I finally did!

The building’s current owner, porn company Kink.com, gives studio tours that include a brief visit to the sub-basement. There, where many channels of water flow in rough concrete trenches, they tell us we’re looking at Mission Creek.

Our Kink.com guides, Odile and Miguel, were excited to see the official map of historic waterways in the Mission District that I’d brought along.

They noted the tributary creek that once ran past [...]]]> Participants in many of my water walking tours have consistently told me I must go see the basement of the Armory.

I finally did!

The building’s current owner, porn company Kink.com, gives studio tours that include a brief visit to the sub-basement. There, where many channels of water flow in rough concrete trenches, they tell us we’re looking at Mission Creek.

Our Kink.com guides, Odile and Miguel, were excited to see the official map of historic waterways in the Mission District that I’d brought along.

They noted the tributary creek that once ran past their building, and acknowledged that they’re not right about Mission Creek. They seemed interested in making their presentation more accurate, though it’s a struggle to get every Kink.com guide on the same page.

I think I have a good solution for them that keeps the drama of mentioning Mission Creek in their spiel, at the same time increasing their accuracy.

Here’s the room with various cuts and trenches that have water seeping in from the surrounding soils.

It would be most accurate to say that the water in their sub-basement is groundwater that used to flow into Mission Creek.

Think of it like this: The area of the Armory from Valencia to Folsom was a wet marsh more than a creek, until lots of added fill dirt for building the city hemmed it in. The entire area within a block of the Armory is so saturated with groundwater that any basement this deep would have water flowing into it.

It’s inaccurate to say it’s Mission Creek. It’s probably just as inaccurate to say it’s the Mission Creek tributary called Old Arroyo Dolores, which is shown nearby on the map.

In the building it flows shallowly from east to west, while the water in the area overall flows west to east. This is because it is not technically any creek at all, but leaks seeping across the foundation slab.

It appears that the smaller channels were purposely created for accumulating water at the west end of the room.

So, it would be most accurate to say it’s groundwater that used to flow out Mission Creek to Mission Bay, before urban landfill destroyed those features.

Glad I finally got the full information I craved. All the photos I had previously seen left me wondering where the water went into and out of the basement. My video shows it all.

Announcing the launch of two Thinkwalks guides that you can purchase directly from iTunes.

See our full announcement here.

It used to be complicated, buying the Thinkwalks guides only as in-app purchases through the Know What Essentials guide. That cost $7.97 for both Thinkwalks guides. Now you can get both—Everything Explained and Local Nerd! for just $3.98 and don’t [...]]]> August 31, 2012 Even more excitement around as the iPhone apps we released in February become much simpler to buy, easier to buy, and cheaper to buy! Did we mention yoou can BUY them?

Announcing the launch of two Thinkwalks guides that you can purchase directly from iTunes.

See our full announcement here.

It used to be complicated, buying the Thinkwalks guides only as in-app purchases through the Know What Essentials guide. That cost $7.97 for both Thinkwalks guides. Now you can get both—Everything Explained and Local Nerd! for just $3.98 and don’t have to work your way through the in-app rigamarole!

You can still get the guides the old way, if you want lots of Know What guides: You can purchase any of the other wonderful Know What guides as in-app purchases within either of the Thinkwalks guides.

Know What is expanding to more cities from the current SF and LA options, and they’ll be a useful travel guide for those of you wanting more than just Thinkwalks nerdy fare. Also, check out the stunningly beautiful Know What site, where you can learn about the other contributors to the guide.

“It’s surprising I’ve lived here this long and didn’t know about that! And that! And that!,” they exclaim.

163 locations described.

Each app has about 80 locations mapped and described deeply (in 200 words).

The Everything Explained app is for newcomers, visitors and the uninitiated. It tells about things like the Freeway Revolt, why we know it’s really John Lennon’s signature, secret views, Rosie the Riveter, the truth about Lillie Coit and other debunkings of common SF myths and mis-remembered landmarks.

When you’ve graduated from Everything Explained, the deeper Thinkwalks app is Local Nerd! for all you SF Deep Dynamics addicts. This app will satisfy your craving to know how the Panama Canal affected the growth of SF, how rebar concrete developed here, hidden springs, cemeteries, altered landforms, and a handful of resource locations for DIY projects.

When we designed the mural (1996 & ’97) I [...]]]> We tried to put the creek into our mural. Mona sketched it on paper. Seth painted it on the wall—three times before getting it the way he liked it, with the street names of the Wiggle bike route shimmering in the water. We carefully mocked reality with brown (Franciscan chert) rocks on the one side of the creek and green (serpentine) on the other side. We even allowed ourselves interpretive license when we colored it in crayon blues.

