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Crazy to think this was less than 100 years ago and that forecasting was still so spotty that a gigantic, life-threatening blizzard could ravage an entire region with virtually no warning.
Cool history lesson from the IDNR today:
DNR News Releases
The Armistice Day Blizzard of 1940
By Lowell Washburn, from the September/October 2008 issue ofIowa Outdoorsmagazine
Call it a Weather Bomb, Perfect Storm, whatever. By any name, it was the recipe for disaster. Picture this: a powerful weather system swept over the Rocky Mountains, charging eastward. Meanwhile, a Canadian cold air mass was sliding down from the north, while warm moist air pulled up from the south. Any way you looked at it, the developing atmospheric brew spelled trouble.
But no one was looking. The year was 1940. Primitive by contemporary standards, weather forecasting was something many folks put little stock in. According to National Weather Service data, no one was even in the building at Chicago’s Midwest Weather Headquarters during the late night hours of Nov. 10.
As the massive system organized during the wee hours of the following morning, its combined energy triggered a storm of fury. Barometric pressures plunged to among the lowest recorded in Iowa, reaching a then record low for November. By then, the storm began to cut its thousand- mile-wide path of death and destruction. Within 24 hours, the system would rank among the most infamous and disastrous blizzards in U.S. history.
These are the tales of those who were there . . .
For Midwestern duck hunters, the fall of 1940 was warm and uneventful. As the waterfowl doldrums continued into the second week of November, hunters grew increasingly impatient. But the unseasonable weather could not hold out forever, they reasoned.
Cocking an eye to the north, waterfowlers watched, waited and hoped. Sooner or later, the inevitable cold fronts would arrive. Ducks would move south. For those willing to stick to their marshes, the annual Big Push would be a sweet dream.
On Nov. 11, 1940, sportsmen got their wish. The weather changed dramatically; and with that change came the most infamous duck hunt in American history.
But the day was not what gunners had anticipated. Instead of realizing their sweet dream, hundreds of waterfowlers were suddenly plunged into a horrific, Stephen King-grade nightmare. Although nearly 70 years have passed, the storm stories are still too terrible for some survivors to recount.
Known now as the Armistice Day Snowstorm, the event remains among the deadliest of blizzards to cut
its way through the Heartland. By the time it concluded, the storm dropped more than 2 feet of snow, buried vehicles and roadways beneath 20-foot drifts, killed thousands of Iowa cattle, and destroyed incalculable amounts of poultry—including more than a million Thanksgiving turkeys. It gave a yet unrecovered blow to Iowa’s apple industry.
All told, the storm claimed 160 lives across the Midwest. Hundreds more suffered severe frostbite
or frozen limbs. On Lake Michigan, three commercial freighters and more than 60 sailors were lost. Along the Mississippi River in Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota, hundreds of duck hunters lost boats, guns and gear as 15-foot swells near Dubuque and 70 to 80 mile per hour winds swept down channels and across marshy backwaters.
Due to abnormally warm weather and fair skies, most hunters took to the field carrying little more than a light jacket. But as the fronts arrived, the scene changed. Temperatures plummeted from near 60 degrees to below freezing, and then into the single digits—all within hours.
What began as a holiday duck hunt quickly became the storm of the century. Panic reigned on the Mississippi that day as boats, equipment and human lives were lost. Stranded atop mud bars and islands, scores of hunters were forced to endure the most horribly excruciating night of their lives. Huddled beneath overturned boats or beside makeshift piles of driftwood, survivors used cigarette papers to ignite meager fires that would save their lives.
Wet and afraid, dozens more perished during the black night. At Winona, Minn., the city bus barn became a temporary morgue as, one by one, the bodies of frozen hunters were retrieved. Since many duck hunters were from out of town, identification was delayed until bodies thawed and pockets could be searched.
On an island near Harpers Ferry, 16-year-old Jack Meggers was one hunter who fought for his life. A retired Iowa game warden currently living in Mason City, Meggers has spent a lifetime in the out-of-doors. At 84, Jack remains a gifted storyteller with a knack for detail. His best loved tales recount outdoor adventure in strong winds, rough water and portray the vanished spectacle of storm-tossed wildfowl in a bygone era.
