by Paul R. Spitzzeri
After a very dry season to date, we are experiencing our first substantial storm, with the heaviest rain coming tonight and the first part of tomorrow. Temperatures, however, will not be cold enough to generate much snow in our local mountains, though with rainfall of perhaps 1 to 2 inches tonight and up to half an inch tomorrow before the storm looks to dissipate Friday evening, there could be some substantial runoff—meanwhile, there are flood warnings in effect for much of greater Los Angeles.
So, it will not be much of a white Christmas in the San Gabriel and San Bernardino ranges and nothing as depicted in the highlighted object from the Museum’s collection for this post: a circa 1921 real photo postcard of a winter wonderland at Switzer’s Camp off the Arroyo Seco in the mountains north of Pasadena. With the caption “Christmas Greetings from The Austins,” this referring to the camp’s proprietors, Lloyd and Bertha Austin, who took possession of the resort, founded by the colorful Commodore Perry Switzer (that was his real name!) and more recently by C.S. Martin, in 1912.
The photo is a gorgeous one of snow-flecked pines and other trees, a couple of camp structures in the canyon and, majestically and dramatically perched above them, the chapel and outdoor arched area with benches for services conducted al fresco. This landmark was hand-built of mountains rocks and boulders as well as lumber from the abundant forest around the site and we’ll definitely have to return with a future post featuring photos from our holdings of the chapel.
The card was mailed, without a message, to a Monrovia recipient from Pasadena, with the postmarked date of 21 December 1921, though it is almost certain that the sender was not at the resort during that time. We know that because there was a major rainstorm that burst forth in the region during that period and that caused significant flooding throughout the Southland and torrents of water (conditions then were also not cold enough for much snow) rushing down mountains streams like the Arroyo Seco (the name of which actually means “dry,” which it is so much of the time.)
The Pomona Progress of the 19th reported that
Rain falling on Mount Wilson at the rate of one inch an hour today spelled flood danger for Southern California valleys.
Mount Wilson observers reported at noon to the weather bureau that 9.35 inches had fallen at 11 o’clock. Since 5 a.m., 5.40 inches had fallen—the heaviest precipitation in those hills within several years.
Extensive flood protection construction throughout Southern California during the past several years has reduced the amount of damage possible from mountain storms, but ranchers and Arroyo residents were warned today to be on their guard.
As prior posts here have noted, floods in 1914 and 1916 spurred Los Angeles County to take action, establishing ambitious plans and endeavoring to achieve some of those in subsequent years, though it took federal management from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to take on the major elements of the flood control system built over several decades.
The Progress cited a report from Pasadena, where it was said that three inches fell by Noon and that it rained continuously the prior day and most of the evening and added, “Switzer’s Camp in Arroyo Seco, telephoned that the water in the Arroyo stream is higher than it has been at any time in five years. It has risen three feet and is now receding.” It was also observed that the volume behind the dam at Devil’s Gate downstream from Switzer’s had reached 32 1/2 feet.
The following day’s Los Angeles Express offered extensive coverage of the storm system and it recorded that there were many people camped in the bed of the Río Hondo in “cabins and shacks or tents—and these felt the full effect of the storms.” Called squatters, these persons watched helplessly as their dwellings and their contents were washed away. On nearby Valley Boulevard, the road was washed out in several locations halting traffic on one of the main routes between Los Angeles and San Bernardino.
The paper also observed that “in the Arroyo Seco tents and cabins have been washed away and many persons have come into the city and related exciting stories of their escapes from the flood.” It went on to note that recent reports were that “the recently constructed highway” in the Arroyo “has been washed out at many points and is practically impassable.” Moreover, “Switzer’s camp reported that a number of tents and cabins” were also carried off “by the swollen mountain streams.” While “persons at the camp are in no danger,” stated the Express, they “will be forced to remain at the camp until the storm ends.” At Mt. Wilson winds were reported to be as strong as 70 miles per hour and that a foot of rain was recorded.
