On the evening of Saturday, July 31, 1976, as Colorado prepared to celebrate its centennial on Aug.1, an estimated 3,500 to 4,000 people filled the Big Thompson Canyon for one of the busiest weekends of the summer.
Families camped along the river. Vacationers settled into cabins and roadside motels. Day-trippers lingered beneath the towering granite walls. Hundreds of people also called the canyon home.
Within hours, the majestic, steep-walled gorge would become the scene of one of the deadliest flash floods in American history.
Fifty years later, the scale of the disaster remains difficult to comprehend. The flood claimed 144 lives, injured more than 250 people, destroyed 418 homes, 52 businesses and nearly 400 vehicles, and ripped apart U.S. Highway 34. Five victims were never found.
Yet the numbers tell only part of the story.
The flood forever changed the canyon, the lives of those who survived, and the way Colorado prepares for and responds to flash floods.
To mark the 50th anniversary, the Estes Valley Voice invited readers who experienced the flood to share their memories. Their recollections reveal not only the terror of that night, but also the courage, heartbreak and resilience that have shaped the Big Thompson Canyon ever since.
My late husband owned H.W. Siddle, Inc., a heavy equipment contracting business in Littleton. He sent equipment and operators up the Big Thompson Canyon free of charge to help out in whatever way was needed.
Jean Siddle Anderson, Estes Park
**
This was our family’s (Normali) home (on the bridge by the Colorado Cherry Pie store). Fortunately, by that time we had relocated to The Stanley Hotel after acquiring it in 1974. The house was empty and up for sale. It was a complete loss, as were many homes in the canyon. Flood insurance wasn’t easily available.
Deb Gibson, Estes Park
**
I was 17 when the flood hit. My parents were the fire chief and assistant fire chief in Glen Haven. I slept on the floor of the Horseshoe Cafe there in Glen Haven for 4 days until we could get into our home. The land where the café stood is now the GHVFD. My parents have long since been dead. Where our home once stood, much of the surrounding land was washed away in 2013. And what wasn’t was destroyed by the county to rebuild the road. The land where my parents’ ashes were spread was torn up by the county. But the house and the original homestead still stand. To all the old-timers, it was called Horseshoe Bend because of the way the river flows. Dottie Ferguson, a.k.a. Calico Kate, was our friend and neighbor. Things change as the years go by, but one thing stays the same—the people. Strong survivors.
Vicky Butow, Fort Collins
**
I was living in Fort Collins, going to school at CSU, and working part-time as an EMT for Loveland ambulance. We had 24-hour shifts, and I was off that day. I heard the next morning about the terrible flood and loss of life and damage.
Then I heard that the owner of Loveland ambulance, John McMaster, and one of the EMTs, JP, were responding up the Big Thompson Canyon to an emergency call. The entrance to the canyon was already blocked off that early evening. However, the highway patrolman keeping traffic out waved them on to go up the canyon.
The ambulance never made its destination and could not be contacted via radio by John’s wife, who helped run the company. She was at the bottom of the canyon the next morning. They found the ambulance crumpled up in debris without any signs of John or JP.
Shortly after, I heard John and JP had been found! The story they told later, which was published as a Reader’s Digest short story, is that they came around a curve and were hit with a 30-foot wall of water. The water pushed the ambulance against the canyon wall long enough for John and JP to scramble out the window. They climbed in the dark above the rushing water and had to face each other, holding onto a small ledge all night long.
The story states they heard propane tanks exploding and rushing water below. In the early hours of the next morning, they could see enough where they could climb further up the canyon wall and onto a flat area. There, they were seen and rescued by helicopter.
We were all so thankful that John and JP had not perished in the flood. But we were all devastated at the loss of life, injuries, and damage that occurred.
That made a big impression on my young mind to the point that when I drive up a canyon today when it’s raining, I still think about the Big Thompson flood and what I would do if caught in a flood.
Cathy Ochs, Estes Park
**
I was 15 in 1976, and we lived five miles out of town on US 36. There had been rain during the week prior to the flood, and it had taken a lot of dirt on our property downhill toward the highway. On July 31, my dad and I shoveled up a couple pickup loads of that dirt and replaced it up the hill. I remember hearing the rain on the night of the 31st, thinking that all that dirt was washing back down the hill.
