The detritus was the most striking. Huge, mostly submerged logs sped with the current, bumping along bridges and fledging their small bits to eddy at the banks.
Of course, if you've lived here very long at all, these are fairly familiar sights. I was here in my first go around with PDX in 1996, when the city's floodwall was sandbagged by hundreds of volunteers called back day after day, and the bridges were left raised at night so as to protect their electrical systems. Although both pages have some trademark mid-90's design, here are two sites which pretty thoroughly cover that near miss. Well, near miss for downtown, anyway--let's not forget all the outlying towns which the high waters didn't at all pass by.
And, of course, there's Vanport, which is almost mythical for us first generation transplants. The largest public housing development in the nation in its time, Vanport was originally constructed as worker housing for the Kaiser shipyards. Home to nearly 20,000 people at the time of the flood, Vanport was a complete loss. Cue the tired racetrack at Delta Park, and a floodlight on decades of difficult race relations in the city.
Really, though, we have our reputation as a city where the sun seldom shines for a reason. Let's keep our lovely blue spring days a secret for just a bit longer, shall we? About 60% of our annual 40 inches of rain falls between November and March, and the average rainfall in Portland for January is about 6 inches, so these sights shouldn't be too surprising.
After all, we've kept monuments to such high waters. They're part of the city, without a doubt. I tried to take this picture of a stone marking the high water point at eye level, so as to give a real sense of how high the water was back in 1894. Granted, things have shifted around a bit since then, but I'm guessing we can all get the idea. No streets, no steps, no doors untouched. Add into that mix a general lack of pavement, and visions of desperate folks carrying as much as possible upstairs before themselves heading for the hills--or at least a sturdy rowboat--come to mind. In true Portland style, however, the citizens did the best they could--duck for dinner, anyone? (The original page for the duck hunting photo also makes mention that one saloon owner moved his establishment atop a barge so he could remain in business...)
All this really is just to say: bring it on, Mother Nature. We love you, we worship you more than most any other urban populace around, but when push comes to shove, we'll find a way to work around you. Folks around here always have.
