five feet of sand and mud. Pioche’s damage is twenty thousand dollars. Great damage was done to the gardeners, whose early crops were nearly ready for market, and which are now covered with two or three feet of water. The total damage by the flood is estimated at fifty thousand dollars. The persons in Pioche’s house narrowly escaped with their lives. There are fears that another lake in the vicinity [likely San Souci Lake] will break through, and workmen are embanking it.

The above is a short enhancement to the below article, which contains a lot of detail

Article 4

March 15, 1862 article in the Daily Alta California
CITY ITEMS [see 6th item]
Terrible Flood — Destruction of Property.
Early yesterday morning news was brought to town that an immense amount of property had been destroyed, and more seriously injured, by a flood in the neighborhood of the Mission Dolores. The information had not been exaggerated, and to-day the scene of the disaster corroborates the statement.

ORIGIN OF INUNDATION.
In the coast range of hills, to the northwest of the Mission, are, at this season, some ten ponds of greater or lesser dimensions. (Incredible!) One of these, situated in a valley one half mile west of the Protestant Orphan Asylum, has been known as Phelp’s (sic) Lake, an ex-Assembly man of that name occupying a residence at its head. This body of water, up to yesterday, embraced an area of twenty-five acres, and was about fifteen feet in depth. For a long time past fears have been entertained of this superincumbent mass of water bursting through and deluging the valuable real and personal property lying below. For the purpose of avoiding so serious a calamity, some six weeks ago a dam was constructed, and, adjoining thereto, a ditch cut to lead off gradually the superfluous water of the lake. [See Article 2 of January 23, above.] This dam has been pretty closely inspected and guarded, and, Thursday evening, there appeared to be no immediate danger of its giving way. The lake, at this point, was nearly fifteen feet in depth.

THE FLOOD.
About midnight F. L. A. Pioche, who occupied the elegant gothic cottage (not a cottage by today’s use of the word) a quarter of a mile below the foot of the lake (only 1/4? Was his house near the dune gap at what became Fillmore and Haight?), was about retiring, when, hearing the sound of rushing waters, went out to discover the cause. He at once saw an unusual quantity of water on his grounds, and hastened back, aroused the sleeping inmates (old term for occupants), who had barely time to escape before the torrent swept under the foundations of the house, which almost instantaneously settled and crushed to atoms. The invading stream had divided above the house, one branch pouring down the road in front and the other in the rear of the grounds. The various outhouses [outbuildings]—stable, carriage house, etc.—were first overwhelmed and completely wrecked. The beautiful yard immediately before the dwelling, on which Mr. Pioche had expended some ten or twelve thousand dollars, was cut up by the circling eddies into trenches, and to render the work of demolition complete, the banks caved, carrying with them much valuable shrubbery. The antics which the waters played were indeed curious. They did not sweep off the building, but undermined it in such a manner as to sink, and crush it like an egg shell. Of course, the destruction of furniture, and other contents of the dwelling, was heavy. In addition to costly furniture ruined or seriously damaged, a large number of superb paintings, elegant ware, cabinets of minerals, shells, vases, mirrors, frames and innumerable articles of vertu, rare and costly, were ruined. No value in figures can be put upon these latter— they cannot be replaced with money. Mr. Pioche seems to regret their loss more than all other effects destroyed. The house had lately been repaired, repainted, and greatly improved, and the grounds constantly and carefully cultivated. Incontestible proofs of the resistless force of the stream are seen in the bulky articles which were swept down the roaring current. A handsome piano forte was borne below nearly to the Railway [at Valencia Street], and two beautiful vehicles carried out of the carriage house, and buried beneath the water and sand. A number of casks and barrels, some filled with choice liquors, were swept quite down to the flat, and one carried as far as Judge Cowles’ residence, on McLaren [now named what?], near Mission street. The costly silverware supposed at first to be lost, was subsequently recovered. The total losses sustained by Mrs. Hart, the owner [actually former owner's widow, I think, and apparently still living on the land] of the residence, and Mr. Pioche, in furniture, pictures, improvements on grounds, etc., cannot fall short of $30,000.

