Holcomb Valley - gold and beauty

The valley is located in the San Bernardino Mountains, in Southern California

When I was a young boy, in the 20th century, my father took me gold panning in the San Bernardino Mountains in the early spring. We spent countless hours on this stream or that stream and finally, after those countless hours, my father stated, “It’s all been played out.”

I didn’t know what that meant, unless he was mentioning how I would tucker-out after playing sports all day with my friends.

“He’s played out.”

My mother would nod her head. “He looks played out.”

Turns out, what he meant was there was no gold to be found where we had been panning.

That wasn’t the case in May of 1860, when gold was found in those same San Bernardino Mountains by William F. Holcomb and Ben Choteau – wonder why it was named Holcomb Valley later on? Perhaps Ben’s last name sounded like somewhere one would spend the weekend in the French winery in the country.

Thar’s gold in them hills!

Anyway, gold was found by these two gentlemen, and like any gold discovery secrecy was not very secret.

“You know, Holcomb found gold right beneath the surface up in the mountains,” a miner stated to another miner – I wasn’t there for this conversation.

“What about Choteau?”

“I think he’s introducing a new vintage of Chardonnay soon.”

An arrastre, where the miners ground the quartz into manageable pieces

With the news of the gold, literally being dug out of the ground in the valley just north of present day Big Bear Lake, prospectors flooded the area looking for their own dreams of riches.
It should be noted, that gold was considered a precious metal during those days, not like today. No one would desire a gold necklace, earrings or bracelet during these enlightened times we now live. That would be just a waste of sparkly minerals and be so personally shallow.

Laureen, are you reading this?

Within months, the area boasted a population of 1,500 people. That doesn’t sound like a lot of folks, but it was. Considering the hardship these pioneers had to endure just to reach the mountain top from the San Bernardino valleys far below this was a lot of people.

Holcomb valley is rich in beauty, not just gold

Seems there is a theme when I write many of these articles, the fortitude and strength these adventurers showed is truly awe inspiring.

To get to Holcomb Valley today, we simply drive up in our comfy vehicles, turn on to a dirt road and within a short time are motoring around a beautiful serene mountain valley. Lush, with green grasses, willowy bushes, and tall proud pines.

This gold discovery occurred just a short decade after California had become a state. This new and very large piece of real estate was a titch over 2,600 miles from the capital of the United States in Washington D.C.  This was really new land for exploring – all of these pioneers were a tough breed to venture so far from ‘civilized’ civilization on the east coast.

But even prior to Holcomb and Choteau, this valley, as well as the Big Bear Valley – before it was known as such, was the part-time residence of the Serrano Native American’s. They would migrate to the mountains during the late spring and summer months to get out of the heat of the below deserts or lands near modern day San Bernardino. Here they would hunt, gather food stuffs and fish in the mountain creeks. With the coming of the cold winter, they would travel off the mountain and back to the deserts below.

Then, around 1845 a posse of about twenty men, led by Benjamin Wilson – who would be the grandfather of General George S. Patton - rode into Big Bear Valley chasing a couple of outlaws, who had been raiding ranches in what would later become the city of Riverside. Not sure if they caught the desperadoes, but what they did find was the land crawling with Grizzly Bears – thus how Big Bear obtained its current name.

Yes, I wrote – Grizzly Bears, as in grizzles!

The hunt for bear skins was on and, unfortunately, research indicates that around 1906 the last Grizzly Bear was killed in the mountains. In October of 1916, supposedly, the last Grizzly Bear was killed in California by a farmer by the name of Cornelius B. Johnson in Los Angeles County.
Strange that the Grizzly Bear was named California’s official State Animal in 1953. Humans wiped them out – perhaps it was a way of saying, Hey, we’re sorry.

We're sorry for wiping you out - forgive us?

Back to Holcomb Valley.

With that discovery of gold, and the secret out, the valley was soon swarming with miners, shop owners, gamblers, whiskey suppliers, and all kinds of other folks who saw there were other ways of making a fortune without getting their fingernails dirty.

The town of Belleville, was born in the booming Holcomb Valley. Literally, the name was delivered by the birth of the first child in the valley named Belle. The citizens thought, in honor of this brave little girl coming into such a rough and tumble world, they would name the town after her.

Laureen looking out of the window of an early settler cabin

Belleville soon was the fourth largest town in Southern California, but with many of the unsavory characters who found their way up the mountain, it also became a rather desperate place to live. True frontier justice – that’d be vigilante justice, was the norm for the day to try to corral these bad hombres.

Hang in there Belle!

The gold kept coming and the miners kept digging. Soon, this area was producing the most gold and wealth of any other mining area in Southern California.

