World Book Dictionary describes a blizzard as a "violent, blinding snowstorm with a very strong wind and extreme cold." American English: variant of dialectal English blizzer something sudden, sharp, especially a blow, shot, or choking, or blizz violent rainstorm.
All these words may be used in describing the sudden storms that occur on the prairies of North Dakota during the winter season. The unexpected fierceness of these storms throughout the years has caught many people unprepared, thus causing the loss of lives for some and narrow escapes for others.
Which storm was the worst and caused the most hardship to the residents, never ceases to be a topic of conversation. Some of the reports of these "blizzards" appeared in the Independent. Some of them were collected from personal histories of families that were living in Foster County at the time.
From His Report on Living on the Farm During the Winter, " Ross Bloomquist:
"The thermometer hanging on the wall at the northeast corner of the house gave us an idea of what the rest of the day was going to be like but it was a poor predictor of tomorrow's weather. The forecasts in the daily paper were useless since they always came a day late. The weather wisdom gained from years of living on the prairie was helpful. A knowledge of the wind direction and speed, the appearance of the clouds particularly at sunrise and sunset, and the way the air "felt", were useful but less than reliable guides. The daily weather predictions of the farmer's almanac or the drug store calendar were always consulted but never really believed. There was one principle always to be followed: "Never challenge the elements". And I suppose our overall philosophy was "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst". A morning could be warm, bright and sunny but by afternoon a howling blizzard might be bearing down on the country. Just the opposite could occur too, it may be zero at bedtime but by morning the Chinook winds from the southwest will have melted enough snow to fill the farmyard with puddles. There was one thing we could be sure of: the wind would always be blowing from one direction or another.
Extremely low temperatures, 20 to 40 below, caused little trouble if there was no wind except, possibly in starting the gasoline engine which pumped water for the stock. The animals in the barn, pigpen and chicken house were never endangered by the cold. The heat they generated kept the interior of the buildings above freezing at all times except along the floor where drafts from under the door crept in. There was little that could be done to conserve the heat in the barn except to pile manure against the drafty north door and to cover the feedholes in the haymow floor to prevent the animal heat from escaping to the haymow. The moisture from the animals breathing condensed and froze on the cold outside walls. This feathery deposit of frost added to the insulation.
The blowing snow of blizzard combined with subzero temperatures did present problems. Sometimes the barn 100 feet north of the house was barely visible on account of the snow in the air but it was never too hazardous to make the trip to feed the stock. The animals were not always let out to be watered but if they were released now two at a time to drink their fill, none tarried long at the watering trough; they were glad to return to the warmth of the barn.
Since there was no windbreak of trees to the north and west the full fury of the storms struck the chicken house, pigpen and house. The highest drifts were deposited four or five feet away from the northwest corners of the buildings. The area around the well was usually cleared of deep snow but some accumulated against the south barn door. It was always good practice to leave a shovel outside so that this snow could be dug away. Sometimes a similar pile lay against the doors to the pigpen and chicken coop but it was always possible to gain access since both doors opened in. The back (north) sides of these buildings were often completely covered by the snow.
The wind driving the new fallen snow often swept the plowed fields clear only to deposit it near any obstruction such as weeds, uncut grass, or a farm implement, would cause the snow to collect as a drift in the leeward direction. The drift would be no wider than the obstruction and the higher the wind the longer the drift. Trees and shrubbery did not deflect the wind but slowed it down and the snow was deposited more or less evenly in and around the trees. When the wind approached a haystack, building or other high obstruction it was reflected back before the air made its way around. Consequently the snow was swept away leaving a clear space close to the obstacle and the highest drift formed a few feet away to the windward. When it became nearly as high as the obstruction the open area filled with loosely packed snow and the flow of the air was no longer impeded. The stack or low building became buried in the snow.
During the height of the blizzard the air-borne snow could be seen swirling and whirling in complicated eddies and vortexes around the drifts and buildings. The shapes and locations of the drifts were unpredictable and if the winds shifted during the course of the storm the drifts might be completely restructured. As long as the storm continued the snow carried along by the wind acted as an abrasive and drifts would be eroded away to wavelike grooves and crests on their surfaces. Sometime these forces sculptured the snow into fantastic shapes which were never the same twice. "White as the driven snow" did not always apply to the drifts left by the blizzard. If the amount of fallen snow was light and the wind velocities high the plowed fields were first swept free of snow. Dirt as well as snow was picked up by the wind and the drifts around the buildings were often a dirty gray combination of snow and black soil.
