User:Dravecky/Sandbox/Weather Goats



Radio station KRSB in Roseburg, Oregon, gives two weather forecasts. One comes from the United States Weather Service, the other from people who watch wild goats. When goats move toward the top of nearby Mount Nebo, Roseburg residents expect fair weather. If the goats stay near the bottom, rain is predicted. During one two-week period, the goats were right 90 per cent of the time; the Weather Service scored 65 per cent.



It seems as if the weather can be very unpredictable at times. And at times, it certainly isn't an exact science. Even with all the high-tech modern devices available, some of the old weather methods are just as good an indicator of what's coming.

I'm reminded of the goats off Interstate 5 near Roseburg back in the 1970s. It was an amazing story and made the national news. I still remember the look on NBC's David Brinkley's face as he reported the story. Local residents had their own folklore about these goats, which had been grazing for many years on 1,200-foot Mount Nebo. Reportedly, when the goats were high up on the...

Radio station KRSB began giving daily goat weather forecasts using such phrases as ...

Roseburg even declared their fair city as "Home of the Famous Weather Goats"...



Twenty years ago, a pair of weather-forecasting goats near Roseburg, Oregon, were featured on TV news and in magazines and newspapers worldwide. According to the story, when the goats were up high in the mountains, the weather would be dry or fair. When they grazed on the lower slopes, rain would fall. Local pilots began using the goats as weather predictors, as did people who consulted the goats' position before hanging laundry out to dry.

In 1971, capitalizing on this folklore, weatherman Tom Warden of the Roseburg radio station KRSB began giving Goat Weather Forecasts. Visitors to Roseburg can purchase Goat Observation T-shirts and membership cards promoting the "World's Only Weather Vane Goats."



Twenty years or so ago, residents around Mount Nebo, near Roseburg, Oregon, were able to tune into Goat Weather Forecasts from local station KRSB. Hi, I’m Dave Thurlow and this is the Weather Notebook.

According to local folklore, if the wild goats on the mountain were grazing high up, it meant fine weather. But if they moved down to forage for food, rain could be expected. Needless to say, these goat forecasts became wildly popular, and the station developed its own meteorological shorthand. “Scattered goats” meant sunny conditions were expected. If “Low goat pressure” was mentioned, stormy weather was due. And so these animals provided forecasts at least as accurate as those issued officially, or so the locals maintain.

But then one day a prankster decided to have some fun. Under cover of darkness, he set out cardboard cut-outs which were convincing enough to deceive the broadcaster’s glance up the mountain before making the first forecast of the day. But when the time rolled round for the second, it was suddenly realised that the goats had not moved an inch, and so the joke was discovered. And the culprit? He was traced through the cardboard used, arrested and fined for littering. As to the goats. Eventually, they became dangers to themselves and others, what with straying onto roads and crashing through picture windows. So they were rounded up and taken to live on a farm about fifteen miles from the scene of their meteorological triumphs.



Where are they now? Roseburg's Great Goat Roundup

Southern Oregonians still speak fondly of the time when they used mountain goats to predict the day's weather. Disc jockeys at the Roseburg radio station, KRSB-FM, would peer out the window of the Umpqua Hotel before the weather report and figure out where the goats were grazing.

If the day's weather was good, locals reasoned, the goats would munch higher up the slopes; if it was bad, they'd be further down. But the goats' glory days came to an end when they started hampering I-5 traffic and eating a hospital lawn for dinner.

One resident suggested a barbecue, but instead authorities moved the goats in the late '80s to a ranch, and listeners went back to the National Weather Service.







On a grassy hillside near Roseburg, there once lived a band of wild goats who gained national attention for their uncanny ability to predict the weather. We kid you not.

The goats gained their fame — eventually appearing on the “NBC Nightly News with David Brinkley” on June 6, 1971, and in magazines and newspapers worldwide — simply by grazing up and down Mount Nebo.

