by Marc Simmons
Early visitors to New
Mexico often compared the Rio Grande to the African Nile. That was
because our great river, like the Nile, regularly flooded its inner
valleys during spring and summer, at the same time dropping its
burden of rich silt that fertilized the fields.
While soil enrichment
proved a sound benefit, that had to be weighed against the destructive
effects of flooding. They included the loss of human life, livestock,
buildings, utilities and sometimes entire towns. The railroad center
of San Marcial on the river north of old Fort Craig, for instance,
was washed away in 1929.
Famed archaeologist Adolph
Bandelier witnessed in 1884 a major episode of the Rio Grande leaving
its banks. It reminded him that flooding in previous centuries must
have played a major role in "burrowing new channels, obliterating
Indian pueblos and changing the location of farm plots." That particular
flood, in fact, destroyed much of Santo Domingo Pueblo.
Old Town Albuquerque
had experienced a devastating inundation in 1874. When the rise
of the river spread across its valley, the plaza area for a time
remained above water, being situated on a low mound about two or
three feet high. Shopkeepers took no chances, however, and while
the road remained open they fled in wagons loaded with whatever
merchandise could be salvaged from their shelves. The majority of
residents escaped to the hills to the east, where they lived in
tents for days until the water subsided.
Another memorable flood
occurred in late summer of 1900. Before that time, the New Mexico
Territory had suffered a prolonged drought. In mid-August, The
New Mexican reported that the Rio Grande had gone bone-dry,
and farmers and stockmen throughout the region were in desperate
circumstances.
Tne newspaper also mentioned
that the Zuni Indians were conducting a search in their locality
for the witch whom they believed was responsible for causing the
drought. Concluded The New Mexican: "There are hard times
in store for both the witch and the Indians."
The drought-breaker came
in the middle of the night on Sept. 7. A huge downpour dumped several
inches of rain before dawn. The press headlined the event with the
words "WAS A GREAT FLOOD!"
One story was titled
"A night of terror at Trimble's stage camp." Albuquerque businessman
W. L. Trimble operated a shortline stagecoach service to Santa Fe,
for the benefit of small towns not on the railroad. Midway between
the two cities he had built a major facility to accommodate his
coaches and animals.
The flood's roar, descending
an adjacent arroyo from the mountains, awakened the camp crew. Men
raced through a swirling torrent to reach the large frame barn where
46 horses were stabled. Working furiously in the dark, they managed
to release all the animals but one.
A few moments after the
last man was out, the structure collapsed, or as employee Tom Cain
later put it: "The barn was completely whirled out of existence."
Lost, too, were a drove of hogs, all the outbuildings and two stagecoaches
parked in the compound.
Other stories of heroism
and rescue came to light over the next several days. As was common,
the flooding had knocked out a number of railroad bridges, interrupting
train service. Two bridges had gone down south of Santa Fe, including
an iron one over the Galisteo arroyo.
By Sunday, Trimble had
sent all his spare stagecoaches and teams up from Albuquerque to
be used in shuttling passengers over the gap between the downed
bridges. Once the passengers reloaded, the trains had to back up
to the last station.
Slowly in the 20th
century, floodwaters were harnessed by dam building and flood-control
projects through the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District, established
in 1925. Nevertheless, in spite of the current complacency, the
potential for localized flooding remains, so more chapters in this
story will certainly be added.
SFAOL
Marc Simmons is a semi-retired historian and author of thirty-five books I was honored to present The Rounders Award to him in 1991.
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