The not forgotten town of Goffs

 According to Laura Hammonds, the executive director of the Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association, (that is one long title, she has), nearly 3,000 people visit the center each year in Goffs.

People visit so they can learn history - a good thing

Hmmm, what is Goffs? Anyone driving east or west along Highway 40 knows the turn off for Goffs Road. It’s that exit with a certain gas station, won’t say the name but it charges a wee bit higher price for gas than anywhere else. That’s okay – capitalism works and supply and demand is the root of capitalism. But here’s a thought – check your gas gauge before leaving Barstow or Needles. You may be able to afford your kids’ college if you do. Now, I’m a financial whiz.

Back to Goffs.

Goffs, like many of the small towns or villages along Route 66, has an interesting history. And like many, the towns or villages are now non-existent, or very small when it comes to the number of humans living there.

“I’d say, that there are probably ten fulltime residents and maybe twenty-five during peak times,” Laura stated.

Must be very quiet in the desert at night, miles away from the rumble of Highway 40 to the south. Really quiet.

“You can hear a bat flapping its wings while it flies over the Piute Mountains, it’s so quiet here.” That wasn’t really a quote from Laura. I made it up, as I sometimes do – but it must be pretty silent at night – except for one thing:

The railroad that is literally in the town itself. 

“The Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad Goffs crossing is here. The train crosses Route 66 right here at Goffs,” Laura told me. Yes, that’s a real statement, and not one I made up.

That wonderful creation, the railroad which brings us so many of the things we need to make life bearable, sweeps through Goffs at all hours of the day and night, tooting its horn. Things like medicine, food staples, stuff we buy that we don’t really need, and personal hygiene supplies like toilet paper – yes, toilet paper. 

No one will forget the year 2020 – when it wasn’t unusual to see people stop at traffic lights, roll down their windows and ask the driver in another vehicle – Pardon me, but do you happen to have Charmin Ultra-Soft?

Goffs was originally named, Blake, in 1893 after Isaac Blake, who was the builder of the Nevada Southern Railway. That name was later changed to the California Eastern Railway and that was changed to something else even later on and that changed to something else still later. Seems, as with so many things in life, change is inevitable. And so it is with names of railroads. Today, it is the Santa Fe Railroad for short, and so far that name has stuck. But, who knows what tomorrow may bring? And a rose by any other name…

And the research is not conclusive as to where the name for Goffs name actually originated, but the railroad was using names in an alphabetical way for stops along the tracks. Let’s call this one Goffs? Have no idea why, but won’t it be fun a long time from now having people guessing its origin? There you go, future folks!

My lovely spouse, Laureen, likes to think that Goffs was named after the author Helen Lyndon Goff, who wrote the magical nanny story, Mary Poppins, under the pen name P. L. Tavers. And she says I have an imagination. But who knows?

The history of Goffs goes way back, to when this area saw the likes of Francisco Garces, the first non-native in 1776. The Spanish friar and explorer was looking for an easy passage east and west through the Mojave Desert and spent considerable time not far from present day Goffs. 

In fact, Garces desert route is what we know today as the Mojave Road – that stretch of isolation on which off-roaders love to spend time. I drove that stretch a few years back, in the summer, of course, with only one vehicle, of course – and lived to tell about it. Thanks Friar Garces – in my heart, he’s a saint for watching over not the brightest of desert travelers.

Then the adventurer, Jedediah Smith came through the area twice, once in 1826 and again in 1827, also looking for a route through the oftentimes difficult desert terrain. On one of those adventures, it is believed that Smith was running for his life from the direction of the Colorado River, chased by a group of angry natives. I wasn’t there, but it is a good story all the same. 

Goffs played an important role delivering water for the steam engines on the main line to Barstow. Situated only thirty miles from Needles made this location – at the top of the hill – to be the ideal watering stop for trains. By 1911, there were enough Santa Fe workers and their families to warrant the building of a school house, which was built in 1914.

The school house still stands, and can be visited on the museum grounds, run by the MDHCA – Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association. Along with the school house, there are many exhibits detailing the history of this once thriving town on Route 66.

Site of the once thriving school house

The grounds contain many interesting displays of bygone days

Like any town along the route, simple paths became wagon trails, then railroad lines and eventually the dirt paths along those railroad lines were paved. And, there you have a road for that contraption called a car.

The United States Army built a training center in the area during WWII called Camp Goffs. It served its purpose until 1944.

According to Laura, “Because of the availability of water and good rail service an entire division was here at Goffs at one time. People can still find military artifacts throughout the Goffs area.”

We all love finding trinkets on our adventures, but if you come across a rusty pointed munitions thingy – please leave it alone. A military button, belt buckle or an abandoned tank, okay – a bomb, not so much.

“Everything that happened in the West, happened here. Mining, homesteading, cattle ranching, railroad, and Route 66. It all happened in Lanfair Valley,” stated Laura.

Yes, Goffs is located in Lanfair Valley. According to Wikipedia, Lanfair Valley is drained southeastwards, then due south by the Sacramento Wash, which then turns due-east and combines with the Piute Wash drainage. The dual valley drainage is a U-shape, and the first major dry wash drainage from the west, into the Colorado River, south of Lake Mead.

I have no idea what that means exactly, but the area sure is pretty.

Goffs’ largest building, the general store, is abandoned but still standing – unfortunately it has been vandalized and graffitified – I made that word up, but looks like it should be entered into Merriam Webster’s book. 

What was once the general store in Goffs

Goffs is definitely worth a visit. The museum opens in October, which is a wonderful time of year to visit anything in the desert. When did I visit? The summer – who’d think that? 

 In full transparency - this story first appeared in the Daily Press Newspaper, under Beyer's Byways.

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.