Just as the 1849 discovery of gold at Sutter's Mill brought hordes of fortune-seeking immigrants to the hillside streams of what would become California, so did the natural wealth of the Oregon Country bring many would-be entrepreneurs, also seeking their fortunes, to the entrance of the Columbia River.

Those early newcomers realized that if they were to get rich exporting the fabled products of the Pacific Northwest -- the timber, the wheat, the fruit, the salmon, the wool -- they would have to figure out how to repeatedly cross the river's dangerous entrance -- its bar -- without wrecking their ship.

In early days, some men who became familiar with the shifting sand bars at the river's mouth and with the nature of the waves, currents and wind, and who had the courage to try themselves against this treacherous waterway, affiliated themselves as the Columbia River Bar Pilots.

They convinced Oregon's territorial government to license them, and in 1846 became the territory's first, and now, oldest continuously operating business.

Over the years, together with larger and sturdier ships, the replacement of wind-powered sails by humongous steam- and diesel-powered engines, publication of updated waterway charts, continued dredging of the accumulating sand in the bar, the maturing of the U. S. Coast Guard's rough-water education and its rescue boats -- and with the regular repair of the South and North Jetties, the wreckage associated with the Columbia River Bar has significantly lessened.

One of the most important elements in that reduction of wreckage of large vessels -- 100 feet and up, bearing fishing boats -- crossing that stretch of water, is the continuing presence and work of the Columbia River Bar Pilots.

Down the years, their long history weaves through regional news articles illustrating why they have been successful and how they have become the dominant authority on the Bar of the Columbia River.

From frontier days onward, there was little suggestion of dishonesty or incompetence among the bar pilots. Only one story comes to light. In May of 1848, a Hudson Bay Company vessel, Vancouver, piloted by Selah C. Reeve, was wrecked. Bar pilot Reeve was cleared of any error in the wrecking itself; it was in the aftermath that trouble arose.

1848: "The Governor and Board of Commissioners on Pilots and Pilotage met on Saturday last to investigate the charges preferred against S. C. Reeve, the Bar Pilot, for taking and secreting goods from the wreck of the Vancouver. The charges were substantiated, and the said Reeve was thereupon expelled from his situation as pilot, and his commission, as such, revoked." (Oregon Free Press.)

The next significant news involving the bar pilots is the January 1852 dreadful wreck of the frail old steamship General Warren. While Capt. George Flavel was unable to prevent the loss of the ship, his meritorious conduct throughout the episode so moved Portland's business community that they struck a gold medal thanking him.

1852: "A beautiful gold medal has been presented to Capt. Flavel, by the citizens of Portland, for his praiseworthy exertions in rendering assistance to the passengers and crew of the shipwrecked steam General Warren." (Daily Alta California.)

Capt. Flavel was reported to be a close-mouthed man -- no chatty newspaper interviews with him come to hand. Among those who knew him, his widow, Mary Christina Boelling Flavel, and his long-time friend, Gen. John Wall, confirm insight into his character: both spoke of his deep knowledge of the bar and of his unflagging courage.

Flavel, more than anyone else, gives us to understand how treacherous the bar could be. At the same time, he depicts how to survive it: face it with clear understanding and without fear, and keep your vessel in tip-top condition -- the Columbia River Bar tolerates no fudging.

About a year after the loss of the General Warren, local newspapers ran a notice.

"We the undersigned, on behalf of the crew and passengers of the Bark Oriole of Baltimore, beg to return thanks to the pilots of the Columbia Bar for their kindness in their endeavors to save us after the wreck, and supplying us with clothes ... and we also wish to testify to the skill, seamanship, and coolness of Capt. George Flavel ... (who) in the moment of danger, and ... from his knowledge of the bar and coast was instrumental in our being landed safe.'" (As reprinted in the Oct. 8, 1853 The Overland Press, Olympia, Washington.)

Early on, it was hard to continually keep enough pilots and pilot vessels on station in the ocean outside the bar so as to supply all the demand from incoming ships:

1857: "Astoria: ... You will have to record among the many news items contained in your valuable paper, the total loss of the bark Desdemona, with the greater portion of her cargo, on the middle sands of the entrance of the Columbia River ... I had (lost) ... jib-boom, top-gallant sails and top-sails outside the bar, on the 1st day of January, and not wishing to hang on a lee shore with what sail I had left, and no pilot boat in sight, I crossed the bar by the north channel without difficulty; but it being strong flood tide and the lower buoy adrift, I got too far on the sands to clear them and brought up. ... Clatsop sea pirates, by the way, are having a good time. ... Yours respectfully, Francis Williams, Late Master, Bark Desdemona." (The Weekly Oregonian.)

1870: "... (State) House Bill No. 43 ... (amendment of) Section 7. The owners of said (bar pilot) steam tug shall provide and keep upon said pilot grounds a good and sufficient sailboat with all the necessary appliances for service as such in case of accident to or absences of the said steam tugboat ... in no case shall such steam tugboat leave such bar pilot grounds for repairs, or otherwise, unless actually necessary." (The Oregonian.)