The next morning I headed into town to care for the nursery at the Community Church of the Rockies (then downtown on Elkhorn Avenue). About half a mile from home, US 36 was washed out, but not badly enough that I couldn’t drive our Jeep through. It wasn’t until I arrived at the Church that I heard some of what had happened down the Big Thompson Canyon that night. And to think I was worried about having to haul dirt back up the hill!
I had dinner with some friends from high school a couple of days ago. One memory was the school bus taking the sports teams to away games. For the year after the flood, all buses had to travel via US 36. On the return trip, if I was on the team bus, the driver would stop and let me out at our driveway. A thoughtful response that continued for the rest of high school.
Toni Brown, Estes Park
**
I lived on Little Prospect, on the opposite side of town. I was a TWA captain at the time and had a long international flight the next morning, so I was aggravated by being kept awake by all the thunder. I called the police dispatch around 4 a.m., usually getting a bored dispatcher wanting to visit, but this time, a very curt reply telling me he was only out of town was Highway 7. On the way to DIA, Stapleton at the time, I met lots of heavy road equipment coming up, preparing me for the awful news that I would not get until mid-Atlantic on my flight.
Tom Maher, Estes Park
**
My wife, Connie, and I were renting an apartment in Fort Collins. We drove down the Big Thompson Canyon the day before the flood. That night we watched continuous thunderstorms with lightning over the foothills to the west.
The next morning we turned on the radio and heard reports about the flood. We didn’t have a TV, so we walked over to the CSU Student Union. A crowd was standing around watching the news reports.
It was not like today with continuous news coverage. Scattered reports came in and were aired. Lots of people were reported dead, but estimates were all over the place. Nobody really knew.
That afternoon we drove over to the Big Thompson River below the Dam Store and saw lots of debris along the banks and some still floating downstream – trees, pieces of wood, parts of structures, and objects like propane tanks.
Phone systems in the Front Range were jammed, and we could not get a call out from a pay phone. We did not have a phone in our apartment.
We finally called my parents a day later and they were not worried. Connie’s parents were worried. Their friends and relatives were too. We didn’t realize it at the time.
Luckily, Connie wrote a letter to her parents, and they were so relieved to get it. I was not involved in ham radio at the time, but they did help with communications. Also, people with CB radios, though they sometimes gave out misinformation.
Bob Leavitt, Estes Park
**
Saturday night, July 31, 1976. A night to remember – and after 50 years, I still do. Like it was just a couple of years ago rather than a lifetime ago!
My siblings and one little cousin, age 18 mo. – a total of 5 kids – were camping in a travel trailer with our grandparents at Drake. The campground was next to the general store, and the entry road dropped down from the highway to creek level.
I remember when we first parked the trailer in our assigned lot, my grandma was a little nervous about the back of the trailer being only a foot from the creek. “I don’t know! What if we have to get out of here in a hurry?”
We had a wonderful week of outdoor fun! On July 31, my grandpa had just returned from a quick trip home to south-central Kansas with a second trailer to house my parents who would soon be arriving to enjoy some time in the mountains. It was temporarily parked above near the general store while waiting for an opening in the guest area.
We were chased indoors late afternoon by a downpour. It rained terribly hard, but only for a while. After more playtime outside after the shower, my grandma had supper ready and called everybody to the table to eat. It was nearly dark, and my 11-year-old brother was heading to the shower house but quickly returned and suggested my grandparents come and take a look at the creek.
When I did, my grandma quickly came back inside and asked us to help pick up items, as the creek was rising! After picking up a few items, Grandma instructed me to go warn the other campers so they could also pick up their camping paraphernalia in case the water were to come over the banks of the stream.
I went door to door carrying the message, and at the last trailer located closest to the 34 highway bridge, no one seemed to be home. I knocked anyway, and with no answer, I walked to the other side of the trailer to see if a car was parked there, indicating the occupants might be there, just asleep. But I found way more than a car!
Looking under the bridge, expecting to see the continued flow of the rising creek, I instead froze in place at the sight of a wall of water rushing so quickly by on the other side that it seemingly defied the laws of physics and did not spew back toward me!
