This account chronicles young man's week-long journey with a local hydrographer to survey the snow of NID’s upper watershed. The journal is rich with details about the complexity of conducting a survey during a snowstorm in 1935, without modern accoutrements. The personal observations and amusing predicaments accent a Sierra adventure that might be had today, aside from tomato-pear soup eaten in a snow-buried cabin on English Mountain.

Participants on the snow survey: Percy Bosanko, hydrographer, and Alfred H. Kramm, author of this journal

Alfred H. Kramm was born Jan 17, 1910 in Sacramento. His family moved to Grass Valley where his father, also Alfred, bought a jewelry store located on the first floor of the Holbrooke Hotel in downtown Grass Valley. The primary business was buying gold from local miners and crafting it into jewelry. Kramm moved the store to 148 Mill Street, where it still thrives today as Stucki Jewelers.

Prior to this snow survey journal in 1935, Alfred (junior) received a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Architecture from the University of California, Berkeley in 1933. He married Margret Harshaw in August 1937, became a Registered Professional Civil Engineer in 1953, and worked in Southern California for most of his career.

Snow Survey for Nevada Irrigation District: April 1-8, 1935

April 1, 1935 - Grass Valley, Graniteville and Bowman House 

The day has at last arrived for our departure into the Mountain fastness. And it was with a quickened pulse that I entered the bus, that runs between Grass Valley and Nevada City, at the corner of Mill and Main streets of the first. mentioned town, with pack on back and skis in hand.

Percy was already in the bus, having gotten on at "Boston Ravine” – Grass Valley's older section of town. The day was young -- only 6:30 in the morning -- the air was crisp, sky clear except for a warning fog on the horizon. Everything seemed to augment our anticipation of adventure. And the thought of freedom from the daily routine office raised our spirits exceedingly and urged us in exultation.

Half an hour later we found ourselves in Nevada City and seated, or should I say jammed, in the rear of a 1935 Dodge Sedan stage with baggage, freight and mail piled unceremoniously between us, and reaching such a precarious height that it was only difficulty that we succeeded from being smothered by falling bags at every turn in the road. With great difficulty we peered at each other through and around the cracks that had unwittingly been left in the piling of the cargo.

We wondered why there was so much room in front and so little in back but our question was soon answered when Steve, our driver, stopped at a house in Nevada City and escorted a pretty girl schoolteacher to the car, whom he introduced to us as Kitty McClich and with whom I recalled having gone to junior college in 1928.

At 8:15 we were arrived at Bloomfield and Kitty left us there as this is where she teaches school. Stopped for about 15 minutes during which the baggage was transferred to a horse drawn stage – and what a funny looking stage – a sort of cross between a Chinaman's vegetable wagon sawed off in rear, and one of those old-fashioned horse-drawn ice-cream wagons. It was with mixed feelings of humor and embarrassment that I mounted the funny looking “hay burner” and rambled off at the rate of two miles per hour.

There were four of us – Coombs, the driver; Mrs. Pierce, the Graniteville schoolteacher, Percy and I. Slowly we climbed higher and higher along the ridge until the snow began to appear in patches upon the ground. Finally after almost two hours, the snow extended as a solid sheet over field and road as well --  and then around the bend we spied a sort of box with runner on it.

“This is the sleigh,” Combs told us. I suppose Mrs. Pierce and Percy were well aware of it, having travelled on it many times in the past, but to me it was a most unique homemade contraption. One reads and sees pictures of sleighs as being spacious and roomy and enviable to travel in. But this was far from any of these objectives. We rapidly made the change and were “bumpety-bumpeting” on our way.

The snow was some three feet deep and very badly chopped up with the horses hoofs. To add to the excitement of being “bounded” and “churned” the snow was not exceedingly hard and every once in a while one of the two horses would fall through the crust and flounder around until he managed to get out. This was very exciting to me at first but I got used to it and before long was talking engagedly with Mrs. Pierce on subjects ranging from backward and problem children to the proper size of the modern family. In all I found her a most interesting individual who seemed to be very alert to every modern need.