The snow driven by the wind packed solidly enough to support the weight of a man. It could be cut with a shovel into hard but friable blocks. More than once I tried to build snow houses from the chunks of snow. I think it was during the winter of 1918-1919 that an exceptionally high drift formed just north of the house; it was so high that I could not see over it when I stood on the back door-steps. The height of the drift diminished to the east and the easiest access to the barn was to make a roundabout trip by the well where the snow was never more than six inches deep. I dug into the drift and made a sort of stairway in the drift so one could walk up and over it directly to the barn. Another blizzard came along a few days later, my steps in the drift filled in and I left them that way. The same storm left a drift about six feet high between the barn and chicken house and I cut a grade level path between the two buildings."
One of the early settlers, Ben Holcomb, related this story.
"Some of the hard times we went through during those early days were as bad as I want to see. We had to store up our winter supply of food and fuel every fall, and go through the winter on that. One time I just escaped being caught out on the open prairie in one of the biggest blizzards I remember. I had seen that buffalo near where New Rockford is now, and my brother and I started out with a team to get it. Three miles from home one of the horses stuck his foot through a badger hole and went lame and we had to turn back, reaching home just before the big storm struck."
Some of the worst winters as reported in the Independent:
1882: The snow was four feet deep on the level prairie and it lay like waves on the ocean. The snow piled up over the roof of the shanty and a good many mornings they had to get up on the roof through the chimney hole and shovel snow inside the shanty to get out and then shovel snow to reach the door. A week seldom went by without a good genuine blizzard. It was bitterly cold and whole winter through, but the men had no way of knowing how cold. "
1883: On March 7, the Holcombs ran out of food supplies. They decided to hitch up the team and try to make it to Jamestown, so they left John Bort with the dog to care for the stock and set out. On the 9th of March a blizzard set in and lasted for three days. A stack of hay was located near the stable; Mr. Bort had to tunnel out 40 feet and cover his path with poles, wire and hay. He carried the hay through this tunnel by walking sideways; as the blizzard was so severe he could not face it. The storm lasted for two days.
Luckily the Holcomb boys had reached Jamestown before the blizzard struck and had not started on their return trip. They reached home the second day after the storm ended.
This blizzard was called the "Wiggins Blizzard", named after the man who predicted it. The pioneers awoke in the morning to find the beds and everything in the shack covered with snow.
Around the 25th of March, the weather broke and the whole prairie turned into a lake. Mr. Bort and one of the Holcombs drove to Jamestown to buy seed. They got as far as the west side of Jamestown and had to wait there three or four days before they could get into the city as the high water had washed out the bridge across the James River. They bought seed oats but couldn't plant until early in May because of the water.
1886: Hans C. Leean wrote this report about some homesteaders that attempted to visit their claims and were caught in the blizzard. (Translated from Norwegian to English by Borghild Black).
"It was in the middle of November 1886, that Forstern J. Elvrum, Levi Sem, Hans H. Moen, Iver A. Elvrum, and I left with a horse team and wagon from Blanchard in Traill County, going west to Glenfield, Foster County to spend a few nights on the land. We had provision for three days, when we left Cooperstown, which is 24 miles from our claims.
In the evening of November 18 we all gathered in Forstern Elvrum's shanty, planning to leave in the morning for Blanchard. But during the night a fierce storm (snow) blew up from the Northeast, so that the snow blew in between the boards of the shanty. We could hardly get out to the little sod-stable which was almost snowed under. Our provisions were almost used up, and we divided up the last crumbs in the evening. We had no wood or other fuel, no water and no food, except about a peck of small half-frozen potatoes and a cup of salt.
Yes, the evening of November 19 came, and the storm grew in strength so that we were afraid that the shanty would blow over. We were hungry and in a sinking mood. We all had fur coats so we dressed ourselves in those and went down in the cellar and lay down side by side on the bare ground.
Naturally we couldn't sleep, because we expected any minute that the shanty would blow away and we would be buried in the snow.
On the morning of November 20 it was even worse; it snowed and blew continuously. We held a counsel and the outcome was that we decided we would either go out and find people or we would die out on the prairie.
