The Old Blog in the Desert

Snow came early to Nevada in December of 1889, falling thick and steady across a land that had endured a punishing dry spell. At first, stockmen welcomed it.

The ranges needed moisture, and the snowfall seemed a promise rather than a threat. That optimism did not last.

The storms did not break, and by mid-January, the snow had tightened its grip on the state with ruinous force. Across Nevada, and from Wyoming westward, the winter turned disastrous.

Train service halted at every Nevada point as drifts overwhelmed tracks and switches. In the Sierra Nevada, fires had destroyed portions of the snow sheds, leaving exposed rails buried beneath relentless storms.

Sheep and cattle starved where they stood or froze in the open range. Entire herds were lost, not by days of hardship but by single nights of merciless cold.

Near Virginia City, a herd of wild horses, huddled together, were frozen in mid-motion as if caught by the storm itself. Cattle losses reached as high as fifty percent in some districts.

In the Reese River country, four hundred sheep froze in one night. Mail service adapted as best it could, first by sleigh, then by men traveling on snowshoes through a silent, frozen landscape.

Antelopes starved near Wells, and in Reno, temperatures dropped to forty-two below zero. One family attempted to save five hundred cattle by hauling them toward Elko by sleigh, but every animal was lost, and the family barely escaped with their lives.

Virginia City stood on the brink of catastrophe. Snow blocked the ore tracks, forcing all mines to close.

Without ore production, food supplies dwindled rapidly, and starvation became a real threat. Relief arrived through an extraordinary effort.

Ranchers near Dayton loaded sleighs with potatoes and hauled them to the mouth of the Sutro Tunnel. From there, the potatoes were loaded into ore cars and transported underground by rail to the C & C shaft, before being lifted to the surface of Virginia City.

Reno, meanwhile, became an unintended refuge for travelers. The Southern Pacific Railroad found itself responsible for six hundred stranded passengers, unwilling guests trapped by snowbound trains piled in the yards.

The Virginia & Truckee, Carson and Colorado, and Eureka and Palisade railways became immobilized for weeks. Buildings suffered under the weight of snow, most notably Piper’s Opera House, whose roof collapsed beneath six feet of accumulation.

As days stretched into weeks, the stranded passengers petitioned the railroad for free passage back to Ogden and a long detour through the Southwest to the Coast. The company delayed, awaiting a break in the weather.

By January 30th, the tracks heading west were snow-free. Twelve locomotives announced the moment with blasting whistles, calling passengers from hotels, saloons, and boarding houses.

The Reno platform overflowed as crowds hauled baggage through snow-choked streets. Townspeople cheered the departing travelers, and the travelers cheered the trains.

At 1:30 in the afternoon, the first train pulled out, marking the end of Reno’s long confinement. The scene rivaled the city’s worst moments of upheaval, like the great fire and, later, the great flood.

Nevada gradually recovered from the devastation. Cattle and sheep farms were devastated, carcasses lay scattered across the ranges, and commercial activities nearly came to a halt.

Yet the thaw came in time. Another week of winter would have destroyed the state entirely. Until the dramatic winter of the Hay Lift years later, Nevada would know no parallel to the winter of 1889, a season when snow nearly erased a way of life.