Jason T. Younker | Weaving Long Ropes: Oral Tradition and Understanding the Great Tide | Oregon Historical Quarterly, 108.2

Weaving Long Ropes

Oral Tradition and Understanding the Great Tide

by Jason T. Younker

FIRST A STORY. Not so many years ago, my uncle took me high up on Sundown Mountain, just north of Brookings on the southern Oregon coast. I had just started my first quarter in graduate school at the University of Oregon and with no clear career path. It was late in the afternoon, and we had driven halfway up the mountain and hiked to the place we were sitting — on large rocks in a mountain prairie, surrounded by once-deep elk-hunting pits now eroded to shallow basins. We looked toward the ocean as the fog belt grew offshore and watched it slowly weave its way through the valleys below. The sun was making a swift exit; the crimson sky was like the flames that swept over the grassy hills that Native people burned every few years to keep the country open.

"You see, Jason, how the fog is coming in?" he said, gesturing to the valley below. "It wasn't too long ago when our people learned a great lesson, and a great tide would sweep many of them away. Just like the fog comes in now, the great tide would come in like that.

"They were told by their elders 'to weave long ropes because you never know when a big tide is coming and you won't have much time. If you don't have long ropes when the waters rise you'll be swept away.' They were warned over and over, but few paid attention. Many just ignored the warnings and went about their daily business.

"Soon after, an offshore earthquake made a big tide. The waters rushed up the valleys and quickly overwhelmed many in the villages. Only those who had listened to the elders were prepared.

"The waters rose violently. Many of the people were unable to make it to their canoes. Those few who had prepared for the great tide quickly gathered their ropes. The water rose higher and higher until the tops of the tallest trees were visible. Those who had ropes quickly tied their canoes to the treetops. Soon all the trees were covered by the rising water. The water kept coming in — rising even higher. Some didn't have long enough ropes, and eventually they too were carried off by the rising waters. Only a few remained, and these were the wiser ones who had heeded the elders' warnings. Others were swept away never to be seen again. The waters eventually receded, and though many died, some people survived."

By the time my uncle finished telling the story, the fog had made its way up the valleys below and only the tallest of trees were visible. The fog kept crawling in as if it were the great tide described in his story. We watched the sun go down, and the fog settled slowly around us.¹

THE OREGON COAST is known for its rugged headlands and sea cliffs pounded by massive waves through winter storms and summer squalls. Seasonal tides and storm surges bring high water into the bays, inlets, and estuaries of the coast, sometimes carrying in logs and other debris choked out of streams from California to Alaska. But nothing in our modern experience is comparable to the great tides that swept over the villages of the Oregon coast more than seven generations ago, long before Euroamerican traders and immigrants reached these shores.

Until recently, geologists knew relatively little about the effects of earthquakes, tsunamis, and coastal subsidence on the peoples and environment on the Oregon coast. There is now a growing body of evidence in the archaeological and geologic records suggesting repeated violent events occurring approximately every five hundred years. No sizable earthquakes have taken place affecting the Oregon coast since European immigration, but similar occurrences and ethnography from around the globe allow us to better understand the cultural reactions to tsunamis and other natural disasters.²

The devastation of tsunamis over the past century is well known from media coverage. Most recently, when the tectonic India Plate shifted under the Burma Plate at 07:58 Western Indonesia standard time on the morning of December 26, 2004, it created a 9.0 magnitude earthquake near Sumatra Island. What followed was a horrific example of the devastation caused by such events. Witnesses to the Indonesian tsunami described repeated waves, walls of water, trees, boats, and people being washed away.³ The greatest devastation occurred in communities on low-lying shores. On some islands, such as Sumatra, entire towns were leveled. Inland areas near tidally influenced rivers and inlets were also affected, but in many cases the tsunami came in the form of a large tidal surge rather than a wave.

At South Slough of Coos Bay, daily low tides slowly empty the bay of their brackish water. Earthquake-induced tides, which instead rapidly drain affected areas, were often remembered by Native Oregonians as great tides.

