More tales of survival

Douglas County evidently is filled with people who went through harrowing experiences and lived to tell about it. We recently asked readers to submit their stories of survival for our annual Umpqua Edition, which was published Friday. That request struck a chord. So many people sent us tales of surviving health crises, natural disasters, accidents and injuries, near-deadly outdoors encounters and other mishaps — a few of them more humorous than outright dangerous — that we had too many to fit into Umpqua Edition pages.



Here, then, are some of the stories we couldn’t share in print earlier.

Offering a port in the storms in Southeast Alaska

Carol Mogensen

For The News-Review

A VHF radio was our only means of communication during the years that my husband and our 12-year-old son lived on a small island near Juneau, Alaska.

A call for the Orca could be a call from friends, from our two sons who were students in France and Sweden, or a request to deliver supplies by boat to a remote logging camp. For this reason, we left our VHF radio on from morning until bedtime.

A chilling experience to anyone who makes a living on the water is to hear a “May Day” over the radio. It was late one September evening when we heard the Coast Guard calling for anyone in the vicinity of Horse Island. Our cabin was on Colt Island, which is joined to Horse Island by a sandspit, making it possible to walk from one island to the other at low tide.

Clarence answered the call and was told that a family was stranded on Horse Island and needed help. Ken, Annie and their 8-year-old son, Jeff, had spent the day on the island where they were building a cabin. They had intended to work all day and spend the night on their cabin cruiser, which was anchored off the south shore of Horse Island.

As often happens in southeast Alaska, a sudden storm moved in, preventing them from rowing out to the larger boat. September in Alaska is not a good time to be stranded on an island all night without shelter.

Clarence told the Coast Guard to relay a message to the stranded family that if they could get across the spit before high tide, he would meet them there and bring them to our cabin on our three-wheeler. It was now pitch dark, a strong wind was blowing, it was raining, and it was getting very close to high tide.

When he reached the spit, Clarence could see flashlight beams on the other side and water running over the spit. He left the ATV headlight turned on to help guide the three across. Ken later told us that it was a very frightening crossing. Not only was visibility poor, but slippery rocks the size of baseballs, knee-deep water, and a strong wind made it difficult to stand.

Annie led the way with a flashlight, followed by Ken carrying Jeff on his back. Once they were across, Clarence brought scared and cold Jeff to our cabin, then made two more trips around the island to pick up Annie and Ken.

Once our guests were dry, warm, fed, and asleep, I said a prayer of thanks that we were on the island that night and able to help. The following morning, after breakfast, Ken returned to Horse Island to find his cabin cruiser crushed between rocks. A Coast Guard cutter arrived later that morning to take the family to Juneau.

In southeast Alaska, sudden spring storms often turn what begins as a beautiful day into a nightmare. May 14 was such a day. We had just settled in for a quiet evening when we were startled by loud knocking on our door. One thing you never expect when you are the only people living on an isolated island is someone “just dropping by” for the evening.

Clarence opened the door to find an ashen-faced, bedraggled man standing there, holding onto a very scared little boy. A forlorn looking woman peered over the man’s shoulder. All three were soaked.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but could we come in for a minute to warm up and maybe clean up my boy? I’m afraid he was so scared he messed his pants.”

I went upstairs to find clothes for 7-year-old Hunter. After the three had warmed up and finished a snack, Joe and Sharon described their ordeal.

They had spent the day on nearby Admiralty Island fishing at the mouth of Bear Creek, which, in good weather, is only about a 10-minute boat ride from Colt Island. That night it took them an hour to reach our island in their 16-foot skiff.

According to Sharon, it was a miracle they made it at all. She said they came close to being swamped by the rough surf when they pushed off from shore and were nearly swamped several times before reaching our island.

Joe admitted to making a very serious mistake by not listening to the marine forecast before leaving Auke Bay. By morning, the winds had died down enough to allow the family to return to Juneau in their skiff.

Again, I was grateful that we were able to help by being in the right place at the right time.

A disastrous trip to Disneyland

Beatrice Plummer

For The News-Review

In the early ’60s the thing to do was to take your kids to the relatively new Disneyland in Anaheim, Calif.

We didn’t live that far away, Alpine, and my husband’s union gave us discount tickets. We told our three kids that we would take them to Disneyland the following Saturday.