FURTHER DAMAGES BELOW.
The stream, after leaving the above scene of devastation, took a circuitous route for another quarter of a mile, when it encountered the kitchen, and out-houses of the public house [saloon] called L’Ermitage. [Pioche's home near the Mission was often later referred to as the Hermitage, perhaps related to this saloon, which may have been his, too. The 1864 Lang directory lists "l'ermitage Saloon" at SW corner Dolores and Market, but I suspect it was not right on the corner.] The soil here, as above, is very sandy, and vast pieces of the banks crumbled and fell into the stream. These deposits were hurried down to the many patches of cultivated ground of the gardeners, causing the ruin of their crops of vegetables, just ready for the market. The tract immediately lying on the railway [at Valencia Street between 14th & 15th] was covered with water on the previous day [March 14] to the depth of three or four feet [Other reports, in the Daily Alta of March 13, describe the serious flooding in Hayes Valley and areas along the railway that existed before this inundation], but this has now disappeared, and a sterile sheet of sand been substituted in its stead.

BREAKS IN THE RAILWAY.
The tremendous current rushing right against the railroad embankment at right eagles, speedily forced a passage through it, leaving a chasm of ninety feet wide, but the rails withstood the pressure and were not carried off. The Superintendent was promptly advised of the accident, and at an early hour had a strong force at work repairing damages. By noon to-day, the trains will be running as usual.

OTHER EFFECTS OF THE FLOOD.
Just east of the railway the stream washed unceremoniously into the magnificent grounds of Mr. R.B. Woodward, tearing up fences, uprooting shrubbery and covering the earth with heavy deposits of sand and slime to the depth of three feet. The gardens [locations unknown] of Mr. Judson, of the Chemical Works, of Dr. Ashe, and others contiguous to the railway, have been greatly damaged. Between Phelps’ Lake and the Sans Souci House is another pond of five acres [called San Souci Lake, generally]. For a number of weeks past this has been full, and the water has encroached into the house itself [shown at the north corner of the small triangular basin, on the Coast Surveys], where it stands some three feet in depth. There has been danger that this, too, would break through its sandy barrier and precipitate itself into the basin below. Thursday night, when the flood came, many supposed that the swollen stream derived its supply from this source. This, however, was not true, but at 12 o’clock, yesterday, an outlet was made, and the superabundance of water gradually drained off. At sunset, last evening, this lake [San Souci] had fallen about one foot. No damage is apprehended of more destruction of property, as pretty much all the harm which could be done was done previously. Besides, a gang of men are at the breach checking any great efflux at this point. The depth of water in this pond is fourteen feet. What was Phelps’ Lake last evening presented a bed of black, earthy deposits, with a small creek coursing along the southerly bank of sand. [Wow! Cole Valley and the hills were still saturated, oozing that rainwater.] It appears that this tract has not been deemed arable land in the dry season hitherto. Mr. Phelps, however, believes that it is now improved so materially by these deposits, as to be tillable this season. We learn that in 1827, which was a season similar to the present, one of the numerous lakes in this vicinity broke through its confines and flooded the country below, causing great damage to such lands as were then under cultivation. And furthermore, that these lower grounds were, at that distant period, buried under masses of sand to the depth of several feet. Various opinions an entertained as to the immediate breaking through of the water at this last scene of destruction. Some aver that the bank was cut by some cowardly miscreants, whilst others assert that the gradual yielding of the sand, the waters of the lake easily percolated through, and so started the rush which only ended with the drainage of the pond itself.

The Goddard sepia map can be seen and explored in full resoultion and zoom on David Rumsey’s site. It is most interesting that the ocean road cuts right through the lake in Goddard’s print, and that a second lake, not looking much like the precise location of San Souci, but perhaps San Souci Lake expanded by the storms, is beside it. The ocean road that cuts through the lake is the road that was used to go west from Hayes Valley on McAllister street, veering onto Fulton street near where it passes the San Souci Roadhouse at the Devisadero Road (archaic spelling). Although the scaling is off, the two long lakes shown seem to be in the approximate location of the Panhandle, between Lone Mountain and the San Miguel Hills. But the key locating feature is the ocean road.

Pioche purchased the property that was destroyed from the widowed Mrs. Hart in 1857 and and sold at least part of it again in October 1862 to the Pacific Homestead Union (a developer, I suspect), to be subdivided—as “unions” are wont to do?! The Daily Alta carried an ad for selling or leasing the premises “to homestead unions and others” and called it “lately the residence of Pioche”, “near the Mission Dolores”, “Beyond the Willows” property. The Oct. 25th issue says it’s Pacific Homestead Union Property now, to be subdivided into lots of 50 x 114 ft. at $140 for each lot.

