Use a Brain while camping

 

According to the 2017 American Camper Report, nearly 41 million Americans went camping in 2016. That’s about fourteen percent of the population venturing out into nature, having a great time – the other eighty-six percent didn’t have any good times in 2016.

Anyone who has spent time enjoying the great outdoors camping and staring up into the endless, inky dark night sky, knows what I am writing about.

It’s awesome. Being out in nature, which is one of the few pleasures we can indulge in at this time, is a wonderful experience. Fresh air. Sunshine or moonshine (I mean looking up at the moon – not the stuff my uncle used to make in his bathtub). Time with family and friends. Just an overall quiet, good time.

And obviously, with the numbers reported by the American Camper Report, a lot of people enjoy camping on their time off.

We do, and we did recently. Never having spent much time in the Hualapai Mountains, just outside of the city of Kingman, Arizona – we decided to do some rough camping. Rough camping is defined as, not having room service, or any service at all for creature comforts.

No calling down for a bottle of cold bubbly at ten in the evening. No sheets turned down with a little mint waiting on the pillow. No tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion that seem to disappear at check-out time.

Nope, simply a tent, sleeping bags, propane stove, foldable chairs, and your own personal toiletries. That’s rough camping, baby!

The mountain range in Mohave County, was named after the Hualapai people who once lived there. Their name actually means, people of the tall pines – and there is an abundance of tall pines in these mountains.

If one wants to be an expert, the Hualapai Mountains in the Mohave language is – Amat ‘Avii Kahuwaaly (pronounced as it is spelled). These mountains have five tall peaks which overlook the valley to the north of the city of Kingman.

“You know, the mountains are going to be chilly in the evening,” Laureen noted, as I packed up our vehicle for the trek.

“I’ll build a fire.”

The look, only she can give, had me rethink that last comment. “It’ll be a propane fire.”

In this year, 2020 – yeah, the one we’d like to forget – has seen, according to the National Interagency Fire Center, over 47,277 wild fires in ten states. Arizona alone, had seen more than 1,600 itself as of November 1^st.

With a quick call to the Mohave County Parks Department, I spoke with a very informative person who informed me that no fires of any type were allowed.

“So, my thought of a log fire the size of Kentucky is a no-go,” I mentioned.

 “That would be a no.”

“Understood, how about a self-contained propane fire – a small one?”

“That’s the only type allowed.”

We chit-chatted for a few minutes on how destructive the forest fires have been in Arizona and the rest of the Southwest, as well as the Northwest.

“People-made or nature produced?” I wanted to know.

I knew that in Northern California in August, a rare dry lightning storm had caused over one thousand separate ground fires. I hadn’t heard of any event of that magnitude in the state of Arizona, but was curious.

“People caused.”

“Dumb people?” I asked.

“Who else would start fires when the forest is as dry as it is?”

So, we packed up and drove off to the Hualapais for a little rough camping. I did bring some little mints for the sleeping bags though. That’s just the thoughtful kind of guy I am. I hope my wife appreciates how lucky she is. Maybe one of my readers will write in and tell her how good she’s got it. But I digress.

Hualapai Mountain Park, where the campground is located, was actually constructed in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps for the crews working on the Davis Dam, located near the town of Bullhead City, Arizona.

                                                  Beautiful area to spend some time

It seemed that while the huge construction project was under way, the workers felt a little overwhelmed, after sweltering in summer temperatures that rivaled that of the surface of the sun.

“It’s really hot, boss.”

“Hey, it’s not that hot. Only my nose melted off today, not my whole face. Now get back to work!”

So, the camp was built in the Hualapai Mountains, where the summer average temperature is quite cool compared to where the dam was being built, perhaps by thirty degrees. Here, the workers could cool off in the mountain air, while listening to the soft breezes whistling through the tall pines, instead of the constant cacophony of construction equipment.

It was a peaceful setting, and only about 45 miles from the construction site. The park still has rock cabins from those days, that visitors can rent by the day, the week, or the month. Right near the campsite we stayed, there is a rock bridge over a creek built by those same workers who constructed the Davis Dam.

                                           John standing on original 1930's rock bridge

History permeates the park. It is truly fascinating, and shows the determination of those who built the dam, to make a nice, comfortable, and soothing place to escape when not working in the heat of the desert by the Colorado River.

We pitched camp around two in the afternoon and just sat in a couple of chairs, enjoying the coolness of the mountains.