In its coverage of the same day, the Times noted that the Devil’s Gate Dam was dry before the storm, but said that there was 52 feet of water, almost 20 more than the Progress stated, and that it was anticipated that it would breach the wasteway. It recorded a higher total of precipitation of Mt. Wilson, reiterating the inch per hour for fifteen hour statement and noted that watercourses of the “Sierra Madre” range, which is what the San Gabriels were once commonly called, were full of raging water.
Theodore Syvertson, owner of the small “Teddy’s Outpost,” which included a half-dozen cabins and a store, “says the stream is the highest in twenty years,” which the amount higher than the flood year of 1913-1914. It was added that “three bridges were washed out near Switzer’s Camp” and that “Lloyd Austin, proprietor of the camp, says the water there is the highest in many years.” He added that visitors the prior weekend “got out of the mountains safely Sunday,” which was the 18th, “before the big rain set in.”
One of those who didn’t get out in time was Charles H. Randall (1865-1951), who migrated from his native Nebraska to Los Angeles in 1904 and worked for the Santa Fe Railroad before taking over the operation of the Highland Park News-Herald newspaper. He quickly moved into politics and won a seat in the state Assembly serving there from 1911 to 1913 before achieving the distinction of being the only member of the Prohibition Party to be elected to Congress, serving three terms in the house until he was defeated during the Republican Party’s resurgence in the 1920 campaign.
Randall ran for Congress five more times (1922, 1924, 1926, 1934 and 1940) but was increasingly unsuccessful, but, in 1924, was a candidate for vice-president on the American Party ticket, which had Ku Klux Klan support, before withdrawing to make his second attempt to return to the House of Representatives. A bid for the United States Senate in 1928 led to his garnering just 5% of the vote in his attempt to unseat long-time incumbent and former California governor Hiram W. Johnson. He did serve from a new district on the Los Angeles City Council from 1925-1933, having formerly been a member of the parks and planning commissions, and was president during the last two years of his stint.
The 21 December edition of the Pasadena Post ran a blaring headline declaring “Randall And Wife Marooned In Arroyo Seco Reached By Evening Post In Dead Of Night” and it observed that it was two days before that it was learned of the former representative’s plight, leading to an effort by the paper that “an attempt should be made to reach the site of the little cabin surrounded by raging flood waters.” Two Post reporters, Charles Cramer and Howard W. Hayes, volunteered to make the trek to Randall’s mountain abode and the paper raved that “it is a tale of devotion to duty, ceaseless energy and many risks.”
The pair wrote about their expedition, beginning with,
Over trails washed out by torrents of muddy water, obscured by chilling fog, through brush where there was not even the slightest sign of a trail, we “made” former Congressman Charles H. Randall’s cabin in the Arroyo Seco last night.
It will be hard to ever describe the feeling of exultation in our hearts when we first saw the lights of the cabin. To us it looked like the light of the home port to a mariner storm-tossed and in a leaky ship.
When the reporters made their way into the Arroyo, it was fairly easy going until before they reached the ranger station, where they could hear the surging water and boulders being bandied about by the flooding. While they could not reach Pasadena by phone from the station, they were able to contact Austin at Switzer’s and the rangers tried to talk Cramer and Hayes from making the trip to Randall’s place, saying that the fog would be their undoing.
After consulting with the rangers, having expressed their determination to press on, the journalists retraced their steps south from the Arroyo and then used another route to get to Randall. After getting lost, the two men managed, by dint of luck, to find a trail that they needed to continue their journey, despite the fog and the driving rain and heavy winds, and at time they had to “crawl, slip and slide down the almost perpendicular slope” and they occasionally were propelled downward by small landslides and were pricked by the sharp points of yucca leaves.
At last, they got to the Arroyo roadbed, but only by jumping, they said, from a 20-foot cliff, and noted that the swollen stream was some 100 feet wide and water was “tearing down the canyon sweeping huge boulders before it.” Opposite them, they could “discern the faint outline of a cabin with a small light in the window.” Yelling at the top of their lungs and sending flashes of electric pocket lights, Cramer and Hayes caught the attention of the occupant, who informed them that Randall and his wife, May, were in the next domicile to the south, “but that they were completely surrounded by water.”