At 11:00 o’clock Coombs drew up beside a two horse sleigh near the branch road that goes to German Bar. He introduced me to “Pike,” our new driver. “Pike” had come down from Graniteville and was now awaiting the return trip. While the two drivers were chatting about the road and the weather and exchanging their loads, I took a picture of the group.

And soon we were merrily bouncing on our way, on much the same kind of sleigh we had just left. Mrs. Pierce sat in front facing forward. I also sat in front by faced backward so that Pike might be able to sit on the front half of the seat, while I occupied the rear portion. Percy sat on a corrugated cardboard box in back (with the baggage). It was not many miles of joggling before Percy’s comfortable seat began to flatten out at one end and latter it developed that the box contained the bread sent to Phelps, the Graniteville grocer. Percy was all apology until I reassured him that “pressure moulded bread” was a luxury one could not indulge in daily.

Our horses had on snowshoes -- a sort of circular disc, fastened to the horses’ hoof with a nut and bold arrangement -- but in spite of this the snow in places was so soft that they went through to their bellies.

Slowly the hours dragged by. At 3:20 in the afternoon we reached Graniteville. The natives all came out to look at us and some of the boulder ones to ask our business. It is little wonder that the mountain folks should be curious of the outside world -- being as they are -- practically snows in for four or five months of the year. Even at this date the snow was up to the very tops of the picket fences.

Percy and I made haste to fasten on our skies and to start for Bowman House -- a distance of seven miles, before nightfall overtook us. We were dressed lightly. Each of us had on heavy underwear, light shirts, kaki britches, heavy shoes and several pair of socks. We had with us two light sweaters and gloves. Percy a baret – I a cap. It was uphill for three miles.

One thinks of the snow as being cold -- but we thought differently. Soon we were wet with perspiration. We stopped at the “sawmill” which is near the top of the fill and were invited by the care-taker and his wife to have some cake and cold water. What a refreshing delight. Nothing could have “hit the spot” better.

Just as dusk was closing in upon us we reached the very top of the hill and began the long tortuous descent to Bowman dam. Soon Percy was leading the way with flashlight in hand over the drifter and rutted snow. Every now and then we halted before chasms so to speak, where the spring freshets had washed the snow completely away, leaving exposed the rocky road some four feet lower.

Carefully we proceeded, crossing these unexpected places and watching out for others. In spite of all our pre-cautions Percy slipped into a hole and hurt his thigh – but not badly. I was fortunate in having a guide as cautious and considerate as Percy and as a result I had no misfortunes of slipping.

Finally we dragged ourselves into Bowman House. It was 8:15 and Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, our host and hostess, and Mrs. Amlin, Mrs. Hunt’s sister, were waiting dinner for us. And were we hungry! After dinner I revived completely, so much so that I was able to discuss the new Bowman House plans the N.I.D. intends to rebuild, until 11:45 when we all decided to retire. Percy was an old softie he went to bed at 9:00 pm.

April 2, 1935 - Trek to English Mountain 

Before the new day had hardly dawned they were up and moving. At 5:30 I got up – the earliest I had arisen for years. The morning was depressing – grey clouds and a drizzling rain. But after a good breakfast I began to wake up and became a little more cheerful. We waxed out skies and repaired the straps on my pair.

Percy was in an awful hurry to be off. He made me so nervous with his impatience that I misplaced my gloves three times and my cup twice and then almost forgot to bring my pack. Nevertheless we were on our way at 7:15.

The rain soon turned into snow. We were truly in the midst of a storm. The snow blew relentlessly against us and the wind whistled around our ears. We took refuge against a giant tree to eat our lunch – someplace on the road between Sawmill and French lakes.

The afternoon was perhaps the most arduous part of the day’s travel. Percy thought we could save time to Toll House Meadows by leaving the road and cutting across country in a more direct line. Soon we were scaling the sides of the mountains. In back of us the floor of the valley spread out miles – the opposite hills were obscured by the driving snow. We stopped on a rocky ledge to rest a moment.

