Today, we will cover just one facet of the devastation wrought by the Armistice Day Storm, and one that I find particularly bone-chilling (no pun intended).
You’ll recall from last week how hundreds of duck hunters across Minnesota and Northern Wisconsin were looking forward to their Armistice Day off of work and school, and the morning of Nov. 11 did not disappoint. The temperature that morning was about 50 degrees, and many hunters’ personal accounts recall them sporting light canvas jackets for their morning venture to the river.
Many experienced duck hunters saw the shift in the wind’s direction - from southwest to northwest - and believed it might encourage the ducks to begin their migration in droves. For several hours that morning, it certainly had. Hunters reported how the sky was positively black with ducks, the warm northwest breeze filled with the sounds of duck calls and the disjointed staccato of hundreds of shotguns firing off, like snare drums in a marching band. Many hunters agreed that the quarry had never been so plentiful before and has never been since.
By early afternoon, however, the duck hunters realized the weather was far more treacherous than the forecast had predicted. Within an hour, the temperature dropped to freezing. On the Mississippi, the wind began to pick up with gusts upwards of 80 mph, and 15-foot swells capsized skiffs and flattened blinds, denying blindsided hunters of any possible shelter. Heavy snowfall and ice made the terrain impassable for many hunters who were desperately trying to get to their trucks and get home.
The determination of which hunters survived and which succumbed to the elements was a heartless game of luck. Were they of a sturdy build? Were they unlucky enough to capsize their boat, or were they blown onto an island? On that island, did they have cover from the elements? Did they think to bring a waterproof box of matches? Did they even have wooden decoys to burn? Did they have the energy to stay awake and keep their bodies moving? Did they have family members who braved the storm to come search for them? All of these factors came up in personal accounts of the storm as survivors pondered what saved them and not their friend or neighbor.
There were dogs out on the river too, many sturdy retrievers, which are bred for weathering cold temperatures with a wet coat. Unlike Tubby, whose rescue from the collapsing Tacoma Narrows Bridge was unsuccessful, many family hunting dogs managed the reverse. They saved their owners from hypothermia by instinctively curling up on top of them and sharing body heat.
I have a morbid curiosity about natural disasters such as these, and one aspect that almost always comes up in these scenarios is the work of average, everyday folks who see others suffering and go out to help, even risking their own lives. This disastrous Armistice Day was no different. Rescuers from across Minnesota and Wisconsin rushed to the aid of the stranded hunters, some coming from hours away. They brought supplies, warm clothes, and boats to transport castaway hunters off their islands and back to the mainland.
Winona, Minnesota pilot Max Conrad is credited with saving at least a dozen hunters when he flew his single-prop Piper plane into the storm. He scanned the river, spotting huddles of hunters clinging to life. Conrad delivered them food and matches before assuring them that help was on the way and then leading rescue boats to their locations. Conrad’s actions directly saved the life of 17-year-old Gerald Terras, who was found barely conscious and clutching the family’s black lab, with the bodies of his brother, father, and a family friend frozen nearby.
One story from La Crosse, Wisconsin, tells of high schoolers Dick Bice and La Vern Reiber, who became separated on their fateful hunting trip. They were not rescued by strangers, but by their own fathers, who never once relented in their attempts to save their sons, even going so far as to shoot the padlock off a metal-bottomed skiff, which they then borrowed for a rescue boat. Both boys, and their dog, survived without injury.
In total, what was dubbed “The Day the Duck Hunters Died” claimed anywhere from 20 to 80 sportsmen, and estimates are based off of the bodies retrieved, many of them frozen in their agonizing final moments.
The death count, which is undeniable, however, comes from Oceana County, where 66 people died in the wrecks of the freighters Anna C. Minch, Novadoc, and William B Davok.