About 10 o'clock in the morning the wind swung to the Northwest, and according to our reckoning we would, in about an hour and a half going with the wind, find the home of two Americans.
We put Iver A. Elvrum, who was 60 years old, in the wagon and the four of us marched single file in front, we found no trail- only prairie. We went with the wind, and finally came to a plowed field. We followed this and found the home of the two Americans, but they had no food, either. They were planning to leave, but the storm prevented that. They must have had a little food, because they didn't want to join us.
There was nothing else to do but to press ahead. By using the wind as a compass, we kept going, and about 12:30 p.m. we glimpsed a house ahead, and found another American, who lived there with his family. The wife put the potato kettle and frying pan on the stove and also the teakettle. Our appetite must have been good, because it cost each of us thirty-five cents.
After we had rested a bit, the storm began to subside, and the sun came out. Now we could see a shanty here and there, and since our host had no room for us we had to go out again. About 5 p.m. the same evening we came to the home of a German and there we stayed overnight.
It took us exactly six days to go 75 miles back to Blanchard, because we only had a wagon to drive and much snow fell. The following spring all went back to their claims, and most now have good and pretty farms."
This story was told at the Olaus Gustad Golden wedding
The Gustad tarpaper shack saved three men in the 1886 blizzard:
The men had left the wagon about 12 feet from the door of the tar box house. The next morning when they woke there was two feet of snow and a blizzard so thick that they couldn't see the wagon. Towards evening they mustered enough courage to try to reach the stable to feed the few animals that were there.
The storm came from the northwest, and going with the wind we made the stable all right but coming back was a different thing. Blinded by the snow, we walked until we struck a bare spot and discovered it was the firebreak north of the house. We had completely missed the house. We stood on the firebreak cleaning the snow out of our faces. I happened to stand facing in a straight line toward the house and all at once I noticed a small black spot, then it disappeared. I did not dare turn my head. I started to run and yelled to Olaus and John to follow me. We all bumped up against the house before we -saw it. The storm continued for three days with the temperature 20 to 35 below zero. We could never have lived in that storm.
Mr. Ed Johnson will never forget the blizzard of 1886. "It was a bad one. It was late in the fall and a nice day. Mr. Jordan, the carpenter, told Ed's dad that they should get the stock in because a real blizzard was coming. They had to drive the stock to the James River for water, as it was too big of a job to pump water for the 103 head of stock. They lost five head of cattle in that blizzard.
Mr. G.T. Lund described the winter of 1886 as the worst that he had seen since he had come to Foster County. He went to town one Friday morning and didn't get back home until Thursday of the next week. His family was at home in the sod house. They had run short of wood and had to use twisted hay for fuel.
1887-1888: (J.P. Kidder of Melville tells this story)
"Coming from the east I had no real idea as to what a blizzard was. My first experience with blizzards was a severe one. I moved onto a homestead a week before Thanksgiving. It was on a Thursday that I moved. It was a warm day. On Sat. it commenced to get colder and a strong northeast wind came up. The wind blew all day Saturday. Sunday it began to snow and by Monday morning there was about two feet of snow. My claim was five miles from the nearest neighbor. There was a closer claim but the parties had gone for the winter. I had a team and a cow. When I went to the stable Monday morning the snow had blown in until the stock had their backs against the joists. It stood me in hand to get them out of there. I knew of a neighbor's claim where there was a better stable and where there was some feed. I had to go a mile and a half in one direction, cut a hole in the ice in a slough to get water for the stock, and then go one-half mile in the opposite direction to get to the stable mentioned. It was all right until I started to return. There was a strip of plowing to cross. When I went to make the return trip I couldn't find the road that crossed the prairie to my shack. This may sound foolish to a tenderfoot (that was what easterners were called) but the old-timers knew exactly what it means to be on the prairie without a road in a blizzard.
"I finally found my road and you can guess I was relieved when my shack came into sight. The thermometer dropped to 40 below zero on Thanksgiving Day and it did not get warm enough to melt the snow from the roof of the shack for over two months."
Mrs. Tom Posey told the story of a man and his nephew.
"The two were out doing the evening chores. They became so bewildered that they lost their sense of direction entirely and wandered away from the buildings. After walking for some time through the blinding storm, they ran into a straw-stack. The man making a hole in the stack, pushed the boy in first and followed him, stuffing up the opening the best as he could, and there they waited until daylight.
