Flood and Inferno: A California Legacy
California had a banner year for rainfall in 2017. Some areas, according to NOAA, have had more than double the normal amount of rain or snow this winter and spring. My own region has had 160% of average. The problem is, ironically, that more rain means a greater fire danger.
We’ve already seen it locally. Recently, we passed a half dozen emergency vehicles on Highway 101, putting out a grass fire that started beside the road. Across the horizon, we could see the telltale haze of a smoke plume from a larger, more distant fire. And fire crews in Mariposa are mopping up a wildfire that nearly wiped out the whole town where our friends and relatives live.
Jackson, CA, lithograph by Britton & Ray, SF. History of Amador County, 1881, Jesse Mason, editor.
It called to mind what happened back in 1862. You may recall my blog post from February about the great floods that ravaged Sacramento in the 1850s and 1860s. The 1862 Megaflood had an unexpected outcome for one nearby town.
Background
Jackson, California, is in the heart of Gold Country in the Sierra Nevada foothills, just a few dozen miles from Sacramento. Founded right before the Gold Rush, it quickly grew to be a hub of commerce on the major route between towns.
When California became a state in 1850, there were only 27 counties. As the population boomed, those counties subdivided several times. The last one was added in 1907, giving us 58 counties total. Because of all that rearranging, Jackson is probably the only city to have been the county seat for two different counties.
In the Great Flood of 1862, the Mokelumne River overran its banks. The middle fork of Jackson Creek changed its course – taking several downtown buildings with it. The summer of 1862, however, was extremely dry. All the extra grass that grew lush after the rains dried to a crisp. Every hill was garnished golden with its own tinderbox.
August, 1862
Just after noon on August 23rd, someone from the Jackson assayer’s office cleaned out the wood stove. (An assayer would melt miners’ gold ore to determine its worth.) He threw the hot ash into a barrel outside. Back in the days before electricity, that’s just what you did. But on this particular day, either the coals were too hot, or the air was too dry, because a small fire kindled right there in town.
“Chicago in flames,” lithograph by Currier and Ives, c. 1872.
A letter from nearby Mokelumne Hill was reprinted in the 1881 History of Amador County. It lays out what happened next, in minute detail. From Chapter 30:
The fire broke out at twenty minutes of two o’clock, and at five o’clock the destruction of the town was complete. When the alarm was first sounded, there was not the remotest idea entertained that the place was doomed, the city being provided with an effective fire department, and full cisterns of water.
Unfortunately, they chose a small cistern to draw water from, and the supply was quickly exhausted. They had to regroup at another cistern. By the time they finished, the fire had roared back to life on all fronts.
The fire now spread with fearful strides, which, combined with the intense heat of the weather, added to the terror of the scene. The safety of women and children was looked to, and an effort made to save property, but it was useless. The fire swallowed up everything in its capacious maw, and when the sun went down on the disaster, the town, including all the provision in it, was turned to ashes.
Moke Hill to the Rescue
Closeup of official 1866 Amador County map showing Jackson and Mokelumne Hill.
To their credit, the townspeople of Mokelumne Hill rallied at their courthouse. Before sunset, wagons of blankets and food had reached Jackson’s survivors. They had camped on the hillsides overlooking the devastation. In one afternoon, at least $1,500 and eight wagons of supplies had been collected to aid their neighbors. As a mom, I can imagine my joy to learn that my homeless kids would have supper after all. And those blankets might seem superfluous in the middle of summer, until you realize one thing. Because of the dry climate, night temperatures can hover below sixty degrees.
Jackson, California, 1866
Jackson was quickly rebuilt, thanks to the help of their neighbors. This 1866 photograph from the library of Congress shows it came back even bigger and better than before. Even today, you can notice the brick buildings on Main Street that date from this era.
(As a side note, Moke Hill is the locals’ nickname for Jackson’s neighboring city.)
Final Thoughts
You could argue that Jackson’s fire had nothing whatever to do with the wet weather of the season before. But having lived in the Sierra Nevada foothills, I can tell you that it’s something short of a miracle that the fire didn’t spread over the hilltops to Moke Hill and beyond. In California, the greater the rainfall, the thicker and higher the grass grows. When hot, dry weather finally arrives, the brown grass makes great tinder, even if the surrounding trees have had plenty to drink.
I’m very grateful that the Detweiler Fire near Mariposa is over 70% contained after a week and a half. Family and friends who had been evacuated have been allowed to go home. And here’s hoping the smoke on the horizon won’t come near any of you!
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