Unfortunately, my husband took that week to break his foot and he was in a cast. The kids were having fits until he assured them that it was a walking cast and we would still take them to Disneyland, but their mother, me, would have to drive. No problem.

I had my own car, a Dodge station wagon. As he had his plumbing business he had a big plumbing truck. I had never driven it, nor did I have any desire to drive it.

Come Saturday and we all piled into the station wagon with me at the wheel. Headed for Disneyland. We got on the freeway and the car started to sway. It was so far out of alignment that I was practically driving down the freeway sideways. I said that was it. We were going back home and would go to Disneyland another day.

If you have kids you know what happened next. Such an uproar you wouldn’t believe! In addition, the discount tickets were for the day in question and Bill would have to apply for them again, and they were in great demand.

We got home and Bill suggested that I drive that big old truck. I had driven trucks before but never that one. I gave in and agreed to drive to Disneyland with the kids in the bed of the truck and Bill and I in the cab.

We started off again. I did pretty good considering I had never driven this monster before. I was just beginning to become confident when I took the wrong freeway off-ramp. I got turned around and wound up stopped at a light too far out into the intersection. So I did what any intelligent normal person would do. I put it in reverse, backed up, and waited for the light to change.

In the meantime a little Volkswagen pulled up behind me. The light turned green. Now what intelligent designer of automobiles would put the reverse clutch under first gear? This idiot did. I backed into the Volkswagen. He backed up. I again shifted and again backed into the Volkswagen. He backed up. Again I shifted. This time very carefully. I backed into the Volkswagen. He backed up.

Finally, foot in cast, my husband got out of the truck and headed for the driver’s side just as the guy in the Volkswagen got out of his car, picked up his headlight, yelled at my husband, “The hell with it!,” sped around me and took off.

In frustration, my husband pushed me into the passenger’s side of the cab, got in and drove off. He drove to Disneyland and he drove home. Foot in cast.

For my kids, I think that was more fun than Disneyland.

Fleeing the rising floodwaters

Donald Cosgrove

For The News-Review

Labor Day signaled the end of summer. The beach cottages were cleaned and boarded up. Small boats were pulled ashore to ride out the New England winter.

The cars, loaded with summer clothes and sad-faced youngsters, departed for the cities. The active community in the summer numbered 30 families, but come winter, fewer than six households were ever active.

That fall I waved goodbye to friends as they left. I, the luckiest kid around, would spend the school year with my sister and her husband at their cottage.

The day started with a yellow cast and gray clouds that moved at an angry pace high in the sky.

The wind at ground level remained still, yet the leaves on the trees were turned inside out. Later the wind picked up, but that was a normal occurrence at the beach. That late afternoon was spent helping my sister with chores. The increasing wind and the lack of playmates had driven me indoors.

The sound of an automobile out front told us the man of the house had arrived. My sister’s husband, quite excited, said there was water on the road near the beach front, just a short distance away. Not believing what we had just heard, my sister and I exited the cottage. The three of us headed for the beach, drawn by curiosity and stupidity. Our approach was halted by the strengthening wind and the rising water on the road.

We could see the beach parking lot was flooded, and a glance across the channel to the homes on “Millionaires Row” revealed a water level higher than ever realized.

My sister mentioned that there seemed to be a fogbank building up miles off shore. The husband said it was moving too fast for a fogbank and then after a pause, yelled, “It’s a tidal wave.” We ran toward the house amid shouts to get in the automobile.

The car raced to higher ground and to the road to Blanchard’s Store, a quarter of a mile away. Those few folks flooded from the low areas had already gathered at the store for safety.

My brother-in-law planned to leave the peninsula for help by the only road out, but was informed it was flooded. A decision was made to try the overgrown footpath to town, using the automobile as a tank. We left the road with engine racing and crashed into the woods. Brittle, small beach pine and brush gave way, snapped aside by the old Nash, and down we went into the bottom of a gully.

The depth of the water covered the tires, and soon the fenders. The motor died and my brother-in-law struggled to open the door against the rising flood. He pulled my sister from the front seat as she in turn grabbed me. I was hauled into the chest-high, cold, swirling water. We landed in a grove of stout trees and began pulling ourselves from tree to tree, moving with the current, seeking higher ground. I remember glancing back at that gully. The old Nash had disappeared beneath the rising waters.

Then, for the first time, we heard the scream of the wind and the noise of uprooted, falling trees, amid an air filled with flying branches and leaves. We stumbled toward higher ground and the road to town, as the visibility decreased due to the torrent of rain and the approach of night.

