Seattle Now & Then: The Monohon Fire, 1925

(click to enlarge photos)

THEN1: The Monohon depot, servicing the Northern Pacific Railroad, is shown circa 1909. This may be the stationmaster and his family in their gated garden, the railroad’s yin-yang logo hanging from a gazebo. (Paul Dorpat collection)
NOW: Standing on the train-depot site on a rainy day in May are (from left) Issaquah Historical Museums Executive Director Paul Winterstein, Maynard Pilie, historian Phil Dougherty, Claradelle and Harry Shedd and David Bangs. They’re hoisting an original Monohon sign from the museums’ collection. An unidentified dog walker pauses on the former train tracks. (Jean Sherrard)

Published in The Seattle Times online on June 26, 2025
and in PacificNW Magazine of the printed Times on June 29, 2025

Lake Sammamish town’s fiery 1925 demise echoes today
By Jean Sherrard

History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes. Accordingly, burning 100 years ago were conflagrations whose embers rekindle today with the threat of literal and figurative five-alarm fires.

On Thursday, June 25, 1925, the thermometer atop Seattle’s18-story Hoge Building recorded the then-warmest temperature in Northwest history. As the mercury climbed to 98 degrees, the city’s two major dailies sported banner weather headlines.

Although “numerous small fires” had broken out across Western Washington, the Seattle Times assured its readers that “they were reported under control.” Further, “fire wardens [will] exercise every precaution as long as the dry weather remains.”

The hamlet of Monohon, with dozens of millworkers’ houses overlooking Lake Sammamish, was home to the J.E. Bratnober sawmill, where a cast-off cigarette caused complete loss. (Courtesy Eastside Heritage Center)

The next day, however, hopes evaporated when the Lake Sammamish mill town of Monohon, four miles north of Issaquah, went up in smoke. The fire began just after noon, reported the Post-Intelligencer’s R.B. Bermann, when “a cigarette tossed aside in the [sawmill’s] washroom started a conflagration which raged unchecked until the whole settlement was virtually destroyed.”

Along with dozens of homes, Monohon’s railroad depot, hotel, general store and the J.E. Bratnober sawmill were “blotted from the earth,” Bermann said, “as though some gigantic monster had stepped on [them], crushing everything to the ground.”

The intense heat had shriveled vegetables on their vines and blackened trees within hundreds of yards. Young chickens in their coops were “baked to a crisp.”

Firefighting efforts were stymied when the road running through town was engulfed in flames. Inadequate hoses and pumps having failed, “attempts to check [the fire] with dynamite … blew blazing timbers all over town, starting dozens of new fires.”

Historian Phil Dougherty, whose HistoryLink essay offers a thorough and colorful account of the disaster and its aftermath, wrote, “The mill rebuilt and survived

After the June 26, 1925 fire, nothing remained but the mill’s conical incinerator. (Courtesy Issaquah History Museums)

in various incarnations until 1980, but Monohon itself was gone.” Though no deaths or injuries were reported, “everything that had made this little town of 300 souls almost the Valhalla of Lake Sammamish — gone.”

A century later, these events continue to send up smoke signals.

The National Forest Service, whose hotshot crews of firefighters have battled wilderness infernos for the past hundred years, has been decimated by workforce cuts from the Trump administration.

As recently detailed in The Seattle Times, significant personnel losses are reported by individual forests across Washington state.

Forest Service officials privately predict disaster for the upcoming fire season, one Washington manager saying that without experienced employees, “the West will burn.”

This is one rhyme we can only hope against hope not to repeat.

Part of a Post-Intelligencer photo pastiche published two days after the fire. At left, salvaged furniture sits in stacks just west of town. The inset photo records the June family with son Wesley, 2, after they lost their home and belongings. (Seattle P-I Archives)
WEB EXTRAS

Noting a compass correction: As several readers have commented, Monohon is not 4 miles west of Issaquah, but due north. I was misled by the P-I article printed the day after the fire, which sent me in the wrong direction!

Click on through for our narrated 360 degree video.

A fascinating and somewhat alarming side note: only two weeks later, on July 10, 1925, the Scopes “monkey trial” was about to commence, in which the pugnacious perennial populist presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan prosecuted a science teacher who broke a Tennessee law forbidding mention of evolution in the classroom. On the Scopes trial centennial, a bell tolls for scientific inquiry and education, ringing out another rhyming echo.

3 thoughts on “Seattle Now & Then: The Monohon Fire, 1925”

  1. The article describes Monohon as 4 miles west of Issaquah, but unless I’m turned around (wouldn’t be the first time!) wasn’t it NORTH of Issaquah?

    1. You aren’t turned around, Dave! Monohon WAS north of Issaquah, of course. I repeated the directional error in the first post-fire article written in the P-I. – that will teach me to always double check my sources!

      1. It would most likely be “railroad west” in Northern Pacific assignment of that track. That track runs from Renton to North Bend via Bellevue, Woodinville, Monohan, Issaquah, Preston, Snoqualmie, and North Bend, wigging all over enroute.

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