Two Rivers Anthology Book Eight

Part 8: Land of Many Disasters

Up at the Quartz County Museum, local historian Frank Aliberti is always happy to regale visitors with chilling tales of the early mining days and how precarious life was for the prospectors who had ventured westward. They encountered highwaymen, horse thieves and disease. A cholera epidemic swept through the shanty camps in 1850s, killing hundreds of miners, many of them essentially boys who died far away from their mamas. Then over and over raging fires leveled the clapboard settlements. Two Rivers itself burned down three times before 1900!

And what the fires didn’t destroy, floods did. Our rivers, maddened by serial storms, overflowed their banks regularly and swept away people’s lives, livelihood and living quarters. I remember Marnie Lopez, who runs the Gold Quartz Inn, once saying how ironic it is that back in the pioneer days our town grew and prospered because there was plenty of water. Then came the deluges—the disasters preserved in photos that show settlers getting ready for floods, wading through floods and rebuilding from floods. “I’m not sure I could have endured that kind of tribulation,” Marnie said. “Imagine the time and again everything inside getting coated in mud and slime.” She looked around her inn kitchen and shuddered.

But Frank would argue that what happened underground was far more dangerous. Explosions hundreds of feet down in the mines killed countless men, many of them young—eager immigrants from Italy, Serbia and Wales. Leaving the Old World behind, they went looking for a better life, but instead died quickly in the New World. The Abraham Mine Disaster of 1921, in fact, made headlines across the nation during the week-long but futile rescue effort to save the men trapped underground. For all of the catastrophes that have befallen the local populace, our town motto might as well be “Two Rivers—Many Disasters.”

However, in years distant The Tempest of ’23 will not only be remembered for its legendary snowstorms that collapsed buildings and isolated residents, but also, ironically, as the disaster that actually rescued Two Rivers from economic ruin!

Of course, having a front-row seat to this latest drama is one of the benefits of living in a small town in the country—not that I relish when bad things happen, but it is exciting to be part of something historic. That morning on Highway 49, the rain now falling crazily, the river running mightily, the search party for Betty Norbert stood on both sides of the landslide. On the far side, the brothers Norbert were helpless—stranded because their truck had slid off the road. Our search party organized by Deputy Jack was blocked on the other. What a quandary!

I could imagine the strain of worry on poor Nick as he was now essentially powerless to search for his wife. Deputy Jack asked dramatically, “How would Carole Chukar and her World War II jeep like to be a hero today?”

“What can I do,” I asked.

He reminded me that back toward town a little ways was the steep road to the old Gopher Flat Mine. “It bypasses the slide here and comes out two miles toward Quartzite,” he said. “You winch yourself up it. I’ll have a party go with you to help with the cabling. You can go around and pull the Norberts out. Continue searching for Betty.”

I remembered about that road, having crawled my way up it a few summers ago with a bunch of kids in town when we went looking for wild plums. The jeep’s four-wheel-drive compound low gear made the going slow but sure. Dry, it was barely passable as the road was built when horses were king, so I was doubtful in this weather about getting up it using my winch. Given the situation, I figured it was worth a try— especially since I’d have help. So off we went. Deputy Jack sent along Jake the Carpenter and building inspector Jim Kelly to work the cables. Rex Jenner still rode shotgun. With the four of us, the crawl up the mountain and then back around—stopping several times to move fallen tree limbs— took an hour in that downpour.

We thought by the time we’d got to the brothers, a motorist driving up Highway 49 toward Two Rivers would by then have reached them and pulled them out. But no! I guess folks smartly figured today was not a day to travel. You don’t go sightseeing during an atmospheric river weather event!

We freed the Norberts’ truck, and as the river rumbled below us, we took a rest break, drinking coffee from a Thermos. From the overlook, we saw massive logs careering down the canyon, whole trees and bits of lumber that were obviously parts of buildings.

“I think we need to be getting on down the road,” Rex said. “If this water keeps surging, we might actually lose a bridge somewhere.” The other men agreed with him, and I was ready to go, too. We had to find Betty!

So off we went, keeping a close eye on the river’s behavior, the rain falling steadily on melting snow. A few miles on, as we rounded a curve, the Norberts’ truck taillights suddenly flashed and the truck skidded to a halt. Ahead on the side of the road was a beat-up Toyota Corolla, doors wide open, parked behind a familiar-looking Subaru Legacy. Down the rock-strewn embankment, movement caught our attention. Those three computer fellows were carrying a limp body. It was Betty Norbert’s!

A native Californian, H.A. Silliman grew up in the Gold County and currently lives in the northern outback. Past stories from the Two Rivers Anthology can be found at hasilliman.weebly.com. All characters are fictitious or fictionally portrayed. ©2023 H.A. Silliman.