But with all things golden, the time for Belleville started to decline and by 1870 most of the population had moved on for other golden opportunities. Soon, nothing was left but a valley scarred by the remnants of past mining activities amidst one or two reminders that humans once resided here.
A drive through the valley is well worth the time. There is an interpretative guide that can be picked up at the Big Bear Discovery Center in Fawnskin, which will point out some pretty interesting places in Holcomb Valley – a miner’s cabin, a slag pile from past gold diggings, an arrastre, and so many other sites to view.

John standing in the same settler cabin, looking oh so cool

So, get out of the heat of the desert and take a historical drive through Holcomb Valley or a mountain valley near you - if there is one. When Laureen and I went, it was twenty-one degrees cooler. That alone is worth the drive, when the summer sizzles and the thermometer is reaching a hundred and seventy degrees.

Stay cool, our friends.

Wrightwood - a Wonderful Respite

The View on the main street in Wrightwood is gorgeous!

 With the gentle breezes caressing the High Desert on a recent Saturday, Laureen and I decided on an early morning drive to the close mountain community of Wrightwood.

Okay, the winds were howling from the south so intensely that a neighbor’s cow flew past our kitchen window. I thought they were shooting a remake of Twister nearby.

“Three straight days of gale force gusts,” I observed. “Let’s head for Wrightwood; maybe the San Gabriels will protect us?”

I remember when I moved to the High Desert back in 1987.  My new neighbor told me that I’d get used to the winds.

He lied. Time to head for the mountains for a respite.

I figured, perhaps the mountains named after the Archangel Gabriel, could possibly buffer the winds we had been suffering from day after day. This angel, according to theologians, played a pretty important role back in the day protecting all sorts of people. Maybe, he’d protect two weary residents from the High Desert from the onslaught of daily 300 miles per hour gusts.

Not sure if it was divine intervention or not, but as we drove into Wrightwood, there were no winds and a very sunny sun above us.

“See, I was right.”

Laureen peered out of the windshield as I found a parking spot. “The mountains act as a barrier; that’s why there’s no wind right now.”

“Ye of so little faith.”

Wrightwood is one of those small towns that beg a visitor just too just Keep Calm and Relax. That could be a great saying on a button. Reminder to self, check marketing on that concept.
Since it was pretty early, the town was just waking up, and parking along Park Drive - appropriate name to park – was easy.

As we exited the vehicle, we both knew that we had overdressed for the outing. The High Desert, with wind gusts of nearly four hundred miles per hour, was a rather chilly 50 degrees below zero, so we had worn parkas, lined jeans, and emus. And this was the beginning of June!
Okay, sweatshirts, jeans and sneakers, but still, with no wind and a bright, cheery sun hovering in the sky, we were suddenly overheated.

“We need to go shopping for short-sleeved shirts,” Laureen stated, unequivocally.

Wow, shopping. That was a surprise.

Wrightwood has a pretty interesting history, as do most places we travel, when you dig into the past.
This beautiful town snuggled into a long valley on the north side of the San Gabriel Mountains is the epitome of human ingenuity.

For more on the history - visit the Wrightwood museum.

In the 19th century, the area was utilized for cattle ranches started by two brothers, Nathan and Truman Swarthout. In fact, the valley in which Wrightwood is now located is the Swarthout Valley, was named after the two brother ranchers.

Later on, a man by the name of Sumner Wright – hmmm, I think there’s a clue here. Wright ended up owning the largest ranch in the wooded area. Wright saw the future of this haven of tall trees and cool temperatures, and began breaking up the ranch into commercial and residential lots. Soon, people were coming from all over Southern California to escape from the heat and crowds from down the hill.

You know, down the hill.

By the early 1920’s, a town had formed, and more and more people were flocking to Swarthout Valley. A boom was beginning. Soon, people who loved snow skiing saw a perfect opportunity on the steep north sides of the San Gabriels and Big Pines Park was developed into a ski resort in 1924. This area, originally was part of a Los Angeles County park.

From there the popularity flourished and the area nearly won the chance to host the 1932 Winter Olympics. There was a big campaign, especially since down the hill, Los Angeles was hosting the Summer Olympic Games, but no – the Olympic committee didn’t believe the area could support all that was needed to be the host of such a well-known world-wide event.

The winner for the winter Olympics of 1932 was Lake Placid, New York. New Yorkers? I mean really. Who wouldn’t rather be in California? They already had the best pizza and hot dogs, then they stole our Olympics. Don’t get me started on New York.

Anyway, Big Pines Park changed its name to the Blue Ridge Ski Area and then eventually to the more familiar Mountain High Ski Resort. This ski area, in the Swarthout Valley is one of the oldest ski areas in the United States. Who’d have thunk it?

We found a couple of shirts (alas, shopping never ceases in my world) and wandered about the town, enjoying the solitude.

