The Treacherous Eddies of Anacortes
A boating trip on the Skagit river turns into a desperate struggle for survival when a squall capsizes a local family.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
On Thursday last at Anacortes, Mr. Nelson and his two sons, aged 18 and 20, started for a boat ride to visit Mr. O. D. Storm, and just as they were hoisting a sail, only a few yards from shore, a squall struck and capsized the boat. Mr. Storm and Mr. Nelson became entangled in the ropes and sail and could barely free themselves to hang onto the upturned boat, while one of the Nelson boys struck for the shore and made it in safety. The other boy, seeing his brother's success, after hanging around the boat a short time, struck out also, but the party having by this time drifted further into the stream, he finally became exhausted after battling most manfully with one of the treacherous eddies off the point of rocks, and sunk, never in life to rise again, ere succor could reach him from the Indian canoes rushing for him with all possible speed. The Indians searched for the body some hours after, but without success. Mr. Nelson and Mr. Storm were finally rescued from their perilous position on the capsized boat. The drowned young man's name was Marion Nelson, 19 years of age, and had on last Monday arrived here with the family from Lake Minnetonka. The sad affair is rendered all the more distressing not only to the bereaved family but to our people, that they settled among us so recently.
“The party having by this time drifted further into the stream, he finally became exhausted after battling most manfully with one of the treacherous eddies off the point of rocks, and sunk, never in life to rise again.”
Boating accidents remain a poignant, recurring tragedy in the Pacific Northwest, where the cold, unpredictable waters of the Sound and our rivers claim lives with chilling regularity. This 1882 account captures the same local grief we see in modern news reports, highlighting how the landscape's natural beauty masks persistent, lethal dangers for residents and newcomers alike.
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