Pioche himself was in Europe and/or New York for much of that year, starting April 21 through at least September. Thanks to the brand new transcontinental telegraph, he was able to keep in touch from NY. Pioche was, incidentally, one of the few major figures involved at a high level in the early development of San Francisco who was living openly, by some reports, as a gay man, with his partner Robinson.

The last bit of this story, that I’ve seen so far, is reported a few months later when crews sent by various “entertainment houses” to fix the destroyed paths and roads near Pioche’s got into fights. One guy (Dennis Meagher) killed another (Francis N. Jay) with a shovel on May 16th, and the trial was covered a few times (August 6 & Sept 1, 1862 Daily Alta).

There you have it. A new lake documented in all ways except what we really wish for: a photo! What do you think? Do you have any specifics about San Souci to share? If you read this far, you’re a “serious researcher” and I’d love to know your comments, below.

If you’ve been reading this blog, you know about my effort to create a detailed historical survey of the record-setting storm of 1862, which began in December 1861, lasting so long it was called the Noachian Deluge by many alive at the time; it was more than forty days and forty nights, you see.

I’ve been drawing together volunteers to find and transcribe contemporary news accounts. It’s painstaking work. (Wanna help?) Wonderful Thinkwalks volunteers Caesar Napolitano, Barbara Cannella, Jessica Krakow and Kerry McGuire have made it go smoothly—when there’s material available. Some of it has to be sought in hidden places in old archival storage, microfilm and so forth, and that’s assuming we can tell it exists. Some of it isn’t even cataloged.

But things may be getting easier, at least regarding a few old newspapers. The CDNC has been plugging away at the thousands of pages of news that was written since the dawn of California. The images on their site are most useful to my research, as the OCR (text recognition) digitized version is almost impossible to breeze through, having dozens of mistakes per line. But the fact that they did do OCR means relevant articles might be found with a simple keyword search—sometimes.

Access to major, i.e., prolific, papers requires a lot of work. First they’re found, then scanned, then divided into pages, then articles, then read as text, with not a lot of human time available to get past the numerous automated glitches. Then they are posted on the site. Access to mining camp papers (there were many, as the population of California was largely occupied in mining at that time), small town papers, weeklies, and other great sources will progress very slowly.

I spoke with Andrea Vanek at the project’s Berkeley office and she says grant funding, which may run out at as soon as this summer, has allowed them to digitize half a dozen papers in California for certain years only. The total so far is a few hundred thousand pages. When you consider a SF Call Sunday Edition from 1910 had more than a hundred pages, that means only a small dent has been made in the tens of thousands of news publications that have been printed in our state.

For our target time period, the CDNC project has already worked through the Sacramento Union, which we at Thinkwalks haven’t yet done anything with. It’s going to be full of 1861 & 1862 flood news. (They had devastating floods there.) They’ve also completed much of the SF Daily Alta, and a paper in LA. Since their OCR is low quality (based on limits in the low-tech originals and the microfilm itself), they’re hoping to implement a user-correction option. When it comes, we’ll submit all the stuff we’ve already hand-typed from transcription sessions.

Historically augmented reality is hitting its stride, with both entrepreneurs and public entities digging up old photos to overlay on the real world, using iPhone apps. Here are some augmented reality project links. Many are just news of plans, or prototypes, rather than finished projects. Philadelphia, Time shutter, Retronaut, Museum of London (& a blog post about it). There are also some map versions.

I predict the augmented reality fad now underway with photos will eventually extend to text, probably as a result of genealogy research. Someone will try to create descriptive text from history that you can hear or read when you are in the place described, just as my 2nd cousin Steve Echtman has created an app that tells you current info about where you are.

I suspect, also, someone will try to create a database of everyone who ever lived, and that requires looking at all text, right? Genealogy is the driving force behind a lot of history research these days. Mormons are obsessed with it for religious reasons, for starters, as are many others. Maybe grant money can come from rich users trying to buy an afterlife by saving souls. (If I understand right, collecting names of people that have died allows those who believe Mormon doctrine to improve their expected afterlife.)

If you want to help find and transcribe news from the storm, some of which will go to reconstruct the weather system as it passed through and dumped rain for weeks, please get in touch.

Official preparation is certainly important. Information about the science and history of storms also needs to be emphasized. In fact, it’s in some ways even more important for the public to understand the implications in context, than it is for officials to take protective action.