Courtesy of R. Scott Byram

In recent decades, researchers in Japan uncovered several contemporary descriptions of the effects of the last Cascadia earthquake and tsunami on the western shore of the Pacific. The Japanese "orphan tsunami," as Brian Atwater and his colleagues refer to it, provides a basis for estimating the scope of the earthquake that caused the tsunami. By making reasonable assumptions about the size and speed of the tsunami and based on Japanese historic accounts, the earthquake would have exceeded 8.5 on the Richter scale.⁴ The resulting wave may have traveled in excess of five hundred miles an hour and reached the Oregon coast at a height of thirty feet or more. According to Japanese records,

At midnight ... a tsunami struck.... water running up as if it were a high tide. The water also went into the pine trees.... the receding water went out very fast, like a big river. It came in about seven times ... that day and gradually lost its power.⁵

While the descriptions of the "orphan tsunami" of 1700 echo those of the 2004 Indonesian tsunami, the effects in Japan were far less devastating. This is most likely because of the distance the waves traveled across the Pacific before reaching the Japanese shores. While the Indonesian tsunami of 2004 illustrates the scope of devastation close to a comparable subduction event, especially in outer coast communities, the Japanese records pinpoint the time of the event and confirm that it was large enough to create repeated waves that were still identified as tsunamis after traveling hundreds of miles across the Pacific.

No firsthand accounts of tsunamis appear in the ethnographic record from the southern Oregon coast, but ethnographers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries recorded a few Native oral traditions that describe similar great tides. There is little doubt that such a massive event would have been depicted clearly and prominently in oral literature only a few generations after the loss of so many lives. Like many other parts of the once-great indigenous oral tradition of the Oregon coast, however, only a small number of narratives are still told by elders, a few more are recorded as linguistic or ethnographic texts, and bits and pieces of others survive in transcripts of ethnographic interviews of the early twentieth century.

The apparent loss of large portions of the traditional narratives is most likely due to several historical factors. Deaths from diseases, beginning by the late eighteenth century, may have been comparable to deaths caused by tsunamis along much of the coast. At least nine disease epidemics are thought to have occurred between 1775 and 1853, decreasing the indigenous population by up to 90 percent.⁶ Yet, those losses are not depicted in much of the existing oral literature. One reason may be the widespread reluctance to speak of the recently dead because of beliefs regarding the afterlife. It is also true that the losses of lives continued through the early years of U.S. settlement in the region, followed by boarding school re-education and government efforts to suppress indigenous languages and oral tradition. In some respects, historic tales of many lives lost in a great flood might have seemed comparatively unremarkable to people who had lost so much themselves. Yet, unlike the waves of European diseases that swept across the region, the great tide was a phenomenon that had revisited the region, if infrequently, since time immemorial. The survivors of the 1700 tsunami would have remembered being told of great floods from the ocean by their elders. Unlike the new diseases, this threat fit within a historical context.

As teachings, the accounts explain how to react and survive the great tide through proper behavior when the inevitable event does occur. Some of the accounts that survive today depict a singular historical event, while others depict an event that occurs when conditions, particularly human behavior, bring it about. In either case, we can see that these stories were intended to memorialize the traumatic experience while also providing future generations the knowledge they need to survive. Collectively, the remnant accounts of the great tide and of floods speak across many generations. They present the flood as a result of inexcusable behavior, demonstrating the destructive power of the ocean that parallels its vitality as a source of sustenance. Whole communities are destroyed and others displaced.⁷ In other aspects of oral tradition, depictions of the forces of nature serve as guides for cultural behavior.

Earthquake-induced tsunamis would have submerged the upper reaches of Coos Bay and South Slough. Archaeological evidence and oral traditions suggest that such tsunamis have repeatedly occurred along the Pacific Coast.

Courtesy of Mark Tveskov

IN A SEPARATE article in this special section, Patricia Whereat Phillips retells some of the most explicit tsunami accounts from Coos Bay. These and a handful of others from the southern Oregon coast present common themes, though they were told (primarily to ethnographers) by at least four different tribal elders. Isolating and understanding the meanings of ethnographic accounts of tsunamis to a single geographic location or people is problematic, considering the varying histories of European and Indian relations on the Pacific coast. Tsunami stories told by Native peoples to ethnographers were relayed by people who were two or three generations removed from the most recent occurrence of a tsunami, and they were recorded by people more interested in Native linguistics and ethnology than in historical events.

The crack in this channel bank is a clastic dike feature, the remains of a crack in the ground that formed during an earthquake in the Nilestun village along the Coquille River. Geologist Curt Peterson stands by loose stones near the crack and the dark midden soil, which are some remains of the village.