“This is lovely,” Laureen observed.

“I can’t hear you over the soft breeze through the pine trees,” I replied.

                               Laureen, enjoying a warm dinner, cold wine and propane fire

At that moment, a Park Ranger’s truck pulled up in front of our campsite. Ranger Gino stepped out and advised us that no wood fires were allowed.

“Got the propane one ready,” I replied.

He was, as many people I meet along the byways – a fount of knowledge. It was actually he, who informed us of how the campground was created back in the 1930s. Ranger Gino was just a guy who loved his job and stopped by each campsite explaining the do’s and don’ts that would be accepted on his turf.

“You know, where you’re camped is the highway for our elk.”

He then explained that all sorts of wildlife visit the campground, depending on the season. There were the elk, he had mentioned, as well as bear, mountain lions, deer, and other animals. “Just don’t feed them.”

“I only brought enough food for the two of us,” I reassured Ranger Gino.

It seems, like many parks through-out the nation have witnessed, visitors believe it’s kind to feed the wildlife, which then don’t behave like wildlife. The animals become dependent on hand-outs from human visitors, and when they don’t receive a freebie snack, they often become demanding and aggressive.

“We’re all actually trying to retrain guests how to interact with the wildlife. They are, after all, wild animals.”

Ranger Gino left and fifteen minutes later a six-foot-tall elk walked by our camp. It stopped, looked at us and then moseyed on her way into the forest to bed down for the evening.

It was a beautifully majestic sight within a few feet of us.

Then it happened.

New campers came and started to set up camp two spots down from us. I say, started to since within minutes of being there, one of the campers decided that starting a huge bonfire was a great idea in a dry forest.

Ranger Gino, arrived like a superhero with radar, and leaped from his truck.

“Oh, no – no – no,” he yelled, as the female fire starter looked at him in surprise.

“You can’t have an open fire,” he stated. “There’re signs everywhere forbidding it.”

“It’s not an open fire; it’s on the ground,” she responded.

Ranger Gino looked a bit perplexed at that statement.

I smiled at Laureen, “She is a dumb human, I think.”

She was, and our big ears picked up that she and her friends were being booted from camping here for the remainder of the year. Ranger Gino didn’t even issue a fine as he could have – gave them a break. What a nice guy!

Other than that, the camping was wonderful and peaceful – but one thing to remember is to always follow the rules when out in the great outdoors.

And don’t be dumb. It’s embarrassing for the rest of us who have to share this Earth.

 

 

 

 

Orphan Trains

 

It's that time of year for the Hallmark Chanel, and all their sappy holiday love stories. Turn on the television, grab some popcorn, and don't forget the tissues. Oh yes, if you happen to watch one of these movies, primarily filmed in Canada, by the way, you will usually shed a tear or two.

Hate to admit, but John has been seen reaching for the box of Kleenex, once or twice during these holiday films.

The plots are all the same. Woman meets man of her dreams, they fall in love, and then something comes between them, leaving her to wonder if he is truly the man of her dreams. Finally, the last ten minutes of the show - the couple realizes that they are meant to be together.

Of course, the plot can vary. It can be a man who meets the woman of his dreams - same scenario and same results. Just didn't want to be gender biased here.

So, we were watching one of these tissue grabbing films not long ago - this being the season and all, when suddenly the phrase orphan train was used.

The film, actually a series, was called 'Love Comes Softly.' It was sappy, but at the same time pretty entertaining and had a great moral. Don't all Hallmark films - as well as their cards?

The setting was the old west and the phrase was something neither one of us had heard before.

"Orphan train?" Laureen questioned.

"I could make something up, but never heard the term."

Obviously, research was afoot - thanks, Sherlock.

Turns out that the term was not widely used during this time, but caught on later. It seems around 1830, the numbers of homeless children in the eastern part of the United States were growing at an alarming rate.

Typhus, yellow fever, and the flu were running rapidly through neighborhoods, taking parents and grandparents in its path. Medicine wasn't what it is today, so the children were often left to fend for themselves when their entire households would succumb to whatever disease landed on their doorstep.

Also, many children were deserted due to poverty or perhaps a parent's addiction. In other words, no one was looking out for the most vulnerable in society.

Stealing from Dickens' term street urchin, as an explanation for these hordes of children wandering the streets in search of sustenance. 