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 lyingly 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, it was the ice age and the dunefield hadn’t formed, yet. The bedrock valley that’s now buried in sand was an actual creekbed flowing all the way from Golden Gate Park down to the Mission District and into a river valley which existed where the Bay is. Starting about 5,000 years ago, a “village” called Chutchui was along the creek near Market. 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!

Where was I during the earthquake? In the bathroom at National Airport, just after returning from Boston. Many people around me were alarmed. But to be honest, I thought it was more exciting than frightening. It was actually sort of gentle, and different from what I had imagined: more rocking than shaking, and inspiring—to think of [...]]]> My mom, Joan Straumanis, arrived home in DC just in time to feel the surprising 5.9 quake. It was the first earthquake she ever felt and she had this to say about it:

Where was I during the earthquake? In the bathroom at National Airport, just after returning from Boston. Many people around me were alarmed. But to be honest, I thought it was more exciting than frightening. It was actually sort of gentle, and different from what I had imagined: more rocking than shaking, and inspiring—to think of the earth as dynamic like that.

I stayed in the airport, thinking about aftershocks and the fact that I would be better off there than in either the Metro or my brick highrise building. When I finally decided to leave, the Metro was running slow (literally, 15 miles/hour) and was rush-hour crowded because so many office workers had been sent home. The fountain park near my house was packed with hundreds of people sitting on the benches or the grass, working on laptops, reading Kindles, or just sitting. Because it was a beautiful day? Or because they felt safer there?

I found some damage in my apt—pictures askew, vases and other small items knocked down, and my childhood globe thrown to the floor (so appropriate!). The delicate glass flowers I had carefully carried home without damage all the way from the Ukraine were broken. Nothing material lasts forever.

Hope everyone is well.
Love, Joan

Sounds like a perfect mix for her rite of passage—especially since she’s considering moving west. I wonder how the glass flowers collection at Harvard’s Natural History Museum fared.

We are definitely silly to take this planet for granted. Humans and other species have had mostly a very hard time here over the eons, and even if we weren’t making a mess of it, we’d be up against a scary prospectus.

There were three times in my life that I felt a bodily sense of the massive, rumbling rock we live on: the 1989 Loma Prieta Quake; witnessing a roaring, glowing, lathery lava fountain on the Big Island of Hawai’i in the 90s; and the 2001 Leonid meteor showers. The meteor shower was almost as good as seeing the whole planet from space, like on my Earth Flag, and feeling its smallness.

I recorded my feelings about the Leonids in these four dense paragraphs, written shortly afterwards:

The meteor shower! The meteor shower! Wowoowowow it was amazing! After past attempts, I was pretty pessimistic about the chances for seeing a good show, but it was superb. Allison drove her powerful but very compact car with six of us to the ridge of Panoramic Highway on the way up to Mount Tam—the same place I went for the Perseid meteor showers in about 1996. There were so many people, not just the six in our tiny car but in other cars going up there, that the Marin cops were out directing traffic in the middle of nowhere at 1:45 in the morning. Traffic was backed up for miles and the mountain roads were lined with parked cars in every conceivably parkable spot.

Even on the way there we began to see, out the car windows, amazing streaks of light across the sky. By the time we plopped our tarp down and got under our blankets, we had already seen a dozen of ’em. Once were were lying down, the true spectacle was revealed, interspersed with the wackiest falling star humor (such as singing “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” but with stars and not knowing what number to start at, or discussing the difficulties Orion would have with his pants once the three bright stars of his belt fell off).

There were meteors every second or so—good, long, bright ones! The percentage of spectacular ones was very high (more than half) and the percentage with glowing tails was above 90%. Some were so intense, they seemed to explode and go out with a flash at the end of their streak. Others (very few) were dim and slow with no tail. I developed the hypothesis that the slow ones (going in all different directions) were the ones being just pulled in by gravity as the earth shot past them, while the fast-burners with glowing tails (all coming from the direction of Leo) were the ones the earth’s atmosphere slammed into head-on. It’s like the difference between the raindrops that hit you when you are sitting in the bed of the pickup truck compared to the raindrops hitting the front windshield.