Once on the road to the town of Wareham, we stumbled along, whipped by stinging rain. We held each other tight in that miserable mile to town lest we become separated. We were wet, cold, bruised and scared, but thankful to be alive. That night was spent with friends in town.

Days later a trip to the beach revealed the damage. The tidal wave had claimed every thing on Millionaires Row. The bare concrete foundations on our waterfront showed that expensive homes had once resided here. The homes across the street had fared no better. My sister’s cottage, 80 yards from the beach, still partially intact, had been shoved 150 feet inland.

This young couple had lost everything, yet, they were the lucky ones. The neighbors next door, not wishing to leave, had fled to their attic, where three days later their bodies were found.

In the town of Wareham a mile away and further inland, the steel railroad bridge with two paved lanes for traffic ended up half a mile down the bay. On a building in town, located well above the water level of the small inlet, someone had painted a red line noting the height of the tidal flood from the street level.

A sign beneath the line said 14 feet.

A flight to remember

Judy Graves

For The News-Review

When I was 27 and married to FIoyd, we lived in Coos Bay where Floyd was looking for work as he once again was laid off by the pulp mill.

My sister, Sandy, lived in Sitka, Alaska, and told us “come on up here; there are plenty of jobs at the pulp mill here.” Floyd flew there and he got a job right away.

This left me with two little girls, Dany, 11 and a half months, and Kelly, 3, a house and furniture to sell and all the packing of our belongings. After a few weeks or so I had managed to sell the house and furniture and get plane tickets.

Dad drove us to the airport in Seattle. In 1961 our flight was on a prop jet from Seattle to an island called Annette near Ketchikan in southeast Alaska. (Some of this information was given to me later.) I had flown only one time before and flying was very scary to me.

The plane I was disembarking flew off immediately. I was told we would have about an hour wait until the next plane was ready. I wandered around the small, one-room airport carrying Dany, with Kelly hanging onto my leg. Finally a man came up to me and said, “Mrs. Starr, your plane is ready,” and he picked up Kelly and my one carry-on and I followed him outside.

There was only a small plane there with people climbing aboard. I told him, “No. I will wait for the big plane.” He said, “This is it.” Since he had my daughter Kelly, I followed him to the door and into the plane. This plane had a strange look to me. There was the usual propeller in front. There were two wings and a tail, but there were also large, round tube-like pieces above the wheels. When I climbed up the stairs and looked inside, it had only nine seats, and one of them was next to the pilot! All of the seats were filled by men except the two backs seats on opposite sides of the aisle. I strapped Kelly in her seat and sat down in my seat with Dany on my lap.

I found out much later this plane is called the Grumman Goose.

I was just getting buckled up when an unshaven man dressed like a logger entered the door behind me and slammed it shut. He leaned over and said, “I understand this will be your first flight where you land on the water.” I was dumbstruck. He immediately sat in the pilot’s seat and started the motor.

The day was beautiful and sunny. Even with the news that we were landing on water, I had a feeling of calmness looking out the window and seeing the ocean and islands we were flying over. The trees were so pretty. The roar inside the plane was horrendous and Kelly fell asleep. She just hung there against the seat belt, as there was no arm rest on that little seat. Dany fell asleep also.

After awhile, Kelly woke up and yelled she had to go potty! There was of course, no potty on that plane. I struggled up and strapped Dany in my seat and took one of two dry diapers left in my bag over to Kelly. Because of the roar of the airplane, I had to yell in front of all those men, “Kelly, go on the diaper” She didn’t want to do that, being all grown up at 3 years old. Finally after much yelling, she did pee. I staggered back to my seat and picked up Dany, and sat down in a puddle! Dany got the only dry diaper left and I was the one to arrive with wet pants.

After an hour and half, the plane began its descent. When we splashed down, the water came up over the windows and I just knew we were going right to the bottom! Both girls were screaming and I was ready to join them. Fortunately, I soon saw the sun through the window again. We were in the water, driving along like in a boat right up onto the beach. That was the only airport in Sitka at that time.

I was grateful the pilot warned me about the landing on water. I’m sure I would have made a fool of myself if I hadn't known about landing on water.

I was ready to kill Floyd for not telling me, even though I have to admit that he was right when he said if he had, I wouldn’t have come ...