Creemore has a long history of bridge washouts

Recently in one of the Collingwood newspapers a large photo was displayed showing the flood waters flowing under Creemore’s Collingwood Street bridge.

This new bridge, opened for traffic last December, is much lower than the old one, much closer to the water. During the discussion about whether to refurbish the old bridge or build a new one, a matter of some importance was the height of the bridge.

The old one interfered with the ability to clearly see if traffic was approaching from the opposite direction.

What no one seemed to understand was that the height was to eliminate the formation of ice jams during spring breakup.

Ice jams at bridges have a long history in this Mad River valley.

On many occasions the ice send the flood waters everywhere but in the river bed.

To the best of my knowledge there never was an ice jam at the old Collingwood Street Bridge.

Creemore has a long history of bridge washouts.

In the 1800s, Creemore had three bridges: Caroline Street, Collingwood Street and Mill Street.

These bridges were built without the benefit of concrete abutments. They usually were level with the surface of the ground. As more and more hillsides were cleared for logging or farms the floods became more severe.

Every spring the bridges were washed away. But lumber was readily available, and so was labour, and new bridges would be constructed. Bit by bit bridges were built higher, iron was used and concrete supports made them more secure.

The bridges were less apt to be swept away but the flood waters rose every spring, both in the river and the creeks coming down the hills. The following report from The Creemore Star, April 11, 1929 describes the flood scene.

“The great rain of Friday night, April 5, broke over Creemore about 10:30 p.m. By midnight the residents at the north end of Mill Street who had not yet retired suddenly became aware of a great rush of waters from Ten Hill crossing the highway and flooding the lawns, rushing in cellar windows and flooding cellars heretofore reputed to be dry. The waters rushed down Mill Street to the river at the extreme south end, leaving a trail of mud, stones, rails and other refuse that had come into the path of the waters.

“About 1 a.m. the rising Mad River had filled the Caroline Street bridge in its capacity and then overflowed its banks on the east side, sending a stream of destruction among the houses… A dance was underway at the Orange Hall [Edward Street] which was surrounded by water reputed to  be two feet deep. A few waded home, but most of the crowd remained until 6 o’clock in the morning. A young student secured an old buggy in which he pulled his sister home from the dance. A citizen who lives near the school house was seen wading home with his wife upon his shoulders.

“At the Creamery [now the pottery] the water on the street was flowing two feet deep toward the river and those who were there at the time reported that the pavement was almost floating under the pressure of the water. Some homes in this area were threatened with water in the living rooms, but this did not happen although it did come onto some verandahs.

“At the School Board meeting on Friday night Mr. R. Barber requested that the pile of coal ashes at the rear of the schoolhouse be removed. The request was granted. The storm came on and in a few hours the ash pile was caught by the overflow content of the Mad River – and completely swept away.”

My favourite story comes from March 1928, mostly because I have always had a home in Websterville and have seen too many flood and ice jams to count.

“In the third week of March 1928 the temperature suddenly rose to 65 degrees Fahrenheit causing the ice in the river to break up. The sudden rush of melting snow sent the ice freely down the river so Creemore wasn’t flooded. South of town, however, it was a different story. Several teamsters coming into Creemore reported over two feet of water through which they had to drive.

“Up at Websterville an ice jam sent the river out of bounds and dwellings were surrounded by raging waters. Mr. W. Emmett’s poultry house suffered and some of his fowl were last seen aboard a large cake of ice sailing for Wasaga Beach.”