"The storm had abated and they started for home. The boy beyond being cold and numb was none the worse for his adventure, owing to his uncle having sent him in first and then protecting him with his own body, but the latter had not fared so well. His hands were badly frosted and his feet frozen, the scars of which he carried all of his life. It was a terrible trip. The boy was so drowsy he lay down several times and literally had to be whipped to his feet by his uncle, who was in such agony he could scarcely walk. They finally reached the house to find the wife nearly crazy. She had walked the floor all night and had about given up all hope of seeing them alive."
Joseph Hamel, Sr. a veteran railroad man relates this story:
"During this time one winter's day when it was 42 degrees below zero, we had to go north of Carrington to fix a broken rail. One man went on north to look over the track to see if it was safe and he told me if a train came along to flag it. I walked around in that awful cold to keep from freezing. The air was so full of frost that most anything looked a lot bigger than it was. As I saw what I thought was a train just coming up over a hill. I flagged for all I was worth but was soon surprised to see it was only the man who had gone on ahead to inspect the rails."
1893: (Kallberg report)
There was a blizzard in the spring of the year, one day in March. Mr. Kallberg and a friend drove to town. They went in the friend's sleigh as there was at least two feet or more of snow on the ground. During the day it had been thawing and the snow was heavy. On their way home it began to get colder; they were hurrying along to get home before dark. The friend, Mr. Elwood, lived a good many miles further west in Wells County. They had quite a lot of lumber in the back of the sleigh which they were taking to Will's parents' home. All of a sudden the blizzard struck with such force as to tip the sleigh, lumber and all, over onto the horses. The men were thrown clear but the horses were frightened and ran. They were extra fine horses, belonging to Mr. Elwood and the men tried to follow them. The snow was heavy and deep. They could only step in the horses tracks, which sunk way down.
After some time the snow became so thick that they could see almost nothing. The accident had happened some two miles from the Kallberg's house so they decided they had better go in and take no more chances on getting lost.
The next morning it was clear and when they looked out the horses were some 50 feet from the house. One horse had tripped and gone head first into a drift, breaking his neck, and the other horse, harnessed to the first one and not able to get away, had frozen to death. It was a great loss to Mr. Elwood as horses were scarce then and expensive to buy.
1895:
A record blizzard raged at Carrington all day Thanksgiving Day and the Friday following. The air was so filled with snow particles that a man could not see a foot in front of him.
When the storm abated the north side of Main Street had a drift that extended to the tops of the store buildings and men sat on the cornices and dangled their feet on the top of the drift. It sloped southward to the opposite side of the street where the snow was not as deep.
A tunnel was dug on the north side of the Main street extending from the Galehouse Drug store half a block to where Sears is now located. This tunnel was used for a month.
1896-1897:
October 28, 1896: Many old-settlers remember that winter as the winter that "gave the state its reputation that dozens pf elegant winters since have failed to overcome.
Mr. Isak Olson recalled that it was a winter of deep snow. The climax of that winter came on Thanksgiving Day. Starting out with a pleasant afternoon, soon after the turkey had been put away the wind came up and was soon a howling blizzard. It raged for three days. Few people even left their homes while it continued.
The winds whipped the snow into a blinding mass that made it impossible for one to keep his eyes open more than a minute or two after he had ventured outdoors.
"It was fine as flour, that snow", said J.P. O'Leary. "It would form a crust over your eyes in a minute. For those three days I was in the Kirkwood Hotel. Once I ventured out with a few others to go to the post office. We got only as far as the corner, a half block away. After the blizzard there were 25 bushels of snow in the attic of the Kirkwood that had come through a nail hole in the west wall."
There was little stock in the country in those days, practically none except horses and most of these were out on the open prairie. Most farmers did not get to their barns for the three days that the blizzard raged. John Rogers of Bordulac recalls that he made the attempt on the third day. He had to go west only a short distance to the barn and after he had walked the distance he thought should have brought him there, he found that he was headed south instead of west, getting his bearings from the creaking of a windmill. He returned to the house and was thankful he had not been lost while out only a few rods from it.
Judge Graham said that during the blizzard enough snow would come through a key hole on the west or northwest sides of the building to fill a room.