With that in mind, here is some scientific and historical context.

As the shouting from a recent spate of dire announcements inevitably goes quiet, the ARkStorm project scientists have some very interesting work ahead. The team of hundreds is tasked with creating a new system for rating storms. Currently, storms are rated only based on wind speed (for tropical storms) or on frequency. The new system would use a variety of storm attributes.

The ARkStorm “Big One” is modeled on a giant storm—an approximation of the very storm (1862) I’ve been researching myself these past eleven months. Such a large storm has been a rarity. Though it could happen twice in a row or not for a long time, a storm this size has come to California, we’re told by some press releases, an average of about twice every thousand years. That’s why it’s sometimes called a 500-year storm. Others call it the 100-year storm, for reasons I can’t understand.

But all these numbers are seriously misleading.

Location location location

First, the location is an issue. Even if we assume the averages are good predictors, we have to ask: predictors of what? A storm this big somewhere or other? A storm this big in the same place as before? And how wide an area? I’ve seen scientific texts saying the 1862 storm was not a 500-year storm unless viewed in a single location, but is instead a 30,000-year (or more) storm. This larger number is based on frequency of storms of that size happening simultaneously throughout California and Oregon.

Extreme weather events

Calling it a 500-year storm also won’t hold up to the fact that extreme weather is increasing in frequency. If the ARkStorm project aims to create a new storm severity rating system that can be used to compare storm strength on a more absolute scale (just as the Richter scale is used for earthquakes), then they have a lot of factors to consider. These range from depth of precipitation to concentration of local effects, duration, and perhaps even damage levels.

The resulting system would be better than the Richter scale in at least one important way. The severity of a storm can be estimated before the storm has dumped its full load and done all its damage.

Damage is a tricky metric

Of course, sometimes a small storm can do a lot of damage. For example, in 1955, a serious storm caused floods in many California locations, but it created a special havoc near Visalia, California, in the Kawea River Valley. In a steep part of the canyon, where big trees grow—just beside Sequoia National Park—some trees became upended and wedged. The resulting dam of debris built up a large lake behind it, breaking loose all at once.

The torrent that resulted was so large that, to this day, cores and wells drilled twenty or thirty miles out into the Central Valley often hit pockets of buried wood from trees flushed out of the Sierra Nevada mountains in a gush that rivaled Flushing, New York. (Just a little place name humor there. Forgive me.)

The quake leads to fires; the storm leads to floods

A storm’s damage level has, and clearly needs, a completely different method to measure it. I’m not crazy about the way damage is currently measured: Dollar amounts referring to repairs are not the main details that count, but that’s the standard system.

Science literacy is a life-or-death issue

When the hard work of protecting property is at hand, educating the disparaged public about the science may not seem important. But getting folks to pay attention usually is probably a fruitless effort, unless a great number of people can understand the bigger picture.

Dire warnings, without the empowering context of science and history, leave people making helpless and fatalistic quips, as offered in such comments as these, which are, soberingly, in an insurance discussion.

For our culture to shift, so we can avoid repeated Katrina-like panics and disasters, everyone affected should be treated as serious partners in solving the science. After all, a storm that big did happen in 1862 and will again, to a population much larger and more densely occupying the lowlands.

Why are we so blind to it?

I’ve been stunned to find how few people—even among flood control professionals—know about the 1862 storm’s severity! Flood control folks are the natural choice for who should be letting us all know about this fact of life.

According to M. Fred Strauss, a former water engineer for the State of California who says he did the first assessment of the flood levels from the 1862 storm, the probable reason for the blinders is the impossibility of measuring up to such high standards. Flood control efforts will never be able to prevent serious devastation from an “ARkStorm.” Therefore, he says, the natural purveyors of such information have an incentive not to spread the word about it. It would only get the hopes of the public up and create impossible-to-meet expectations.

All the more reason to focus on educating the public fully. Simply promoting safety measures is both foolhardy and patronizing.

Leland Stanford was apparently forced to take a boat through the streets of Sacramento just to attend his own inaguration as Governor of California. Here's the speech he gave, as reprinted in a paper called The American Flag.

At the time, there were at least as many broad-sheets and papers available as today, which I suppose is easy to do.

Here are dramatic readings, in my voice, of some excerpts from newspapers around the state. The dates printed are not necessary when written, as days passed before word could get out.