The water was up to our ankles by then, and my grandma decided enough had been picked up, and it was time to get to higher ground. Her next concern was contacting my parents. Using the old phone booth in the parking area of the general store, we tried for 10 to 15 minutes to call back to my parents’ home in Wichita, Kansas.
We had an operator on the line, but for some reason, she could not connect to the Kansas number. We stopped trying when my grandpa had successfully hooked the second camper to his extended cab pickup and came to a stop close to the phone booth.
All seven of us quickly loaded ourselves into the vehicle. Before starting, he pulled over to the highway patrol car sitting at the “Y” intersection – lights flashing – and asked what the best thing to do was. The highway patrolman, while using his arms to emphasize, said, “Go down and get out of the canyon! Go! Get out of the canyon!”
So we headed east on Highway 34. The south side of the road was a roaring, raging torrent carrying all kinds of debris, cars, lumber, and trees! At the corner of the bridge, which I had stood below just minutes before, a pickup, nose down, was bobbing in place, caught in a small, still place. As we drove through lapping water, we became stuck on a log.
Whether Grandpa saw it and tried to run over it, did not see it in the dark, or it washed under the pickup or trailer as we went by, I’m not sure. But we could not go any farther! Grandpa kept pulling forward and backing up, rocking the vehicle back and forth. We were screaming and praying inside the cab!
Either the moving water or, more likely, the hand of God maneuvered us over that log. A ways down the road, Grandpa spotted a group of people working on something at a doorway to a cabin on the river side of the road. He stopped to see if he could help. In a bit, he came back to the pickup, all blustery.
He couldn’t believe they were trying to wrestle a baby bed out of the door! That seemingly unnecessary stop may have saved our lives by delaying our arrival at the corner of the road at the community center building!
The little “fishing lake” located across the road and on normal days held in formation by a small dam was barely holding its place, or had already become a casualty of the torrents, but either way, it would have caused our loss of life. But in the nick of time, Grandpa spotted a gas truck and a plan formed in his head. He decided to pull up to and park in line with the big, bulky delivery vehicle, thinking it would help block the downhill, damaging path of the river if it came that high out of the banks, or at least lessen the power and therefore the damage possibly.
Quite a few people were outside of their cabins clustered on both sides of the road. Grandpa spoke with them, and they had just decided to walk up a dirt jeep trail to higher ground, and my grandparents decided we all would go also. After attaining a height all were comfortable with, we sat down to wait and watch. And what a sight!
I remember the sound of the huge boulders bouncing down the river – some the size of cabins! The river carried clumps of debris, trees, roofs, lumber, cars, and the most memorable – all the propane tanks, which had broken off their moorings beside cabins, rushing down the river loudly hissing as they spewed their load of propane.
The whole canyon smelled like propane! After several hours, the adults decided the water was not going any higher, and we would be safe to walk back down. The family of one of the cabins graciously invited my grandparents and the five of us grandkids to stay in their cabin for the rest of the night.
Ironically, one of the beds they humorously offered was a waterbed! The morning light brought a chaotic sight. The extra trailer we were pulling was so tightly packed with debris underneath it, you couldn’t pull a single stick out of it!
A body had been found and respectfully placed in a pickup. Walking just around the corner, we beheld a sad sight. The community building was untouched, but the little fishing lake across the road was gone, the dam had burst.
Of the three cabins uphill from the lake – the closest was gone, the next was filled with mud up to the windows, and the third, which stood on a sharp curve of the river, looked perfectly fine without any debris or mess in the yard, except for one thing – in the top of a tall pine, a pillow was lodged in the branches! It reminded me of weird things that happen in tornadoes.
A long wait during the day led to a double-propeller Army helicopter landing on the highway in front of the community building. My grandpa was without his needed heart medications, and that made for our ticket on the flight out. This became my first flight of any kind ever! The end of the helicopter was wide open, and the noise was deafening!
We landed on the close outskirts of Loveland and were taken by bus to the high school. A bank of phones was available to call home, and Grandma gave me the duty of doing so. Whether she feared tears or my mom’s reaction (her daughter), I’m not sure, but the connection was made this time immediately as I heard my mom pick up the phone to say hello.
