One hundred years ago this summer, amazed spectators stood on the dry bottom of Big Bear Lake looking up at the rock dam, built five years earlier. For the second year in a row, the lake was completely dry.

All present understood the historical implications of that drought, but no one took comfort in being part of history. Earlier in that year, Big Bear Lake had discharged all the water that would run out. The dry lake bottom also would appear in 1900, and again in 1904.

The severe water crisis of the summer of 1899 proved to be a test of patience, an ignition for desperate tempers, and a trial for even the steeliest of nerves.

Housed in the archives of the A.K. Smiley Public Library in Redlands are a set of diaries covering the drought years.

Citrus farmer and mountain pioneer Joseph Tyler recorded his concerns about 1899 in his daily entry written at his Highland ranch. Noting that the weather was "very hot and dry" along with high winds near the end of April, he later presents a contrast with an entry for May 1: "cool." May continued to seesaw between hot and cold.

Tyler reluctantly paid for an option to use water from Big Bear Lake but adds, "if any this summer."

A surprise ushered in June with a heavy rain. Early June continued the familiar pattern of overcast mornings with emerging afternoon sun. But mid-June saw Tyler lamenting, "hot, hot, very hot."

The blistering heat continued into July with a somber diary entry noting "water very scarce in the mountains this season." August proved worse than July with the embattled orange rancher summarizing the fears of all his contemporaries: "Water scarcest as it comes in the house from the well. Water is very, very scarce."

Later, he writes, "The well water stopped flowing."

At about the time of Tyler's entries, Scipio Craig, editor of The Citrograph newspaper in Redlands, observed that "shotguns are in demand in some portions of southern California for the purpose of guarding sources of water supply. The city authorities of San Bernardino have hired a couple of men to protect its reservoir from raiders who need water for irrigating their crops."

Editor Craig concluded that a new state of south California should be founded on the principle of water distribution "to bring the greatest good to the greatest number."

By Aug. 19, domestic water was shut off in Redlands from early evening until the next morning. Unauthorized night irrigating by a few people proved to be the problem.

Now homeowners' nerves as well as growers' nerves became frayed. A September report issued by the state Horticultural Commission concluded that 1899 was the "driest season that southern California has seen since it became of much importance as a fruit-growing section." The period served as a sober reminder of how dependent we are upon water and upon our ability to distribute it.

The welcoming rains of fall falsely allayed further fear of dry lakes and dry wells. The last year of the century, 1900, proved equally dry. Los Angeles recorded 5.59 inches in 1899 and bested that only with a scanty total of 7.91 inches in 1900.

Weather patterns often are seen in the most personal of terms, as in the lives and opinions of Tyler and Craig. Another perspective of weather history offers an opposite experience.

When celebrating his 85th birthday in 1983, former Redlander Edwin H. Bryan Jr. recalled working on his father's 40-acre orange grove. Heat such as experienced in 1899 was not part of his memory.

When three consecutive seasons of freezing temperatures decimated their orange grove, Bryan's father advised his son to "go to Hawaii where it is warm." Forsaking local winters, Bryan worked for the Bishop Museum in Honolulu for 55 years, never thinking of the San Bernardino Valley as hot.

Columnist Larry Burgess lives in Redlands and holds a doctorate in history from Claremont Graduate University. He can be reached at (909) 793-1529.

Published 8/15/1999