Courtesy of R. Scott Byram

In the accounts that survive in interview transcripts and published texts, tsunamis are commonly referred to as "great tides" or "ocean floods," and the scope of devastation is evident. Vast numbers of people perished as the land "sank" and was swept over by a great tide from the ocean. Jim Buchanan (Coos, circa 1840–1933), in "Ma'at, The Flood," told of sinking land followed by a "flood tide" and of people fleeing to high ground or "floating land" where tall trees were located. As the tide retreated, people tied their canoes to the trees so they would not be swept away.⁸ In this and other accounts, the speaker did not explain why the tsunami occurred, but he did describe precautions taken. Some people had maintained long, braided ropes, storing them away in preparation for a flood. The manufacture of long ropes indicates a certain frequency of tsunamis on the Oregon coast — often enough not to be forgotten — and tells us that "flood tides" were real and not exaggerated mythical occurrences. In addition, the pre-tsunami "sinking of land" drew attention to the need to find higher ground. Importantly, it also indicated that land movement was associated with tsunamis, providing a critical warning mechanism. When the land sinks, seek high ground to avoid being swept away.

Other accounts present the disaster as a response of nature and powerful entities to extremely disrespectful behavior. For example, Annie Miner Peterson (Coos, circa 1860–1939) related to Melville Jacobs the story of "Salmon Did Ill to Boys," told by her grandfather, Minkws. In this account, young men disrespect salmon, an important food resource, and Salmon brings a tsunami to sweep away the disrespectful people. The lesson: If you disrespect food resources, then the consequence is death. An intriguing component of Minkws's story is that he said he knew an old woman who, as a youth, had survived this great flood. The old woman had clung to branches high up in a tree as the waters receded but severely injured her back in a fall while trying to climb down. This part of the story may have been an effort to communicate that the event was a real one rather than an ancient or myth-era event.⁹

Other versions of great tide narratives have human agency as the cause of the event. Lottie Evanoff (Coos, circa 1870–1945) explained to John P. Harrington that the consequence of disrespecting nature is a flood. In her story, a young boy kills crows, resulting in a flood caused by five days of rain.¹⁰ While the account imparts the need to behave respectfully to other beings, it also teaches the practical lesson that having a canoe at the ready is critical to survival. Given the historical importance of canoes to tidewater communities in this region, this lesson may have applied for reasons beyond tsunami survival.

As are many Native American oral traditions, entertainment value is relative to lesson and literal meaning is of little inconsequence. Collectively, Buchanan, Miner Peterson, and Evanoff were told stories by their elders — stories that had been handed down through many generations — about cultural values, the consequences of inexcusable behavior, and disaster planning. While we now try to understand the meanings of these stories, we cannot be certain why the stories were told. We can only know that they were told following natural disasters and often to prepare for future events, which in these cases were likely earthquake-induced tsunamis.

Traditional narratives involving earthquakes and great tides were told throughout the Cascadia coastal region, and there are remarkable similarities between the earthquake and tsunami disaster narratives told by peoples to the north and south of Oregon. Traditional narratives from the southern Oregon coast share the use of ropes and canoes in surviving the flood, the diaspora among flood survivors, and the actions of individuals that may have brought about a great tide. Several ethnographic accounts depict extremely large floods, with survivors tying themselves and their canoes to trees to avoid being swept away by the receding waters.¹¹

Anthropologist Robert Losey has related the frequency of Cascadia Subduction Zone earthquakes to the oral traditions of Pacific coast peoples north and south of Oregon.¹² Accounts from regions to the north and south of Oregon more explicitly depict earthquakes, possibly reflecting the greater frequency of these events in those places. On the northern Northwest Coast, dwarfs tricked the Nuu-chah-nulth of Vancouver Island into dancing around the drum. Those who stumbled into the drum were stricken with a disease that caused the ground to shake.¹³ On the northern California coast, among the Yurok and Tolowa, Earthquake travels with his companion Thunder, and earthquake-induced tsunamis were triggered by a variety of human actions (some innocent and some impure). The results were often associated with origination stories or cleansing the land of impurities.¹⁴

Stories at Coos Bay are similar to those told in neighboring coastal areas in that tsunamis were preceded by "sinking land" and the ocean retreating dramatically, followed by a "great tide" or flood. Those who are prepared — and aware of these indicators — will find higher ground and perhaps have long woven ropes to tie themselves to the tall trees. Being swept away or not having a canoe (or some other protective floating device) means certain death. In some cases, the tsunami is a cleansing event.

It is clear that the Indonesian tsunami found people unprepared. Some tourists and residents perished as they inquisitively followed the retreating ocean, only to be swallowed by the ensuing tsunami waves. Those who were inland fled to higher ground, but many still were caught by the recurring waves and swept away. Perhaps now they will tell future generations stories similar to those remembered by the Coos and other Pacific coast peoples.

