Travel back again on the wayback machine into the Anderson Valley of my youth and young adulthood from the late 1950s into the 1980s. The title of this installment is an ambiguous expression that dates from the 19th century, in which the word “creek” has been interpreted either as the Native America tribe or as a small stream. I have no insight into the Lord’s assent or lack thereof, but I know Anderson Valley’s creeks and rivers rise, occasionally to levels outsiders – and even locals – would find unimaginable.
The reason for skepticism is simple; most people never see the Valley’s creeks and rivers in winter – or ever, for that matter. Except for the few highway bridges across tributaries, the two across the Navarro River and the section of the Navarro River’s lower reach where Highway 128 runs alongside, the local streams are mostly out of sight.
Even those who have seen the creeks and river in winter should not consider the past decade’s winters true examples of how much water can pour through the valley on its way to the Pacific Ocean. Only the 2010-2011 winter produced rainfall comparable to average rainfalls in the late 1950s through the 1970s. Call it global warming or call it fluke, but the rain in Anderson Valley just isn’t the same as it used to be.
Although numbers can be manipulated, in this case they confirm my observations. The average annual rainfall measured in Boonville from 1961 through 1990 totaled 38.55 inches. By contrast, the average annual rainfall in Boonville from 1971 through 2000 totaled 33.33 inches per year. With a progression of just 10 years, annual rainfall dropped by more than 5 inches. I cannot find more recent rainfall numbers, but I believe the average has dropped even more in the past 12 years.
My parents, siblings and I had front-row seats on Anderson Valley’s watercourses in my youth. Our land was located west of Rancheria Creek and the Navarro River near the area now referred to as the Confluence. We saw both, plus the spot where Indian Creek and Rancheria Creek meet, twice a day going to and from school. We also saw Anderson Creek on a regular basis, though the location where it flowed into Rancheria Creek was a bit southeast of our access.
From May until November, we crossed the Navarro River on a temporary car bridge, initially built with Douglas fir and redwood logs with gravel on top, and later replaced by a railroad flatcar. In winter we used an old footbridge. The car bridge was installed with the help of a good-sized Cat (Caterpillar tractor), in the early years by George Gowan and in the latter years by (I think) Willis Tucker.
Rain dictated when the car bridge came out. The third sizeable storm of the winter usually put enough water in the river to lift the log bridge from its supports: a cable tied to a large redwood nearby would keep the logs from drifting away, so they could be reused next year. One year we forgot to cable the bridge and spent a fruitless couple of hours trying to secure it during the third storm as the rain poured and the river rose. We finally gave up and watched the logs head downstream 20 minutes later. During the flatcar years, a Cat pulled the bridge out and moved it a safe distance up the embankment after the second rain.
Winter brought with it an evolution of color in the waters of the Navarro and its tributaries. Clear at first, the first rain or two – most of which sank into the soil rather than ran off - deepened the color to a hazy blue-green. After the soil got saturated and water/sediment runoff became heavy, the Navarro turned to a deep mocha brown: Indian Creek and Anderson Creek, because of their smaller sizes, were a lighter brown. The waters of all three were less dark during extended lulls between storms (Indian Creek actually returned to blue-green on occasion), but brown remained the dominant color until early spring.
So how big can the Navarro River get in winter? BIG. I am sure most residents have seen the stump and the sign along Highway 128 west of Dimmick Wayside Campground showing the river’s high water line in 1955 and 1964. The highest I can recall was 1964, when – by my estimate - the river was (after several days of rain followed by a 12-inch deluge in 24 hours) nearly 200 feet wide and perhaps 28 feet deep, and carried redwood logs five to six feet in diameter in its flow. We spent a couple of hours watching the water rise, slowly but perceptibly, onto a portion of our road the river had never touched – until that day.
I always thought we lived in a particularly rainy corner of the valley. Maybe we did. Certainly the southwest side of the valley was –still is – more heavily forested than most of the northeast side and greater rainfall could be one of the reasons. We used to put out coffee cans to catch rainwater for my mother’s clothes iron and sometimes measured how much had accumulated, but I’m sure we never compared the number against that of the National Weather Service (which, in those pre-internet days, would have been hard to come by).
With so much winter rain, one learned to cope. We had livestock to feed and cows to milk mornings and evenings, and additional chores on weekends, so rubber boots and yellow rubberized rain suits were our friends (though we often opted out of the pants portion of the latter, which were uncomfortable). Left on the front porch when not in use, rubber boots were necessities in the foot-grabbing muck cattle and horses produce in enclosures, and in the impressive puddles that accumulated on every road. The yellow rain slickers also were worn to and from school, since we were on foot for a portion of the trip. I can’t recall using an umbrella – an umbrella offered lousy protection in heavy rain and took up a hand usually needed to carry stuff.
In 2002, the car bridge and footbridge we used during our sojourn in Anderson Valley were succeeded by a permanent bridge, primarily as the result of officialdom not wanting heavy equipment operating in the river. The changes to Anderson Valley’s watershed since I was young extend beyond winter creek and river flows, but those are stories for another day.
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