A nearby rock of a sort of granite or slate formation showed a distinct fossil of a large brake fern. I was elated with it and wanted to mark the spot so I could come up again, in better weather, with a geologist to look at it. I asked Percy exactly where we were. He laughed at me and said “someplace on English Mountain.”

We started on again. The snow stung us in the face and the wind furiously whipped around us. Even the few scrub trees on the mountain sides had through the years been whipped by the winds into grotesque and unusual shapes. I wanted to take a picture of some of them by the flying snow made the visibility much too poor to attempt it. Percy began to complain of this thigh, which he sprained yesterday – but we kept on and at 3:30 were rewarded by the sight of Toll House Meadows.

It had been a long and a weary ten mile trip. The snow gaging stick showed 9 feet. Our toils were not ended – as the cabin was practically buried in the snow – two feet above the top of the door we had to dig down to get to the lock. Percy opened it and slid. He tied a wire to a bucket, filled it with snow and I hauled it up and dumped it. In this way we succeeded in building a staircase into the cabin.

The next task was to repair the chimney, start a fire, melt snow for water, clean house and make our beds. We are both very fastidious about the cleanness of the dishes so we endeavored to wash them thoroughly. The only soap we could find to wash them with was “Lifebuoy.” Percy was afraid this kind of soap would give him indigestion so I refrained from using it. Then we couldn’t find a towel that we knew was clean, so I thoroughly washed a rag that was hanging up and used that to absorb the surplus moisture on the dishes. Both of us were quite wet. I ran around in pajamas while my other clothes were drying. Didn’t notice what Percy wore, but it possibly wasn’t much.

After we had rested and dried awhile we set about preparing dinner of soup, tomatoes and pears. We made coffee from snow water but discovered to our dismay that the sugar had inadvertently been forgotten among our supplies -- so the coffee went begging. The dishes were again washed.

Before retiring I went out into the blizzard. The little book that I used in which to make the original notations slipped out of my back pocket. Half an hour later I discovered my loss and stumbled back out into the storm, half dressed, with a flashlight to find my precious book. I found it where I thought I would---so peacefully to sleep at 9:00 P.M.

April 3, 1935 - Description of snow survey

We awoke after a fair night’s sleep at 6:30 to a cold, dry blowing snowstorm. We looked out and shuttered but took courage after a breakfast of bacon, eggs and pear. We made a lunch – cleaned up the cabin in preparation to moving on and started out to take the snow survey. The wind was driving the particles of ice with tremendous force at the course. The snow gage showed 6” of new snow during the night.

How one actually took a snow survey had hitherto been a sort of mystery.

First of all we screwed together the sections of the snow tubes. At the end of the first tube is a cutter which like a diamond drill cuts through the ice that often occurs between successive snow falls. The tubes are about 1½" in diameter and are callibrated in inches. They are slotted so that the core of the snow inside the tube can be seen and measured. At the top of the tube is a detachable handle for twisting the tube through the packed snow and ice. The tube is first inserted into the snow until it strikes the earth. The depth is recorded, then the height of the core. Then the tube and core are weighed on a sort of "fish" scale. The size of core is such that its weight is the actual amount of water in the snow. Snow courses are layed out between two marker trees. They are some 500 to 1000 feet apart and the measurements are taken each year at 50 foot intervals between these two trees. Some of the courses are laid out with cross courses.

Fortunately for us this course, known as the English Mountain Course, had not cross courses. However, it was some 800 or 900 feet long and the snow had an average depth of 102.6" or 8.55 feet, and was frozen hard at several places before bottom was reached.

Percy operated the snow tube and had a tough time trying to drive it down to earth. It was so cold the snow core froze into the tube and very often refused to slide out. I took the notes and my hands almost froze. It was fortunate the note book was waterproof as it was covered with plenty of snow and water. The blowing snow and ice stuck to our clothes and hats and as it melted from the warmth of our bodies became icycles. The snow even froze to the bottoms of our skies!

By the time we had finished the course we were cold, wet, tired and discouraged. We decided it would be wiser to stay over at the cabin another day. Besides Percy's thigh still hurt him and he wasn't sure how far he could go before it got worse. So we went back and immediately started the fire which we had only two hours ago covered with snow. We at once had hot soup.