But mention the words Armistice Day Snowstorm, and Megger’s demeanor immediately takes a quieter, reverent, tone. You can see it in his face as the mind’s eye turns back to one of the most incredible events in American weather history.
“It was Armistice Day, now called Veterans Day, and we were out of school,” Meggers begins.
“Me, my dad, and two brothers headed out to an island at Harpers Ferry. It was warm for that late in the fall and we were dressed light. One of the things I remember most is that, just before the storm hit, the sky turned all orange. It’s hard to explain, but I remember thinking that it was really strange.”
The winds came suddenly, recalls Meggers. Fierce and chilling, the initial blast was a spearhead for the advancing storm.
And then the ducks arrived. Not just a flock here or a flock there, but rather hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands. It was a scene seldom witnessed, and in sheer magnitude, never to repeat.
“We’d never seen anything like it,” says Meggers. “When the ducks arrived, they came in unending waves and they came in all species.
“Those ducks were all flying about this high off the water,” he says, motioning to his waist. “And they were all doing about 90 miles an hour with that wind.”
The crew lost no time taking advantage of the astonishing flight. Although waterfowl continued to pour down in unending supply, connecting with the wind-driven birds presented a major challenge, recalls Meggers. The boys concentrated so hard on the task, that none seemed to notice as the winds increased.
“All of a sudden, Dad said, ‘Grab the decoys—we’re getting out of here.’ But we were throwing an awful lot of ammunition into the air, and none of us wanted to quit. The sky was just full of ducks,” says Meggers. “Finally Dad said, ‘Grab the decoys now or we’re leaving without them.’ That‘s when we began to see how bad it was getting.”
Meggers’ dad made a good call. In addition to raging winds and unfathomable legions of ducks, the storm began to deliver pelting rain, which quickly turned to sleet, then heavy snow. Visibility dropped to near zero as hunters all up and down the Great River struggled—many unsuccessfully—to return to shore.
“It was really rough. By the time we finally made it to the shoreline, you couldn’t even see the shoreline,” Meggers recalls. “By then, the combination of snow and wind was just incredible. Our group made it back. But not everyone did.”
Cool history lesson from the IDNR today:
DNR News Releases
The Armistice Day Blizzard of 1940
- 11/10/2015 10:34:00 AM
By Lowell Washburn, from the September/October 2008 issue ofIowa Outdoorsmagazine
Call it a Weather Bomb, Perfect Storm, whatever. By any name, it was the recipe for disaster. Picture this: a powerful weather system swept over the Rocky Mountains, charging eastward. Meanwhile, a Canadian cold air mass was sliding down from the north, while warm moist air pulled up from the south. Any way you looked at it, the developing atmospheric brew spelled trouble.
But no one was looking. The year was 1940. Primitive by contemporary standards, weather forecasting was something many folks put little stock in. According to National Weather Service data, no one was even in the building at Chicago’s Midwest Weather Headquarters during the late night hours of Nov. 10.
As the massive system organized during the wee hours of the following morning, its combined energy triggered a storm of fury. Barometric pressures plunged to among the lowest recorded in Iowa, reaching a then record low for November. By then, the storm began to cut its thousand- mile-wide path of death and destruction. Within 24 hours, the system would rank among the most infamous and disastrous blizzards in U.S. history.
These are the tales of those who were there . . .
For Midwestern duck hunters, the fall of 1940 was warm and uneventful. As the waterfowl doldrums continued into the second week of November, hunters grew increasingly impatient. But the unseasonable weather could not hold out forever, they reasoned.
Cocking an eye to the north, waterfowlers watched, waited and hoped. Sooner or later, the inevitable cold fronts would arrive. Ducks would move south. For those willing to stick to their marshes, the annual Big Push would be a sweet dream.
On Nov. 11, 1940, sportsmen got their wish. The weather changed dramatically; and with that change came the most infamous duck hunt in American history.
But the day was not what gunners had anticipated. Instead of realizing their sweet dream, hundreds of waterfowlers were suddenly plunged into a horrific, Stephen King-grade nightmare. Although nearly 70 years have passed, the storm stories are still too terrible for some survivors to recount.
