For the week ending May 31, 1957

THE PELTON STORM (Editorial)

Forces of nature provided a million-dollar show for more than 2,000 persons who met in the gorge of the Deschutes Saturday for the dedication of the $25 million Pelton Dam.

It was a show that was not appreciated by those who came in summer suits and straw hats to enjoy a dedication program and a barbecue. Yet it was a show that will be remembered long after the man-made program is forgotten.

Nature’s show started when two massive thunderheads met and merged over the Cove country to the south, as fleets of clouds moved northward.

A few huge raindrops splashed in the dust as a sort of warning to the people to take cover. Then the storm broke, with a fury seldom seen in this part of the state. Lightning suddenly illuminated the quickly darkened gorge, peals of thunder echoed from basaltic cliffs — and the rain came.

There was a wild scurry for cars, but there weren’t enough cars to accommodate all seeking shelter. Many of the cars had been parked in distant areas, and their occupants had been taken to the dedication point in buses. When the storm broke, the buses were upstream on tours.

Accompanying the storm was a heavy wind, which lashed rain and hail into the area. Visibility was reduced to near zero, and Lake Simtustus and the downstream regulation reservoir disappeared in the mist.

Upstream, brown rivulets of water tumbled over cliffs. Gashing streams cut into road banks. Borrow pits filled, and the Central Oregon riders barbecue trench became a brown pool.

Amid the hysteria and downpour, there was humor: A man nonchalantly strolled across the suddenly vacated dedication area, balancing the top of a garbage pail over his head as a protective hat. A Warm Springs tribesman tumbled into an already-filled teepee to announce that the storm was the result of the wrath of the gods who were angered by the damming of the Deschutes.

These violent thunderstorms are, on the whole, rare in Central Oregon. A few years back, one struck the Mitchell country, to send a roaring torrent down Bridge Creek. Just a year ago, one struck in the Hay Creek area north of Madras, to wash two cars into the valley and send their occupants scurrying into the hills.

It is in the rugged John Day region, from Clarno upstream to Bridge Creek, that these storms are frightening. There, lakes of water dumped from billowing clouds on steep, rocky slopes plunge into the low country as wild, destroying rivers.

These are the storms that create a roar that rivals that of the crashing thunder as great boulders grind along creek bottoms, carried by the flood like giant pebbles.

Yes, nature provided a grand show in the gorge of the Deschutes. But it was enjoyed by few.