[1:43 length] First (above), from the Napa Echo. Note the final words, comparing to a worse rainfall in 1846. Little did they know what was in store for the next weeks.

[2:04 length] This is from the Virginia Enterprise, Virginia City, Washoe County, December 10, 1861. “Quartz” was the gold ore.

[0:20 length] By early January, things were dire in most places and deaths were commonplace. The above brief report is from the Marysville Appeal January 10th.

[0:52 length] From Sonora, The American Flag of Jan.30, 1862 tells of death and quotes the Santa Rosa Democrat similarly.

Mind you, this compilation represents a trove, but only a very tiny part of what was written. I’m hoping one of you eager readers will be interested in helping to track down more old newspapers. I have methods that are working, but are tedious, and I do wish for assistance, thanking those who’ve already come forward.

The source material is scattered in many forms, from single damaged copies in far-off archives to bound and/or microfilmed material that is still very hard to digitize or read. Are you up for a challenge with many rewards? Maybe we can build a timeline—or even an animation—of the storm as it passed over Oregon, California (both north and south) and Nevada during weeks of downpour. I already have tech people interested in making that happen, if we can provide the source texts! Or, perhaps, you’re more excited by tracking human life or town destruction? Plenty of all of that, for the enterprising.

And all painfully applicable, by way of insights, to the extreme weather of the present.

An exciting meeting took place this week, as mentioned two posts ago. I hired Amy Conger to help systematize Thinkwalks projects. I’m so glad she agreed to help. I worked with her for years back in the 1990s at EpiCenter DeskTop, my two-storefronts-business in the Haight Ashbury and the Castro. I know and trust her, and she’s got a great creative mind and excellent values, by which of course I mean they concur with mine!

You’ll get to know Amy more later.

Are you wondering why the tour schedule is so sparse? Are you wondering why I’ve suddenly starting bloggin’ regular-like? (Yep, this is my second “weekly update”!) I know there are some people who check in here regularly, despite my alerting systems not being fully in place. But precious few of you at this point, and I aim to change that. We currently get about 18 unique visitors a day to this site.

So what are we doing about it? We’re setting up long-term systems, based on my “test year” of the past ten months.  We’re improving tour PR, expanding and promoting the Life History Books sideline I have (to help provide Amy’s keep), sweetening the site with hidden treasures and functioning Goodies, finalizing a business plan, and playing with Twirlyups.

All this, of course, while I’m leaping into research for the storm and flood book. I’ve taken to including the “storm and” part, since just focusing on the flood is awfully like just focusing on the fire caused by the 1906 quake. Why not keep eyes on the 1,000-level storm, the defining event, itself?

As extreme weather events increase, I note that our recent canoe trip to Canada was all rain and unseasonably chilly. While we were far out in the wilderness camping, hurricane Earl was sweeping past to the east. Ah, weather after my own heart (and before my own book).

Feel free to volunteer on the project, as did database guru Nancy Botkin, designer Martina D’Alessandro and researchers Chris Dichtel (who found me a wonderful article on the storm from an 1862 Illustrated London News[PDF here], see page 10) and Barbara Cannella (who’s been collecting data on the rescue—and rubber-necking—steamers that went up into the Central Valley during the floods of 1862).

Yes, there is a lot of excitement, here at Thinkwalks. If you’re interested in pitching in with a donation, there will soon be a better set-up on the Donate page, but for now the easiest way is to Use your credit card and PayPal your amazing generosity to thinkwalks at earthlink doink net.

I believe in open books for all my projects, and will happily share my financial and planning data with anyone who asks. Bottom line so far: Thinkwalks netted about $1,250.00 after expenses during the January to October test period. Unfortunately, none of those expenses was pay to myself. So I decided to pay myself $2,500 for the year, leaving a $1,250 debt to be recovered by future earnings. Just reverses that little ± sign, doesn’t it. Tricky, eh?

Expenses are soon to be increasing, with Amy on board, but the result will be something to see. Stick around, and thanks for your patience in the meantime. I promise that all you who’ve asked to be on the “weekly” email list will soon be getting ‘em just like that.

Meanwhile, read that article in the March 29, 1862 London paper! (Scroll to the reprint’s page 10.)

…probably the best known landmark of Divisadero street in the pioneer days was the old San Souci roadhouse which stood on the east side of a pretty little lake that then filled the space from Fulton to about midway between Hayes and Fell streets.