A group of Indians, making their annual trek from Standing Rock to Fort Totten got caught in a three-day blizzard at the Hawksnest. So deep was the snow it was impossible for the people to travel in their crude horse-drawn vehicles. The horses were turned loose, and the Indians sheltered themselves in their tepees. There were about 200 of them, men, women, and children. Because of the fierceness of the blizzard, the Indians lost about 100 of their horses. The Indians had plenty of firewood so managed to keep warm enough and no humans perished.
Word got to Carrington of the plight of the Indians and immediately help was sent to them. Three sleighs were recruited from draymen and farmers each with a double team hitched to it, and an expert driver on each sleigh. The three outfits drove to
Hawksnest and loaded the Indians and their equipment in the boxes and sleighs. Not all the Indians got into the boxes but the women and children and old people were hauled, while the younger men walked. In Carrington they were given shelter and food and they remained there until a train arrived to haul them to Minnewauken. (Isak Olson told the above account.)
George Hall tells this version of the story when he, was interviewed for the Independent.
When my brother, Ralph, was Indian agent up at Fort Totten he let a party of Indians go off on a visit to the Pine Rock reservation pretty late in the season. On their way back they got caught in a blizzard out in the Hawknest hills and were snowed in and I had the tribe of 750 Indians on my hands for three weeks.
Their chief Irish Mike came up to my house about 10 o'clock at night to get help. We got them into Carrington and they put up their tents behind the Kirkwood hotel. I sure had my hands full with them. They would come prowling around and looked in the windows, they'd be around the house at all hours of the night, and they had the kids just scared to death.
It cost me $1500 just for grub for the bunch the three weeks I had them here. They'd come and ask me for coffee and tea and sugar and tobacco, and then hide it under their tents. I get hell for giving them everything they asked for, after the reservation men came, but they had to pay the bill.
The balance of the winter after Thanksgiving, old settlers recalled while talking over the blizzard remained cold with much snow that packed as hard as ice.
It was the regular thing, they said, for teams to drive right over huge snowdrifts, so tightly was the snow packed. One man, a few days after the blizzard, was seen poking a pole into the drifts near the Putnam lumberyard. A query to him brought the reply that he had a haystack covered up somewhere near there and was prospecting for it.
(Doctors and Blizzards- Soliday report)
1898:
Dr. MacKenzie and Dr. Maclachlan were called out to see James Hamilton about five miles north of town, who was lying critically ill with typhoid fever. One of the worst blizzards of the season developed that day and while only five miles from town they were forced to remain three days until the storm subsided and all the neighbors helped to make a new trail. The old one had entirely disappeared. There were no telephones or communication and much concern was felt about their safety. A searching party was about to be organized when they appeared. Many times has he come home with frozen fingers, toes and nose; and icicles all around his face. Remember one time he came in and it took me almost five minutes to unfasten the safety pins that dear old Grandma Nicholson had pinned around his head as a protection.
Other stories collected by Dorothy Quenemoen.
March 20, 1902:
The storm began Friday afternoon and continued throughout the night. By Saturday night it had reached its height so all day Sunday the wind blew a perfect hurricane. There was not a team on the streets. The blizzard was described as far worse than the memorable one of 1896 because the wind was stronger and kept up longer but not as much snow fell. The trains on both the Northern Pacific and the Soo were stalled.
No trains arrived on the Northern Pacific until Wednesday afternoon. The rotary snowplow came up to break a trail and got only as far as New Rockford. Many houses in the city were completely snowed in and the occupants had to be shoveled out. Main street was filled with snow and completely blocked. On the north side of Main street the snow was heaped up in front of the stores up to 12 to 15 feet high in some places.
Reports came in of livestock loss and many cattle strayed away from the farms.
1907- January 10:
John Rheist, an employee of Geiger Brothers went out in the blizzard of last Thursday to haul straw. The storm became so bad he unhitched the team and started for the house. The horses got stuck in the snowdrifts and finding that he was lost abandoned the horses and wandered around until he came to a telephone pole. He followed the line for one and a half miles and arrived at the home of Erick Hjelseth from where he telephoned home and relieved the anxiety there which had been occasioned by his long absence. The horses were found the next day several miles east and south of the place where they became lost.
Other early experiences-any times that he was lost. Finally his horses stopped. When Mr. Nicolson went to investigate, he found that their heads were against their barn door.