If the goats were high on the hillside, fair weather was predicted. If they were grazing down by Interstate 5, one could assume stormy skies were the order of the day, says Vikki Lilliard, office manager for KRBS radio.

“They were called our weather goats,” says Lilliard.

Apparently, locals felt the daily forecasts from the National Weather Service, which were then coming out of Portland, were inaccurate too often.

One day in May 1971, after another prediction of sunny skies turned out to be an all-day rainstorm, radio station owner Tom Warden decided to give local lore a look-see, says Karen Bratton of the Douglas County Museum of History and Natural History in Roseburg.

A 1972 story from The Associated Press lists Warden as giving the goats a week’s trial to prove they were the better meteorologists, says Bratton. By the end of the week, Warden was convinced the goats had the goods — and was giving twice daily “Goat Reports” on his station.

According to the article, over time the goats proved to be 99 percent accurate as opposed to the 60 percent accuracy rate of the Portland prognosticators.

A Goat Observation Corps was formed, with T-shirts and membership cards promoting the “World’s Only Weathervane Goats,” wrote Mary Reed for Weather Talk in 1992.

“People would call in and tell us if the goats were moving,” says Lilliard.

If the herd was grazing topside, disc jockeys announced a “High Goat Day,” with sunny weather expected. If the herd was spread out on the hillside, “Widely Scattered Goats” meant partly sunny skies with a chance of showers. But if the goats came down to the bottom of Mount Nebo, “Low Goat Pressure” was declared — and listeners were advised to bring their brollies.

Reed details a story culled from local historian Homer Brown’s manuscript, “In Search of the Mount Nebo Goats.” A local prankster cut out cardboard goats and erected them on the mountainside one night. Warden got wise to the faux-goat gag one day too late — after giving a bad goat report. The culprit was arrested and spent time in the local hoosegow until he paid a fine for littering.

“‘That’s Incredible’ did a show on them,” says Lilliard, referencing the ’70s show hosted by John Davidson featuring segments depicting bizarre and amazing talents. But increasing traffic on Interstate 5 led to the ultimate demise of the goat report, Lilliard says.

Inclement weather invariably drew the goats down off the mountain — and onto the freeway directly below, says Lilliard. The situation created a safety hazard for goats and I-5 drivers.

“There’s a curve right there and if you didn’t know there could be a goat right there, you could run right into them,” Lilliard says.

In his remarks at former Gov. Bob Straub’s memorial service in 2002, then-Gov. John Kitzhaber recounted an anecdote about the great weathergoat dilemma — a hot political issue in Straub’s 1978 re-election campaign.

“Some genius on Bob’s re-election campaign came up with the idea of building a fence around the mountain to keep the goats off the freeway,” Kitzhaber recalled. “So, when the fence was finished — timed, of course, for maximum political impact — Bob arrived amidst much fanfare and media attention to dedicate his goat fence.

“As he was delivering his stirring remarks about the fence and its monumental contribution to public safety, a goat appeared and then another and wandered across the freeway and onto the grass in the median. Bob looked up from his notes and — without missing a beat — said, ‘Looks like rain.’”

Lilliard agrees the fence was unsuccessful as a deterrent to the stubborn goats whose numbers were flourishing — along with insurance claims from people whose vehicles came into contact with them.

“You know how goats are,” says Lilliard. “They were just happy as larks eating away there in the median.”

Despite the installation of black and yellow warning signs advising motorists of the “Goat Crossing,” the wandering goats created such a traffic danger the herd was shipped to a farm near Oakland about 15 miles from the scene of its meteorological triumphs, Reed wrote.

“I missed them for a long time,” says Lilliard. “But I got over it. I can’t be pining away.

As long as they weren’t getting splashed across the freeway, I was happy.”

Offline or non-free online

 * Online via Lexis:
 * Online via Oregonian paid archives (or maybe free via your library):
 * Online via Lexis:
 * Book: Taylor, George. (1999) The Oregon Weather Book: A State of Extremes. Oregon State University Press.