Known now as the Armistice Day Snowstorm, the event remains among the deadliest of blizzards to cut
its way through the Heartland. By the time it concluded, the storm dropped more than 2 feet of snow, buried vehicles and roadways beneath 20-foot drifts, killed thousands of Iowa cattle, and destroyed incalculable amounts of poultry—including more than a million Thanksgiving turkeys. It gave a yet unrecovered blow to Iowa’s apple industry.
All told, the storm claimed 160 lives across the Midwest. Hundreds more suffered severe frostbite
or frozen limbs. On Lake Michigan, three commercial freighters and more than 60 sailors were lost. Along the Mississippi River in Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota, hundreds of duck hunters lost boats, guns and gear as 15-foot swells near Dubuque and 70 to 80 mile per hour winds swept down channels and across marshy backwaters.
Due to abnormally warm weather and fair skies, most hunters took to the field carrying little more than a light jacket. But as the fronts arrived, the scene changed. Temperatures plummeted from near 60 degrees to below freezing, and then into the single digits—all within hours.
What began as a holiday duck hunt quickly became the storm of the century. Panic reigned on the Mississippi that day as boats, equipment and human lives were lost. Stranded atop mud bars and islands, scores of hunters were forced to endure the most horribly excruciating night of their lives. Huddled beneath overturned boats or beside makeshift piles of driftwood, survivors used cigarette papers to ignite meager fires that would save their lives.
Wet and afraid, dozens more perished during the black night. At Winona, Minn., the city bus barn became a temporary morgue as, one by one, the bodies of frozen hunters were retrieved. Since many duck hunters were from out of town, identification was delayed until bodies thawed and pockets could be searched.
On an island near Harpers Ferry, 16-year-old Jack Meggers was one hunter who fought for his life. A retired Iowa game warden currently living in Mason City, Meggers has spent a lifetime in the out-of-doors. At 84, Jack remains a gifted storyteller with a knack for detail. His best loved tales recount outdoor adventure in strong winds, rough water and portray the vanished spectacle of storm-tossed wildfowl in a bygone era.
But mention the words Armistice Day Snowstorm, and Megger’s demeanor immediately takes a quieter, reverent, tone. You can see it in his face as the mind’s eye turns back to one of the most incredible events in American weather history.
“It was Armistice Day, now called Veterans Day, and we were out of school,” Meggers begins.
“Me, my dad, and two brothers headed out to an island at Harpers Ferry. It was warm for that late in the fall and we were dressed light. One of the things I remember most is that, just before the storm hit, the sky turned all orange. It’s hard to explain, but I remember thinking that it was really strange.”
The winds came suddenly, recalls Meggers. Fierce and chilling, the initial blast was a spearhead for the advancing storm.
And then the ducks arrived. Not just a flock here or a flock there, but rather hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands. It was a scene seldom witnessed, and in sheer magnitude, never to repeat.
“We’d never seen anything like it,” says Meggers. “When the ducks arrived, they came in unending waves and they came in all species.
“Those ducks were all flying about this high off the water,” he says, motioning to his waist. “And they were all doing about 90 miles an hour with that wind.”
The crew lost no time taking advantage of the astonishing flight. Although waterfowl continued to pour down in unending supply, connecting with the wind-driven birds presented a major challenge, recalls Meggers. The boys concentrated so hard on the task, that none seemed to notice as the winds increased.
“All of a sudden, Dad said, ‘Grab the decoys—we’re getting out of here.’ But we were throwing an awful lot of ammunition into the air, and none of us wanted to quit. The sky was just full of ducks,” says Meggers. “Finally Dad said, ‘Grab the decoys now or we’re leaving without them.’ That‘s when we began to see how bad it was getting.”
Meggers’ dad made a good call. In addition to raging winds and unfathomable legions of ducks, the storm began to deliver pelting rain, which quickly turned to sleet, then heavy snow. Visibility dropped to near zero as hunters all up and down the Great River struggled—many unsuccessfully—to return to shore.
“It was really rough. By the time we finally made it to the shoreline, you couldn’t even see the shoreline,” Meggers recalls. “By then, the combination of snow and wind was just incredible. Our group made it back. But not everyone did.”