The Children's Aid Society was founded in 1853, by Charles Loring Brace. Room and board was offered to homeless boys as a way to provide temporary housing. The plan was to find jobs for these homeless youth but soon, the society was overwhelmed with the unfortunate children with nowhere to turn.

With the nation developing westward, Brace came up with the idea of perhaps offering these boys, and girls up for adoption. He had hopes that with the country expanding, families may be interested in adopting a healthy young child to help around the farm. Brace's hope was that good solid families would jump at the chance to embrace a child as their very own. This way, the children would be able to leave the crowded cities that left them often as victims of terrible and immoral crimes - they would have the chance of a better life with families who loved them.

The system worked in Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and rural New York. Now, Brace decided to expand to the Midwest which was flourishing with pioneers heading out to make their own destiny.

In 1854, the plan expanded with the use of trains, to transport children across the nation. Brace felt that 'his' children would find the nurturing they would need to grow into independent and useful citizens for a growing nation.

The actual term, Orphan Train, wasn't actually used until after the program ended in 1929. Terms like, Mercy Trains, Baby Trains and the like were the more common description of these trains heading west with their precious cargoes.

In fact, less that half of the children who ever rode one of these trains were actually orphans. Twenty-five percent were just children abandoned by their parents on the streets of New York, New Jersey, and other eastern cities. The others, were boys and girls who just wanted a life away from the crime and sadness of those same cities, believing there may be a brighter life awaiting them out west.

Some of the children found a better life, but some were no better off than slaves. People would come to local courthouses, and the children would be paraded up the steps of the courthouse so those interested could get a good look at them.

In fact, the phrase 'up for adoption' is derived from this practice of having the children up on the steps of the courthouses.

Some interested parties would come up to the children, check their teeth to ensure there wasn't gum disease, pinch their cheeks to see if a healthy color would return, and other degrading physical intrusions.

The idea seemed like a wonderful way for children to escape the horrors of life on the streets, but there were many detractors who believed it was a perverted way to exploit these children.

Babies were easy to place in homes, but when a child was in their teens, many potential 'parents' thought they would be too set in their ways and be more than a handful.

So, the jury is still out if this practice served its purpose of helping those children in need. In her best selling novel, orphan train, Christina Baker Kline weaves a fictional tale about one of these children who lived this life. There were good times, as well as bad times for these children of the trains.

The last train left New York City on May 31st, 1929 for the state of Texas. This was during the Great Depression and the horrendous Dust Bowl, overtaking the Midwest.  After a seventy-six year run, the trains were finally halted for this venture. Public opinion had changed about orphans, and poor people in the United States. Families, no matter how poor, should stay intact, and there were other government avenues for these folks to approach, instead of just abandoning their child to the streets or crowded trains.

An interesting fact - according to the New England Historical Society, one out of every twenty-five Americans has a personal connection to an Orphan Train rider. 

So, next time you settle in for the evening with a Hallmark film, look for those things that are new and get to researching. It's great when we learn something new - especially for the old grey matter.

  Laureen and I recently visited the Agua Mansa Cemetery in the city of Colton. It is supposedly one of the most haunted locations in Southern California. What better place to encounter other worldly spirits?

The cemetery is the only reminder of what was once part of the thriving community of Agua Mansa. Established in 1845, in what was then Alta California, a town of non-native settlers located against the flowing waters of the Santa Ana River. Agua Mansa, actually means – gentle water. It was here folks established a home and it soon became the largest settlement in San Bernardino County.

A church had been built across the river in the town of La Placita, that was later destroyed in 1852, sinking in quicksand. A new church was built in Agua Mansa in 1853, so both towns had a place to worship together.

But in 1862, strong rains came to the area, causing the Santa Ana River to dangerously flood into both towns, destroying the majority of the houses and businesses. People tried to rebuild what they once had, but to no avail. Prosperity never did return, and like many places, both towns were pretty much abandoned.

But the cemetery survived – strange way to put that. The first burial, was in 1852, which could make this cemetery the oldest in Southern California. Though, others make that claim, like the Evergreen Cemetery in Los Angeles, which was built in 1877. Math, was never my favorite subject, but something built twenty-five years earlier, would make this one older. 

Anyway, one of the most observed, or imagined hauntings at Agua Mansa Cemetery, is the legend of La Llorona'. It is a sad story about a woman who got rid of her children, won’t go into any more detail here, since it breaks the heart. After what she did, according to legend, she walks the cemetery looking for her children. Her screams can be heard above the whistling winds streaking across the crumbling tombstones.