While warming up we computed the percentage of water content and the average depth of the snow we had just measured. Around two in the afternoon we had lunch of more soup and fish. After that we thought we had better wax our skies. I had the brilliant idea of opening and empty milk can on the side, putting handles on the ends, placing hot coals inside the can, and using the rounded side of the can beneath the coals as a hot iron to smooth off the ski wax. The idea sounds better than the practice. I finally used a hot pocker.

The skies waxed by 4:00 p.m. and I had the idea of making ice cream. We seperated the whites of two eggs and beat the foam, then folded in the beaten yokes to which we added once Herseys Chocolate bar melted in one can condensed milk and two chopped peaches, seasoned with a pinch of salt. Then we impatiently waited for it to freeze until 8:00 P.M. It was semi-hard by then and we were hungry so in five minutes it was gone. My, but it was good. We men certainly have it all over the women. (I suppose the women would appreciate it if we wore a triffle more useful when we are around them.) Percy has been speaking about how "swell" it is to be married and has been advising me to do likewise. I'm afraid I'm A poor student. I just don't see getting married until I have achieved a better education and a financial independence.

He can't see my viewpoint I'm afraid. He is fortunate in having a wife that is willing, earnest, economical and lovable. To him the home is the greatest achievement on earth. In a way I envy his happiness. Yet, I'm afraid the home alone would not be the solution to my ambitions. I must wait.

Before going to bed Percy chopped some kindling for tomorrow morning's fire. In so doing the stove vibrated off its supports and clattered to the floor, bringing the flimsy chimney both outside and in with it. We hastened to repair the damage before we were smoked out. By 9:30 we had tucked ourselves into bed and were again in slumberland, climbing mountain peaks and taking snow surveys.

April 4, 1935 - Finley Peak

The morning of the 4th day dawned with the furry of the snow gods still unavenged. But this morning we would have to go "though hell should bar the way". We fortified ourselves with bacon, eggs and sweet potatoes. By 8:15 we had everything ready for traveling. I wrapped a towell around my neck and with lowered head and determination faced into the blizzard, followed close in Percy's ski tracks.

The snow gauge showed another 6" new snow, making a total of 10 feet. We lunched at 11:00, seeking protection behind a large tree--but even then it was very cold.

By 12:00 we had reached the Finly Peak course. The snow was driving, and infuriated it seemed, and we were drenched-- but "the work must go on". In the middle of the afternoon we reached the Jackson Meadows course, The air was a little warmer and the fury of the storm had abated. The snow gauge showed only 6' 10" so our task of measuring was comparatively easy.

After our work we musshed along the floor of the meadows to Ennors cabin, our next stop. My thoughts drifted back to the summer of 33. when I had.come over these same meadows, through these same trees, in my machine with a Berkeley girl friend of mine. Then we crossed the Middle Yuba River. It was over this same bridge that the two of us passed, and I thought of those raptuous moments. Here was the spot where we stopped to prepare our dinner along the grassy banks and to refresh our wearied bodies with a cool invigorating swim in the crystal waters of Milton Creek, as we called it then.

We mushed on, my thoughts still dwelling in the vicissitudes of yesteryear. It seemed only a minute before we had gone the 3/4 mile to the next creek crossing and then I came back to earth. The water was high and no bridge. Reluctently we began to wade, the water was just high enough to run over the tops of our boots. It was not long before we saw the group of cabins in the distance, half burried in the snow.

Each minute brought us closer-- until at 3:55 we were there. Regretfully discovered that the snow had covered the shovel as well as every entrance. In despiration we broke open a second story (attic) window and entered the down stairs kitchen by means of a ladder. It was dark as pitch within and even the lamp we found seemed to fail in throwing out any great quantity of light. Percy went out to see if he couldn't get the shovel and open the spring house door. We both shoveled snow that had collected there to a depth of about 6 feet. Ultimately we got it open. A foot of water had collected inside and it all came out at once to greet us. We filled our buckets and then repaired to the house to dry our clothes and prepare for the evening meal.