A visit to the Veteran’s Memorial on Evergreen Road, was an emotional moment. A beautifully carved memorial stands proudly at the entrance, and the serene setting behind it offers the visitor or local a chance to thank all those who have served our country - past, present or future.

A serene setting to thank those who have or will serve.

Towering pine trees line the streets and fill the mountainsides – Jeffery, Douglas-fir, sugar, ponderosa, Coulter, black oak, and many more pines are there to enjoy. It’s a veritable cornucopia of pine trees. Our favorite is the Jeffery pine. If you stick your nose into the bark, there is a slight aroma of vanilla. Of course, you want to do that on the sly, when no one is looking.

Off of Pine Street is a skate park, and the Hollis M. Stewart Children’s Park. A great place to picnic while the kids run around like crazy, having fun.

The park is fun for kids of all ages.

Wrightwood is truly worth the trip, no matter the time of year.

According to a long-time resident by the name of Denice, “Wrightwood is one of those places people love to visit during any season. The winter for the skiing and sledding, and the rest of the year to hike, bike, or just to walk around and relax in our beautiful weather.”

And, Wrightwood is open! Get thee behind us, COVID-19!

“Soon, we’ll be seeing people visiting from all over Southern California again after the virus. On a typical weekend, there are huge crowds enjoying themselves. My husband and I have lived here thirty years, and we love it.”

Loving Wrightwood is easy to understand. For a day, a few days, or living there permanently, it is one of our favorite places to visit. Come on, that’s the best of both worlds.

I don’t even know what that truly means – but a trip to Swarthout Valley is a must.

Wonderchicken

As individual states begin implementing phased lifting of quarantine, we wonder if, in the shifting attention of many Americans, folks will soon begin to forget much of what we’ve collectively experienced for the past two months.

Will they forget about social distancing and toilet paper hoarding? Will they forget about masks and zoom meetings interrupted by children and spouses in underwear? Will all this fade happily into memory? Doubtful. No. More likely we won’t quickly forget much of this. But no matter the short attention spans of some of us or the desire to go back to our old ways of doing things, there is one thing we know none of us could possibly forget: the Wonderchicken.

What? Don’t tell me that you never even heard of a wonderchicken!

Are you saying that when the news of wonderchicken broke – at the same time the COVID-19 pandemic was truly heating up here in the US – you weren’t paying attention to the discovery of the 67-million-year old ancestor of our beloved fowl? Well, sit back. Let’s get you caught up.

During the Cretaceous period, wonderchicken would have been wandering around with the likes of triceratops, parasaurolophus, stegosaurus, and the maiasaurs. Maybe running around the legs of the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex. Perhaps little wonderchicken stared up into blue skies at a flying pterosaur, or was caught stargazing when a large asteroid headed her way.  Perhaps that’s why she was named Asteriornis maastrichtensis, after Asteria, the Greek goddess of falling stars who could transform herself into a quail.

This quail looks like it's wearing a hat, or a crown, depending on your point of view...

Wonderchicken made her debut on this planet just two million years before the great asteroid strike is theorized to have wiped out the giant dinosaurs, and may provide scientists some much needed information to fill in the gaps of how our modern day birds descended from their dinoancestors.
Dr. Daniel Field of the University of Cambridge, provided details of this unique specimen of the only nearly complete skull of an ancestrally modern bird from the age of dinosaurs discovered thus far.

Dr. Daniel Field of the University of Cambridge with the 3-D printed skull
of Asteriornis maastrichensis, aka Wonderchicken. Photo credit: D.J. Field/Univ of Cambridge

Found in a quarry on the Netherlands-Belgium border, and weighing less than a pound, wonderchicken appears to be the tiny great grandmother of modern chickens, ducks and other poultry. Perhaps she was the original Turducken, despite being close the size of a Cornish Hen?

We also know that wonderchicken had long, slender legs, well-adapted to living on a tropical beach.

Wait, I thought he said wonderchicken lived in the Netherlands-Belgium area….not Hawaii. Well, climate change happens. It is also possible, paleo-ornithologists tell us, that wonderchicken could even fly. Winging her little way around the Belgium Bahamas, looking for dinner….avoiding becoming dinner.

This newly discovered fossilized bird could be the earliest ancestor of every feathered fowl on our planet.
Photo credit: Phillip Krzeminski/BBC

This news originally broke March 18th in Nature and Science News and was immediately picked up by National Geographic and others. California was on whatever euphemism we are using for COVID-19 lockdown and most of the nation was headed that way as well. As we start to lift our heads cautiously up and out, peaking around at our surroundings, let us remember brave little Wonderchicken. The survivor. She braved the great T-Rex and her children survive to this day. We can do it, too. The sky is not falling.

Long Live Wonderchicken!