Jesse Brown Cook took this photograph before the much-altered roadhouse was finally demolished.

(The roadhouse was at the location of the current pet salon at 1333 Fulton Street.)

One night in the winter of 1861-’62—the wettest San Francisco had ever known—the lake overflowed its sandy banks and the water rolled down the valley and into the Mission, cutting its channel ever deeper as it went. In the morning there was only a fraction of the old lake left and the glory of San Souci had materially departed.

The blue dotted line is the approx. path an overflow must have taken, passing the Page Street dune through a gap at what is now Fillmore Street. The purple squares are approximate Pioche home locations. The existence of a “San Souci Lake” is based only on the one source: Morphy. It’s shape is interpolated from the 1859 Coast Survey map.

Morphy goes on: But, down in the valley, in the beautiful block bounded by Seventh and Eighth streets. Mission and Howard, the basin that had formed the lovely gardens of the Pioche home was a sea of water. In its center, with only the cupolas and the roof and part of the second-story visible…

And, in fact, I’ve seen a photo claiming to be “Pioche’s Pond” with the house in deep water—I cannot recall where, but I believe I could find it again.

Morphy’s description of the event is repeated (with or without attribution) in many locations, including in various books, and everyplace from the California Historical Society’s card catalog to an article a few months ago in the Alamo Square Neighborhood Association newsletter. (Look in the right column on the page after the roadhouse photo. Note the doubly inaccurate phrase “Francis Pioche family.” His name was Francois, and he had no family. It was believed and apparently accepted that he lived with his male lover.)

Yes, history is becoming easier than ever to research and serve to the neighbors.

The only problem is that it’s impossible. The block on Mission between 7th and 8th Streets lies in an entirely different watershed from the one San Souci occupies, and it’s not in the “Mission” as claimed. Unless a tunnel existed through Alamo Square into Hayes Valley, the described flooding could not have reached to that property.

Pioche was a lesser-known but major influence in San Francisco. Perhaps his suicide or homosexuality reduced interest in him by period biographers.

As it happens, I’ve seen records of at least three different properties owned by Pioche (Warning: Numerous details in the linked biography are incorrect, as you’ll see just by the storm date given). Pioche’s business location at Clay & Montgomery, may have been owned by him and he seems to have owned dwellings at 806 Stockton, on Dolores just south of the Mission itself, and the block mentioned above, at Mission and 7th.

Could it have been his home on Dolores that was flooded? Perhaps, but the scant and questionable information I’ve found as to its location said it was a short distance south of the Mission Dolores, which would put it just beyond the reach of a flood coming down San Souci Valley…unless the flood was so strong as to surge over the farmed rise upon which the Mission itself sits. Not impossible.

The Dolores location seems to have been sometimes called Pioche’s “Hermitage.”

If you are inclined to investigating mysteries, I’d welcome your participation in this. My friend and neighbor, Chris Dichtel, has found that there were court cases about property damage relating to this flood of water from San Souci Lake. If you want to dig in deeper, let me know and I’ll give you all the (few) other details I have, along with ideas of how to get more. I’d save the fun of discovery for myself, but I have a heap of other stuff pulling on me at the moment. Of course, if you discover the answer, I’ll quote and credit you, and probably cook dinner for you, too!

Interesting, you’re already saying,  how water from a storm, after passing through a lake, becomes known as water “from” that lake. Right? Morphy again:

Some time after the San Souci lake overflowed its banks in 1862 and created the Pioche pond in the Mission, a family named Bulger [don't trust spelling, as it's from OCR] moved out that way and made their home near the gap cut by the flood water.

Somehow I don’t think the gap referred to was a gap in the huge serpentine rock ridge between San Souci and Hayes valleys! The gap must’ve been down through the dunes in the Wiggle.

My intent is to publish articles and a prospectus booklet, eventually extruding a book on the topic. I hope I can nudge The Great Storm and Flood from obscurity into public awareness with some serious research and writing. I consider myself lucky to have stumbled upon this incredible little-known topic. Of the professionals I recently consulted in related fields, few have been aware of the significance of the winter of 1861-62. Many of them coyly said they had heard “something about that” but few really had a clear idea that The Great Flood of California easily rivaled the Big One (1906 quake) in its impact.