1873: "We are informed that several of the Columbia River Bar pilots have negotiated with certain parties in San Francisco for the purchase of the schooner Fanny, which will be brought around to the mouth of the Columbia River and employed as a pilot boat. ... This will materially facilitate crossing the bar and obviate the usual vexatious detentions. It often happens that vessels bound in are compelled to await for days the arrival of the (steam) tug, even when the bar is smooth and the wind fair, but having no pilot on board are obliged to lie at anchor." (The Oregonian.)

1875: "Capt. George Flavel, who controls the Columbia Bar Pilotage, has thus stated details concerning charges, etc.:

"First -- What we deem 'speaking a vessel' at sea outside the bar is coming within hailing distance and asking if she wants a pilot.

"Second -- The tug considers five miles the distance to tow and pilot a vessel without other charge than that described by law.

"Third -- If the tug goes any greater distance than five miles, and not exceeding twenty, she makes no extra charge for putting a pilot on board, she then charges extra towage, according to the distance exceeding five miles and the state of the weather.

"Fourth -- There are four pilots attached to the steam tug Astoria.

"Fifth -- At any time the tug Astoria requires any repairs through accident or otherwise, the steam tug Brenham will take her place on the bar ... ." (Weekly Oregon Statesman, Salem, Oregon.)

As the association of Columbia River Bar pilots matured under Capt. Flavel's leadership, few pilots came to the attention of the press. One exception was Bar Pilot Capt. Thomas Doig.

If Capt. Doig is remembered these days, it is for misdirecting the huge sidewheel steamer Great Republic and her over 1,000 passengers onto Sand Island on Friday night, April 19, 1879. That wreck became a total loss; even today the Great Republic's bones can snag fishing nets.

However, the unusual episode that intrigues here is the wreck of the ship Nimbus two years before, on Dec. 28, 1877.

The Nimbus was an eight-year-old Maine-built wooden sailing ship; fully loaded with wheat, she "drew" 22 feet -- that is, she needed more than 22 feet of water below her waterline to float without striking bottom. This day, she was piloted across the bar by Capt. Doig in company with two other ships, the Pilgrim, which drew 20-1/2 feet and the Aberystwith Castle, which drew 19-1/2 feet, each of which carried a bar pilot and was towed by a tugboat.

Lewis & Dryden reports: "The vessel was taken over the bar at 8:45 a.m. ... (striking) heavily in passing out but was thought not to have sustained serious damage. Pilot Doig left her, and the captain squared away.

"At 10:30, the carpenter reported three feet of water in the hold, and at 12 o'clock there were six and one-half feet, with all the pumps going. The vessel (had turned back) for the bar, but at 1 p.m., the wind died (leaving her adrift. The water continued to rise and at 7 p.m. the crew) took to the boats and rowed to the Aberystwith Castle, which stood by until 12:55 a.m., when the Nimbus (sank)."

The Daily Astorian observed that "the bar (had) seemed to be comparatively smooth" when the Pilgrim and the Nimbus had been slammed against the bottom of the bar by "green rollers ... coming in from the deep sea, attesting that a violent storm had been raging offshore."

The sinking of the Nimbus cost insurance underwriters almost $200,000, and the outcry was great. Regional newspapers discussed the dilemma at length -- "who is to blame?" -- "would iron ships have been better able to withstand the thumping than wooden ones?"

The Oregonian thought about the condition of the sea and the stage of the tide: "There were very heavy, rolling swells breaking on the bar, which lifted the Nimbus high and caused the vessel to thump heavily twice. Both the ships Pilgrim and Aberystwith Castle thumped also as they crossed. ... By consulting the tide table, we observe that when the Nimbus crossed the bar, (about 9 a.m. Friday) the tide was high. This being the case it seems a little singular that the vessels should bump in crossing; but the extreme roughness of the bar must account for the disaster. ..."

These were the days before much knowledge of tidal waves.

A month after the sinking, the Oregonian names the cause: "An investigation into the loss of the American ship Nimbus has shown most conclusively that it was produced by a convulsion of nature. The tide gauge shows the same kind of swells on the bar that were experienced in 1868 under a tidal wave. The swells experienced on the bar were felt at various points on the coast, and all reported that they appeared to rise out of the water without any previous warning."

A March 14, 1878, article details a Portland Board of Trade study: "As the Nimbus approached the bar, the sea looked remarkably smooth, but when in the shoalest place the ship encountered three long green rollers (but the water was not breaking), the ship struck twice. The sea continued smooth for about fifteen minutes, when they then met three more rollers of the same character, and she struck again ... .

"On the day of the disaster ... persons traveling on the beach, both north and south of the Columbia, noticed a sudden and unusual rise and fall of the water from which they narrowly escaped being engulfed."

Might this wreck have undermined Capt. Doig's professional confidence and so contributed to his misjudgment when piloting the Great Republic?

Editor's note: This is the first installation of "The Columbia River Bar Pilots," a five-part series written by local historian and scholar, Nancy Lloyd, covering the history of Columbia River Bar Pilots up to the present day. We will be publishing the installments in the Weekend Break over the coming weeks. -- Jeanne Huff, editor