After watching one, two, or even up to five per second shoot across the sky around 3:00 a.m., we started realizing that the length and directions of the streaks were adhering to a pattern that made sense only from the perspective of being on a large ball flinging through space. So we changed position to take advantage of that phenomenon, wheeling around to face the southeast, where the constellation Leo was up about 40 degrees in the sky. This fried my brains on the spot, as the view was suddenly like the driving-in-a-storm model, exactly as if we were in a car looking out the front windshield at night with snowflakes streaming in our headlights, albeit at a slower pace. The streaks were all zooming out, away from the Lion, as if from a reverse “vanishing point” of origin. Thus the name of the shower: the Leonids. That is the set of stars the earth is “facing” as it wizzes through space at this time of year, in this part of its orbit around the sun. I have never before had such a sense of being on a rock moving through space! Unbelievable! This was easily the best night sky phenomenon I have experienced, even better than northern lights, moonbows, sunsets, or rotating gala event spotlights!

This week, the San Francisco Bay Guardian gave Thinkwalks its freshly minted “Best of the Bay: Best Cerebral Stroll” Editor’s Pick Award.

Joel Pomerantz has a lot of nerve asking people to think and walk at the same time. He also has a lot of nerd. In fact, he bills his ThinkWalks — designed especially for locals — as “nerdy tours for San Franciscans.”

And last week it was the Awesome Foundation for the [...]]]> Looks like it’s the season for awards, and we’re knee-deep in them over here at Thinkwalks.

This week, the San Francisco Bay Guardian gave Thinkwalks its freshly minted “Best of the Bay: Best Cerebral Stroll” Editor’s Pick Award.

Joel Pomerantz has a lot of nerve asking people to think and walk at the same time. He also has a lot of nerd. In fact, he bills his ThinkWalks — designed especially for locals — as “nerdy tours for San Franciscans.”

And last week it was the Awesome Foundation for the Arts and Sciences insisting on shoving a $1000 grant our way, to support sidewalk natural history talks. Whew, it’s getting to be a pattern.

Meanwhile, speaking of patterns, my musicky storybook, called Twice Just to be Sure is now done and available. To be clear, it’s not a Thinkwalks project—different nerdy audience of parents, kids and imagineers. So far, it’s been well received by those who matter most: parents, kids, musicians and free-range turkeys.

This 1958 photo shows how narrow Geary was before the 1970s "redevelopment" of Geary into a wide boulevard with tall apartment buildings. Cross street is Webster.

Josh Bingham and Matt Garcia from WalkSF, our local pedestrian advocacy group, drew me into a madcap scheme to do something out of the ordinary. They suggested a [...]]]> That was fun! My first tour of Hayes Valley turned out well, and there were even folks who loved the game we played—more than two dozen, in fact. Last weekend’s tour was different from a usual Thinkwalk.

This 1958 photo shows how narrow Geary was before the 1970s "redevelopment" of Geary into a wide boulevard with tall apartment buildings. Cross street is Webster.

Josh Bingham and Matt Garcia from WalkSF, our local pedestrian advocacy group, drew me into a madcap scheme to do something out of the ordinary. They suggested a scavenger hunt. But, given that my research is always trying to fill in where no others research, how could I do a game that follows the fads? I had to invent my own. With their cajoling and coaching, a new game emerged. Caption walc stands for Walking Around Linking Clues. Okay, not so clever. But it was a chacne for a tour that incited interaction among the participants. The group dynamic was excellent to watch.

Instead of holding up photos, I passed out image cards and people made captions for them based on the tour presentations. They judged one another’s captions for cleverness and we had prizes for points, and for caption dramatic readings. Jym Dyer won the grand prize: a framed print of an 1868 George Goddard birds-eye view of the Bay Area.

Lots of pictures were part of the presentations and people learned about a few things, such as the tunnel that was proposedf to go under Pac Heights on Fillmore Street in 1913, the breweries that were once at Webster and Grove, and the creek headwaters that are visible as springs in Alamo Square—still.

Most of these photos were not used in the game, so even if you came on the walk…I mean walc, this is new to you.

The 1906 quake caused major fires. Here's one raging on Grove street.

After moving to Hayes Valley from 4th & Market, St Ignatius College and its church dominated the area. That ended with the 1906 quake, which took down both church towers. The college, becoming USF, moved to its current location on Lone Mountain after the huge loss.

When Linden street was young, it was cobbled and named "Avenue"!

Or at least rediscovered…

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 [...]]]>

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 [...]]]> There’s great news about researching the storm. The California Digital Newspaper Collection has been working on digitizing old news, just as Thinkwalks has been doing, only with more funding. I love calling 150-year-old articles “news”! Perhaps it should be “renews.”

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.