We found the house full of mice and I had lots of fun cleaning up after them. The darkness was so disturbing--- Percy and I tried to remove a storm window or door but everything was tight -- it was in vain.

By 6:00 p.m. we sat down to have a dinner of soup, spegetti peaches and bisquits that Percy baked. After dinner we made the beds and I washed our socks. Then until bedtime we relaxed before the crackling fire while our clothes were all strung up drying.

I had a chance to really appreciate the place in which we were. It was a real log cabin. The corners were carefully tied together without nails. The logs were so close there was hardly a crack between any of them--even though they were entirely without mortar. We were weary after our 10 mile trip, so we retired early.

April 5, 1935 - Milton-Bowman

We were up when the first shafts of light sifted through a lone crack in the cabin. We had breakfast of hot cakes, bacon and peaches. Unfortunately my first hotcake was cooked in too much bacon fat so I ate mainly peaches. We were off at 8:20 in another blinding snowstorm. We retraced our steps until we reached the S. F. of the Middle Yuba and then continued down stream to Milton Lake where Percy stopped to start the water clock. Proceeding, we skied alongside of and on top of the Milton-Bowman wood stave pipe line, arriving at Jack Keleher's cabin just before noon.

We had a grand lunch of Oyster soup and stewed tomatoes. Refreshed we proceeded to the Milton Bowman North Portal entrance gate to raise it as per instructions. We found it all the way down--and then the task began. One hour and a half of steady grinding as fast as we could turn the compound gearing. The water thundered below us as the gate raised and a sulpherous odor of stale water greeted us as it rushed under the big gate and through the 5 mile tunnel.

At 2 P.M. we finished with prespiration pouring from every sweat gland. The swirling snow-clouded air felt cooling and stimulating to us. Hastily we got our skies on to cross the mountains dividing the Milton and Bowman watersheds before nightfall came upon us. We zigzagged up the sheer mountain sides following the old power line that once supplied the power in the construction of the tunnel. Here and there we stopped and quenched our thirst on the icycles that hung from every tree. At each rest we marvelled at the beautiful vista that stretched below us as far as the snow permitted our vision to penetrate.

At one stop Percy was some ten feet above me. "Lets have a chocolate bar", he said. He got a bar out of his pack. I made haste to join him but unfortunately in making a right about turn in the loose snow, my skies got all tangled up. I must have looked grotesque indeed, holding tightly onto the ski pole, my feet in the air, endeavoring to keep from shooting down the steep hillside. Percy thought it was awfully funny and threatened to take a picture of me. I told him to go ahead, but I suppose the effort of rescuing the camera from my pack was too great for him. A moment's rest in the snow and I freed myself to finish the chocolate bar, then up and up we went. It seemed as if we would never, never reach the top. I have never seen such steep hills: It was two and one-half miles to the summit (airline) and it took us exactly two and one-half hours to get there.

The snow was beautiful. Piled upon the trees six inches to a foot deep, they looked like mounds of snow themselves. Neither of us had ever witnessed such unusually beautiful sights. Skiing down to Bowman Lake from the top of the ridge was the only real ride in the trip. And what a thrill it was to travel down the hillsides at a mile a minute rate over the ripples and dips.

Percy preceded -- without warning he struck a soft spot in the snow and spilled. I was alone behind but swung out to the side. We proceeded 500 feet farther, to the edge of a steep hill. Percy started a flying trip down, but had no more than gained considerable momentum when, without warning, he stumbled and plunged headfirst--practically burying himself in the snow. His pack slid forward from his back and struck him a thump on the head. It kept on skiding down the hillside for some 20 feet before it stopped. Percy not hurt, I had a good laugh on him. He took it all goodnaturdly and seemed to enjoy the humor of the situation himself.

Arrived at the south portal of the tunnel just before dusk. We decided against taking the snow survey there as it was already too late. It would be pleasanter to come back tomorrow. It was a long, long weary trip to Bowman house and how we rejoiced when at 8:30 P.M. we came in sight of it's cheery lights and welcoming faces. We had traveled 18 miles on skiis and we were tired. What a relief to have someone else do the cooking for a change. And thus ended a tough day--- with a well prepared dinner, a warm house and a sound nights sleep.