One time when the Henry Ewen family was attempting to go home from an evening meeting in Carrington, they became lost. It had been a beautiful evening. There was a haze in the western sky but it was bright and nippy. When they reached the McIntyre corner, the moon became clouded over. A blizzard struck and they could see nothing. Nellie Ewen Wiltschko who related this story said that her father hoped that the horses knew the way home. After ages, it seemed, the team stopped near a building.
When her father got out, he found that they were at the Kenneth Ferguson homestead on the shores of Templeton Lake. Her father saw an outline of the house and made a dash for it; Mr. Ferguson got up and lit the lantern. They brought the family into the house. The children slept on the floor while the grownups sat up all night drinking coffee.
The above stories collected by Dorothy Ferguson Quenemoen
(Joseph Hamel, veteran railroader reports about train activities)
The winter of 1906‑07 will never be forgotten. One day a train got through the cuts from Jamestown to Carrington and brought in a short train of coal, Carrington being almost out of fuel. When it got here, the engine was about out of water and they cut the train to run up three miles north to the water tank. When they got about 1,000 feet north of the Soo crossing the engine got stuck in a surface drift and we were called to "snow them up." We kept that up until the next day when another engine was sent up from Jamestown. It got within about 200 feet of the one we had been working on and got stuck. Then we had both on our hands for two solid weeks. We shoveled snow into the manholes night and day and the engineer sent in steam through the hose to melt it. Draymen from Carrington hauled out coal to keep the fires going in the boilers. None of us got any sleep, you might say, for those two weeks. While we were at this work, the passenger train was on the sidetracks at Sheyenne for 14 days.
1909‑ January 7
Worst storm in years with 35 below zero and strong northwest winds. Few if any buildings were warm. School was dismissed because it was impossible to heat the building.
1910:
It snowed all winter with six or eight feet on the level. The trail to town was so packed and so high that the horses would stumble off it.
1932‑ February 18:
Worst blizzard in years with drifts up to 20 feet. Storm lasted for two days.
1936‑ February 20:
Blizzard struck late Sunday with the temperature in the lower '20's. The blinding wall of snow swept the country all day Monday carried by a freezing wind. The storm gradually died out Tuesday forenoon and the temperatures went up close to the zero mark by 6 o'clock. A new low record was set Friday night, when the temperature dropped to ‑43 below.
According to the Fargo Forum, the only weather story that hadn't been reported yet was that the hot stove froze when the Melville Fixit club was in session. The Forum says that when the club members saw their weather stories freeze, they put them in cold storage for the rest of the winter and will release them at the July session.
1941:
Blizzard hit suddenly. Many cows wandered away from the farms. Some were found as far as three miles away from their farm.
1950‑ March 30:
The worst storm of 1950 came after the first day of spring, blocking roads, leaving people stranded, isolating towns and causing some misery.
Rain, snow and wind beginning Sunday morning combined to give this area and a greater portion of the state and other states, too, as it gained in intensity throughout Sunday afternoon and night and most of Monday. Rain fell for most of an hour Sunday afternoon, threatening this area with power loss because of ice‑laden wires. But the temperature was high enough to prevent the freezing and later as the temperatures did go lower snow fell heavily.
The winds reached high velocity late Sunday and raged furiously throughout Monday beginning to abate that night.
The wet snow did not move as readily as in previous storms consequently all highways and country roads were blocked, and it was not until after Tuesday that some of the roads could be traveled on again.
1966:
The heaviest snowfall of the year fell in early February. About seven inches were recorded. This was to appear but a drop in the bucket after that received in the following month.
March brought the blizzard with 19 inches of snow. The blizzard lasted three days with many roads blocked. The run‑off from the heavy snow's eventual thaw caused a washout of the Northern Pacific tracks six miles west of Carrington resulting in a train wreck.
1967‑ May
A late storm brought nine inches of snow to area. Damage to power lines and telephone lines. Some freakish lightning accompanied the snow. Schools were closed on May day. Little travel on the highways.
1975‑ January 9‑10‑11‑12, Snirt Storm
Blizzard left hundreds of cattle dead in the area. High winds with snow mixed with dirt was the cause of the problem.
A Bordulac mother and her three children were stalled in a pick‑up from about 9 p.m. Friday till about noon on Saturday. Neighbors were out searching for them from various directions. The visibility was so bad that rescuers drove right by them without seeing them the first time. Sleeping bags and snowmobiles suits kept the family from freezing. They were found in good condition other than a few cramped muscles.
Source: A History of Foster County 1983 Page 77