All I could get out before the sobbing began was, “Mom, we’re OK!” Loved ones, including my future husband, his parents, my paternal grandparents, and my parents’ minister, had gathered at our home to sit with my parents as they awaited news as to whether my mom’s parents, all four of their children, and a toddler niece had perished or survived.
All praise to our heavenly Father for His mercy in bringing us through! I have told so many people about this event this year that for the first time in 50 years I don’t tremble while speaking about it!
For the first time, I will attend a memorial service commemorating this tragic event and have asked both our children and their families to come with my husband and myself. After all, if I had not survived this, they would not be here either!
Debra Olds, Anthony, Kansas
**
There is a plaque in a tree in the Narrows State Park. You have to know where to look to find it. It was pointed out to me by someone who has now passed away. This tree and plaque are located by the bridge where the house came to rest. I was told it was the high water mark for the 1976 flood.
I have asked around with those who were there then, but no one seems to know who Rene was. The plaque simply reads “Rene’s Place”.
I would really like to point this plaque out to someone who will care that it is there. Obviously it is located far from Estes Park – it’s at the Narrows. If anyone would like to see it or do their own research, I’d like to make it known to someone other than myself.
I have lived in the canyon for over 25 years and survived the 2013 flood and its aftermath. It is my home.
Karen Muchmore, Big Thompson Canyon
**
I was 11 years old at the time, and my mother had planned a hike with part of our family and some friends to RMNP early the morning after the flood. People were in Estes celebrating Colorado Day, and many were camping both in the canyon and in the park that weekend.
In this pre-digital era, where instant communication didn’t exist like it does today, no one really knew what had happened the night before.
I remember driving from Greeley, seeing cars floating on US 34 and a state trooper turning us around and saying, “You can’t get into the park this way.” That’s all he said. We then turned around and went to Lyons, then up US 36, where we went hiking in Wild Basin to Ouzel Falls knowing nothing of what had happened in the canyon. It had continued to rain during our hike. When we got home that afternoon, my father was frantic, as all the news was just then coming in about the devastation.
I remember too, that many of the bodies were sent to the morgue in Greeley for identification. A few years ago, I read about someone presumed missing in the flood who showed up years later alive — he had decided to leave the park before the storm hit hard and hadn’t told anyone he was headed out.
The flood was a big part of my collective memories of Estes Park and growing up in Northern Colorado.
Gayla Sullivan, Estes Park
**
We came to town 16 yrs later, in April 1992. We first rented a house on the north side of Big Thompson Canyon about four miles down U.S. 34 and started learning of the flood from neighbors.
We also heard stories from friends and coworkers of the rain storm that just sat on top of Mt Alice for hours. Lightning strikes disabled mountaineers in the area of Mt Alice for a time.
I started reading historical accounts and the transcribed oral histories gathered by the library and museum. I was young and inexperienced. I needed information to fathom the devastation and the power of water. Learning about the coroner’s use of dental records for identification and the mobile morgue in refrigerated tractor-trailers was so hard to believe.
So many things changed as a result of this awful disaster. We’re still in town, and one would think with age comes wisdom, or at least less surprise. But the 2013 flood gave me more firsthand experience—a déjà vu of sorts.
Then I realized the truth of how much had changed since 1976. There was much loss of property, but so much less loss of life. Our communications and early warning systems helped a great deal.
Water is so very powerful.
My parents, who at that time had owned a cabin on Bulwark Ridge in the Retreat for four years, one of the first cabins in the Retreat – built in 1972 – no telephones at that time – were noticed by a great Retreat resident and artist, Gerry Spencer, about the flood, and that the road in Glen Haven was gone.
The residents were then called together at a special point in the Retreat. My parents, who are Swiss, had to leave their rented car and walked to this point, where a helicopter eventually picked them up and brought them to the valley with other residents of the Retreat and Glen Haven.
I recall my mother mentioning that she was sitting close to a young man, who managed to get a ride, while his parents’ house in Glen Haven was torn away by the floods, and he had to face this horrible situation.
The memories stayed with my parents for years.
As for now, the third generation – my sons – are enjoying this wonderful cabin in an exclusive and very special part of the world.
Regula Hauser, Glen Haven
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