April 6, 1935 - Bowman Lake

The morning came with a clear sky overhead. What a relief from the momotonous storm, storm, storm. But we rejoiced too soon for hardly had we eaten a hearty breakfast and strapped on our skiis when dark black clouds began to form on the horizon. Even before the morning sunshine had crept into the mountain canyons, the sky was clouded over-- another storm was coming.

We hurried the 4.5 miles to the Bowman Lake (also called South Portal) snow course, pushing over the same tracks we had left the night before. By noon we had taken the course and stopped to eat a light lunch. The sun shown through the clouds just enough to cast a light shadow.

The glare of the snow was hardly strong enough to necessitate our wearing dark glasses, yet it was somewhat uncomfortable. Percy wore glasses all the way but I became impatient with them when they began to steam up every five minutes--so I put them aside. However, that night and the next day I discovered that my eyes became swollen a little and smarted. I was sorry then that I had not used Percy's better judgment.

On the way back to Bowman house the clouds darkened and became real threatening. I stopped at the Old Bowman house site (where the N.I.D. proposes to build a new house this summer) and studied the topography very carefully for location and view. Percy got tired of Waiting for me and went on to the house.

Just before I came in it began to rain. Not so hard however, that I didn't arrive at the Hunt's comparatively dry. We had a good dinner. Percy went to bed early but I stayed up and talked with John Hunt about this and that. Percy woke up once and asked us if we were ever going to bed. We just talked a little lower -- Mrs. Hunt then became imperative and John retired to his bedroom. It was about 10:30 and I was tired -- so soon was off in slumberland.

April 7, 1935 - Back to Graniteville

I opened my eyes to a rainy sky and slushy snow. Never once during the whole night had it ceased precipitation. My face felt uncomfortable and hot and I found that yesterday's travel had chapped my skin and had induced a swelling in my eyes.

Percy was in a hurry to get over to Graniteville but I took my time and it wasn't until 2:00 in the afternoon that we "took off” so to speak--in a cloudburst, smothered in raincoats that extended almost to our skiis. Around our heads we wrapped towels (for lack of rain hats) which we removed every 15 minutes, wrung out, and replaced until again watersoaked. The snow was miserably wet and we couldn't get rides at all. The wind blew a gale and the raindrops stung our faces like hail stones in a tornado.

The rain even penetrated under our raincoats. By the time we reached Graniteville at 5:10 P.M., we were soaked to the skin. The Graniteville Inn keeper showed us to our rooms. Percy had a good room with a warm chimney running through it, but I had one in which a pane of glass had been blown out by rain, and the rain, cold and wet, was dashing and whistling through. I told the innkeeper and he gave me another room He showed us every courtesy in lending us dry slippers and shoes (much to small however) to replace our drying ones. We had dinner and retired early.

April 8, 1935 - Home again

Early morning found a blanket of new snow on the ground, to add to the three feet already there. Had breakfast and left by 7:15. It was all down hill to Bloomfield so the old sleigh bobbed along at a rapid rate. Just before reaching Bloomfield we changed to a truck:

At noon we had reached Nevada City. It was a relief to see the green trees and plants and the ground free from snow. We had to wait an hour for the stage to Grass Valley. Friends would invariably pass us by, not being able to recognize our brown and bewhiskered faces. We heard that the day before there had been a terrible rainstorm and that all the bridges and roads between Nevada City and Sacramento had been either washed out or closed to travel, and that North Sacramento had been flooded. We thought of our own wet trip between Bowman house and Graniteville on that same day.

I arrived home at 1:30 P.M., took a very much needed bath, after which I shaved and dressed in my best clothes. It was nice to be home again, although I wouldn't have missed that trip for anything. In all we had traveled about 57 miles on skiis.

We found the average depth of snow to be 88", containing a little over 40% water or 35.7". One my estimate 174, 205 Ac. ft. of water on April 1, 1935 contained in the N.I.D. mountain watersheds. 70% of this can be safely expected, plus additional precipitation after April 12, 1935.

-----The End----