When the Randall place was reached, the reports could see that “sparks were flying from the chimney and through the small window we could see the warm glow of fire which filled the room.” Resorting again to loud exclamations, the duo observed “the wig-wagging of a lantern” and “making megaphones of newspapers,” they were able to communicate with Randall. What transpired was that he wrote out his story and then sent it to the journalists by putting in a bottle and tossing it across the roaring water—he had a carbon copy in case a second attempt was necessary. They wrote, “It fell at our feet! A perfect shot!”
The return was one of “agony” and “a killing trip because of the crumbling soil and steep grade,” but, because their aim was realized, “it was made easier in the thought that we had the thing that we were after.” They got lost twice and, on one occasion, trekked several miles out of their way and, when they got back to the Arroyo Seco Road, they tried to hitch a ride and were ignored until one driver stopped near Devil’s Gate Dam and took them into town, providing them heavy robes to wear until they reached Pasadena.
As for Randall’s tale, he wrote that he and his wife were “marooned on an island, circular in form and 75 feet in diameter,” since Sunday evening the 18th and that this was created by “the raging torrent of the Arroyo Seco cutting across the new highway in front of our cabin and that highway closed in upon us.” He added, however, “we have plenty of food and a roaring fire in a great fireplace,” though he admitted they thought of grabbing blankets and clothes and climbing up a large tree at the corner of the cabin if the rising water forced them to evacuate.
Randall said that rain was light over the weekend and it was not until 2 a.m. Monday morning that “I arose to find a flood rushing by.” He tried to create a bridge using a ladder to cross the highway, but, as the water rose to his knees, he realized that this was futile and water began entering the open door of the cabin, though they headed that off by using quilts piled against the entry. He added,
By a strange circumstance, and I can only give Providence credit, a large log landed in a secure position and has ever since shunted the water from our doorway. However, if the crest of the flood had gone one foot higher, we expected to seek safety in the tree.
After observing that the newly carved bed of the stream was so deep and wide that the cabin was four feet above the cresting of floodwaters, Randall wrote that water was receding over a full day and if no further downpours occurred, “we feel comparatively safe until relief comes.” The Randalls saw just two people, their neighbor, Silsbee, and an unnamed road gang worker who rode out the storm in a tent nearby. Asking that his daughter be told that they were safe and that they expected to see her for Christmas, Randall ended with the observation, “never before has the awful power of swiftly flowing waters impressed me so much,” while the battering of boulders in the floodwaters “has sounded like the boom of distant battles.”
In its edition of the 27th, the Times reported storm rainfall totals, including nearly 7 inches in Los Angeles and 8.5 in Fullerton, while season amounts were nearly 14 in Pasadena and 17.5 in Sierra Madre. The paper reported that the Randalls decided to remain in their cabin through Christmas Day. Randall’s old paper, the Highland Park Herald, of the same day, stated that “Mr. Austin of Switzer’s Camp, brought a party of seven out of the mountains on Christmas Eve” after a week of rain finally ended so the guests could get home for the holiday.
Commenting on the extensive damage to the recently completed road, which experts said would have to be completely reconstructed, the paper added that “it was necessary for the party to come out over the old Switzer trail, which was fairly clear,” though “anything but a pleasant pastime.” The group then ascend the side of a mountain to escape floodwaters and the men had to hoist the women up “with girth straps.” Thanks to Austin’s deep knowledge of the area, the party made it out on a 9-mile jaunt through the La Cañada side and a Highland Park resident said much of their time was occupied by sweeping water that descended the chimney.
There was, however, plenty of food and gatherings in the Austin cabin kept everyone dry and warm. It was added that four tents were lost and a chair and part of a bridge were spotted high up in a tree. Austin was to clean up the camp and clear the trail to Switzer’s, though the road was to be out of commission for quite some time. The article concluded,
It will be an interesting experience, however, for those who are good hikers to go far up into the Arroyo to view for themselves the changes wrought by Dame Nature in this heaviest rainfall in 32 years.
As lovely and placid the scene depicted in the photo was, the accounts of the storm of December 1921 and those of many others, including 1938 when camps and resorts throughout the San Gabriels were wiped out, are a reminder that floods as well as horrific wildfires are always a common feature of live in the wildlands of that range and that climate change will make these weather events starker and more destructive in the future.