AS MY UNCLE and I hiked down Sundown Mountain that afternoon, I contemplated the meaning of his story. The elders had warned, "Weave long ropes, be prepared for the great tide. If you are not prepared, you'll be swept away." Those who listened to their elders would be spared and not swept away. As my studies progressed and years passed, I began to understand that the meaning of any story is personal — each individual will interpret what is applicable to his or her lives. Possibly for my ancestors, there were multiple lessons: first, there are certain things you should do in the event of a great tide; second, you should heed the wisdom of your elders; third, you should respect your environment and the resources you rely on; and fourth, you should never forget the lessons you have been taught.

For me, my uncle taught me a life-long lesson — to never stop weaving my rope. As long as I maintain my rope, I will never be swept away and forget where I am from. And perhaps this is the fundamental purpose of many Native American stories told on the Pacific coast, regardless of the circumstance — to never forget where you are from. I will always be tied to the tallest of trees at South Slough of Coos Bay, Oregon.

Notes

I am truly indebted to R. Scott Byram and Marianne Keddington-Lang for their keen editorial eyes and encouragement to participate in this edition of OHQ. This paper is dedicated to my tribe, The Coquille Indian Tribe, and all my relations — those who told me stories and survived the atrocities of history as well as the great tides.

^1. Jason T. Younker, "Coquille/K'Kwel, a Southern Oregon Coast Indian Tribe: Revisiting History, Ingenuity, and Identity" (Ph.D. diss., University of Oregon, 2003), 39–40.

^2. Robert J. Losey, "Earthquakes and Tsunami as Elements of Environmental Disturbance on the Northwest Coast of North America," Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 24 (2005): 101–16.

^3. Paul Davies, Independent Television News, December 27, 2004, Phuket coastline, Thailand.

^4. United States Geological Society, "The Great Cascadia Earthquake of 26 January AD 1700" http://www.earthquake.usgs.gov/regional/pacnw/paleo/greateq/index.html (accessed April 18, 2007). See also Brian Atwater et al., "The Orphan Tsunami of 1700 — Japanese Clues to a Parent Earthquake in North America," paper prepared for the Geological Survey of Japan, National Institute of Advanced Science and Technology, the University of Tokyo and the University of Washington (2005).

^5. The Oregon Department of Geology and Mineral Industries, "Japanese and Tribal Accounts Describe Huge Quake, Waves," http://www.oregongeology.com/sub/earthquakes/Coastal/japanrecords.htm (accessed April 18, 2007).

^6. William G. Loy et al., Atlas of Oregon, 2d ed. (Eugene: University of Oregon Press, 2001), 16–17; Younker, "Coquille/K'Kwel," 54–55.

^7. Genesis, 6:1–9:29; Qur'an, 11:17–45.

^8. Leo Frachtenberg, "Coos Texts," in Columbia University Contributions to Anthropology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1913), 6–8.

^9. Lionel Youst, She's Tricky Like Coyote: Annie Miner Peterson, An Oregon Coast Indian Woman (Norman: Oklahoma University Press, 1997), 12.

^10. John Harrington, "Alsea, Siuslaw, Coos, Southwest Oregon Athapaskan: Vocabularies, Linguistic Notes, Ethnographic and Historical Notes," John Peabody Harrington Papers, Alaska/Northwest Coast, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., 24 (1942), 560–61.

^11. Alan D. McMillan and Ian Hutchinson, "When the Mountain Dwarfs Danced: Paleoseismic Events Reflected in Aboriginal Traditions in Northern Cascadia," Ethnohistory 49 (2002): 41–68; Alfred Kroeber, Yurok Myths (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1976), 186–87.

^12. Robert J. Losey, "Oral Tradition of Earthquakes and Tsunamis on the Central Cascadia Coast: Variation of Accounts and Relations to Historically Observed Patterns Across the Northwest Coast," in Changing Landscapes: Proceedings of the 4^th Annual Coquille Cultural Preservation Conference, 2000, ed. Jason Younker, Mark Tveskov, and David Lewis (North Bend, Ore.: Coquille Indian Tribe, 2001), 3–15.

^13. Philip Drucker, "The Northern and Central Nootkan Tribes," Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 144 (1951): 154.

^14. Cora DuBois, "Tolowa Notes," American Anthropologist 34 (1932): 261–62; James Collins, Understanding Tolowa Histories: Western Hegemonies and Native American Responses (Routledge Press, New York, 1998), 141; Kroeber, Yurok Myths (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1976), 460–65.

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