In addition to Hadley’s post at Mission Local, mentioned in my previous entry, which breaks the story with a perfect synopsis of the latest research, Carl Nolte has, over the weekend, published an article printed on real paper—front page above the fold and in color in Saturday’s Chronicle. It’s a little confusing, since the headline, along with the map Nolte presents and the article itself all incorrectly state that the Mission may have been founded north of Market Street near Duboce [...]]]> New rumors about Mission Dolores history have hit the papers!

In addition to Hadley’s post at Mission Local, mentioned in my previous entry, which breaks the story with a perfect synopsis of the latest research, Carl Nolte has, over the weekend, published an article printed on real paper—front page above the fold and in color in Saturday’s Chronicle. It’s a little confusing, since the headline, along with the map Nolte presents and the article itself all incorrectly state that the Mission may have been founded north of Market Street near Duboce Park. Researcher Christopher Richard corrects the record in the web comments, but all the people who see this in print face yet another incorrect version of a founding myth for our city! This is such a perfect illustration of how it happens that blatant untruths become widespread beliefs.

It’s both thrilling and excruciating to watch this play out. From my rickety perch, it seems that Nolte simply failed to tease out the specific nuance that makes all the difference: It wasn’t the Mission itself that began at Duboce and Sanchez. It was the waterway first called Dolores that began there, and was first sighted there at what is now Duboce and Sanchez. And it was the spot where Anza likely stood when he picked the Mission’s future location. There’s a huge difference between Anza’s “Let’s put it near this great water supply,” and Nolte’s version where Father Palou is imputed to have put the first (temporary) mission in that exact spot a few months later.

In a way, Nolte’s inaccuracy is the same sort of difference as Palou’s original inaccuracy about a pond. Palou started the whole confusion by being unclear in his writings (or in his mind) about what water was named ‘Dolores’ and what constituted a pond. Palou’s confusion then combined with the fact that Anza mentioned a freshwater pond (located in what’s now the Marina District, at the north end of the eponymous Laguna Street) to create the enduring myth (The Mission was founded on the shores of a now-gone freshwater lake) that Christopher and I are now working so hard to bust.

It’s exhausting. And Nolte’s not helping.

Nolte, Nolte, is it true? You’re the kin of Pa Palou!?

Both articles came out of the talk I gave at the SF History Association monthly meeting in January. Hadley Robinson and Carl Nolte both attended and went on from there to investigate, more or less. Christopher Richard (of the Oakland Museum of California) was their main source because he did pretty much all the research, with myself, Janet Sowers, and a few others giving bits of feedback and photo evidence here and there.

The topic had already been on my mind when I heard Christopher’s doubts at an Ask-A-Scientist event a year ago. I was so glad to find someone besides myself that doubted the existence of the freshwater lake in the myth, I have been egging Christopher on, promoting our conclusions and discussing the accumulated evidence with him on a regular basis. To have the “mainstream press” cover it is a breakthrough. And to have it covered so inaccurately is a heartbreak.

One of my Thinkwalks covers this topic in depth. The Water Walking tour is one of my most popular tours, despite being uphill and almost four hours long. In it, we look at the evidence for various interpretations of Mission history, along with other topics about streams, drinking water, aquifers and wells in San Francisco. The people who come on the tour are often folks who work with water or are educators themselves.

Aside from my usual, “Let’s understand how the natural landscape affected our existence as a city,” I used the opportunity to proclaim the benefits of arguing and evaluating evidence. Public democracy and human planning for the future of our species [...]]]> A reporter asked me yesterday why it’s even important to argue about evidence of a fresh water lake at Laguna Dolores, or to pinpoint the founding location of SF Mission Dolores. The sharp questioner, Hadley Robinson, is from Mission Local, the news outlet and laboratory for UC Berkeley Journalism graduate students.

Aside from my usual, “Let’s understand how the natural landscape affected our existence as a city,” I used the opportunity to proclaim the benefits of arguing and evaluating evidence. Public democracy and human planning for the future of our species depend both on these skills, and on our ability to harvest good information from weedy field of distortions.

Heaped into this next calendar week, there are some excellent opportunities to join our footloose argument and look at the evidence together on a Thinkwalk. Set your own cost: $10 to $40 donation asked.

Be sure, also, to check out the excellent online resources at FoundSF and ShapingSF where you can listen to podcasts of the talk series at CounterPULSE. One up there now (see the last on the list for 2011) is Chris Carlsson’s fascinating and spontaneous commentary to the Transit History photos. Click the Transit History Tour, then use that same button at the bottom of each tour page to follow along, viewing the wonderful videos, pictures and essays.

Let them know you’re using the podcast as the soundtrack for the online tour, as they would do well to increase opportunities for that kind of usage. Also, let me know what you want and like on this site!