Weekly update [October 10–16, 2010]

Sunday — Agitation. I’m nervous about launching into a book project, since I haven’t yet published an entire book myself. More jitterly, I haven’t yet had the chance to look into the quantity of information that may be available on my undeservedly obscure subject. Will it be enough for a serious book? I’m having some trouble setting up a database for my research notes. This is both frustrating and humiliating. The frustration is that I already have notes accumulating haphazardly. But worse: I used to be a professional database developer, and I keep finding that the new structure of FileMaker Pro stumps me. It’s a great distraction from the miserably low level of of my historical expertise—yet another concern. I’ve never even been to the California State Library’s History Room.

Monday — More frustrations with research notes database. The templates are backwards, or simply not useful. Backwards = many documents per note rather than many notes per document. Database guru Nancy Botkin encourages me to go simple, and just start a flat file of documents until I need to start detailed notes. I’m frantic to get going on topic evaluation. I had intended to decide a final “go or no” for this book project back in August. Here it is, October! I need administrative help! Luckily, a phone call to an old co-worker turned the mood. Next Wednesday, we meet. If it works out for us to collaborate, I’ll trumpet it then.

Tuesday — I’m frustrated, too, by the financial obligations involved, and my need to keep both the tours and my nascent Life History Books work going. I haven’t even had a chance to find a single client to interview for a Life History Book yet, despite Corina’s excellent set-up and gracious invitations. I vented my frustrations for more than an hour with poor Beate, but it really helped me to sort through priorities. She’s so patient with this. I looked up the ARkStorm project online and found ample reason to get in touch with the people there, at the US Geological Survey: Apparently, they’ve planned the project partly to create a new system for rating storm severity, designating the 1862 storm as the ultimate standard, set at 1,000 on the new scale they’re developing. This topic interests me greatly. I assume they are replacing the scale that measures storm severity by the average years between storms of that magnitude. That scale is becoming less useful, as extreme weather events increase. And the tropical storm scale of 1 to 5 is too blunt.

Wednesday — I awoke early at 4:30 and immediately tackled my database problems, without the former hesitation. I managed to set up my own many-to-one notes-to-documents relational file. I feel encouraged! Then I hopped a train to Sacramento for a couple days in the State Library. What a wonderful resource. A reference librarian named Karen gave me a brief but thorough introduction to the collection: photos, reading room shelves, file card system, web search, making reproductions and using their free wi-fi and free web site printing. My enthusiasm shot way up as soon as I began pursuing my main questions. Those were: What newspapers existed in California in 1862? (I found six so far.) What towns existed? (I extracted 78 towns from a complex compilation called Population History of California Places by Berlo.) Are there other photos than the two I’ve seen from the levee in Sacramento? (They have copies of ten or more!) I also found rainfall summaries and lists of newspapers to look at tomorrow.

Thursday — Up early again at Gordon’s house in Sacramento. I organized my many culled resources until the State Library opened. It was another banner day. I found a dozen more papers that existed, and a resource to find even more. Librarians had found, and held for me, a couple seriously useful bookish compilations, including a Newspaper History of the Great California Floods of 1861-62 and a book called California Storms, Floods, and Other Natural Benefits 1849–1997: A documentary by Allan Shields. There is clearly a plentitude of information, and I haven’t yet even begun to look at secondary topics. I also had a wonderful lunch with Mark Miller, a local acquaintance who showed me his house, where, he says, the sheriff lived at the time of the floods. I return to San Francisco deeply pleased.

Friday — Today’s effort, though it should be devoted to digesting the hundreds of notes and source leads from the California State Library, is instead a brief return to the California Historical Society archive on Mission Street here in San Francisco. Just in case the State Library is an anomaly, I need to experience at least one more major resource before I decide this book project is on. After my visit, I must say, yes. I have never seen two archivists’ faces light up so dramatically. Sure, I’ve found myself introducing the topic to people before. But I got the privilege of introducing two inspired people to the existence of this important event. This kind of startling interaction—which I’ve had with flood control people, geographers and historians alike—is what makes it worth my time to do this book. And, on top of that, I emerged, after only an hour, with seven leads to diaries and personal papers covering the topic (or at least the time period, in some cases), all held in their collection.

After six months of exploring haphazardly and a week of final evaluation, I’m now ready to brave the financial contortions and exhaustive effort to make this book happen. I already crave a written summary to print and hand out as the process begins. Oh, and…did I mention?…the sesquicentennial (150th) anniversary of the storms will be upon us in a mere 14 months. Time to leap.