                                          La Llorona', with her children before killing them

Besides, La Llorona', there are supposed to be ghosts wandering around the place like crowds lining up at Starbucks. Ghosts with no heads, ghosts with no limbs, ghosts with lanterns, ghosts walking dogs, and ghosts reading my novels.

                                                                   Not a bad novel 

I made that up, well, not all of it. Many people claim to have seen ghosts as I mentioned above, with the exception of the ones reading my novels. But, it could happen.

I have no idea what is seen at this cemetery, since it was closed. The cemetery is getting so popular with ghost hunters, that the county has the five acre parcel completely fenced off, including topped with barbed wire. There are hours listed on the high front gate – we were there when it was supposed to be open, but it was not.

Perhaps it has to do with COVID-19 - doesn’t everything now? But maybe, the place is getting too many visitors and those visitors are not respecting that it is an actual cemetery and its history. Not just a place to search for ghosts.

We were there to experience that history, research and investigate, but that ended at the front entrance.

“Now what?” Laureen asked.

“Peek through the chain link, and see if there’s someone walking a dog with no head,” I responded.

“Don’t tell me if you do.”

I didn’t see anything except acres of dry grass, bushes, trees, and tombstones. Nearly two thousand people are interred at Agua Mansa Cemetery. It is truly, hallowed ground.

                                              Just a deserted old cemetery - no ghosts

A sad note – of the two thousand, only about fourteen hundred people have been identified. Maybe, it is the unknown resting there that are so restless, wanting others to know who they are.

Peering even deeper into the fenced off grounds, I didn’t see anything moving about. Snapping a few shots on my camera, I knew this adventure was pretty much over.

“What do you think?”

 “It’s nearly noon, so I believe a lunch at Victoria Garden, and some shopping are in order.”

“Let’s be professional. Did you see any ghosts? How about that lady looking for her kids, or the guy walking his dog?”

Laureen closed her eyes. “I see my husband buying a nice lunch, and a couple of shops.”

That was haunting enough.

But, we weren’t over with our searching just yet.

Turns out, there is a house in the city of Fontana that may be haunted by none other than the infamous gangster, Alphonse Gabriel Capone. Yes, the very Al Capone who was known as Scarface, due to a large scar running down his left cheek. Of course, no one called him Scarface to his face – or head. 

“Whatsa madder with you? Calling me Scarface to my scarred face! Have this mutt thrown into the river, with a pair of nice matching cement loafers.”

Nope, you didn’t call the boss of the Chicago Outfit, anything but Mr. Capone.

                                                              Mr. Al 'Scarface' Capone

Our friend, Paul Bakas, who grew up in Fontana, once told me about Al Capone owning a house in his home town. For whatever reason, I never bothered researching to determine if the mobster actually had lived in the area. But today, it seemed like a good time to see if Laureen and I could find it.

Sure enough, dozens of sites list the address of the home, its history, and all the great rumors about the residence. 

The home is located at – wait, no address will be given, since it is privately owned, and I’m sure those folks don’t want a bunch of looky-loos driving around in their neighborhood.

So, just Google – Al Capone’s house in Fontana, and see what you will see. There – no address given, I feel so much better.

According to Inside the Inland Empire, in an article written by Ghostpainer (how apropos for this article) on May 3rd, 2007 – you knew it was the house owned by Capone, because it had a large ‘C’ on the exterior of one of the fireplaces.

That was enough for me. Forget lunch for the moment – we were off to see the Capone house.

“What if the people who built the house, were named the Carpenters?” Laureen asked.

“Why would a singing act build a house in Fontana?”

Within twenty minutes we were looking at the house, definitely built in the early twentieth century. The style of the house, from its rounded entryway, tiled roof, large iron double gates, tennis court, and large property just told me this was Capone’s west coast hideaway.

                                                    Now, that's a gangster's house

There are other articles, stating closets lead to escape hallways. Tunnels beneath the property to another street, where a getaway would be certain. Rumors after rumors.

But is the place haunted?

Capone was supposed to be terrified during his prison stay at Alcatraz, in the San Francisco Bay. Guards and other inmates recalled that Capone would scream all night at someone named Jimmy.

“Jimmy, leave me alone!” the prisoner would yell from his tiny cell.

This made sense – perhaps the house in Fontana wasn’t haunted, but only Capone himself, from his lifetime of misdeeds.

The terrible St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, on February 14, 1929, orchestrated by Capone to wipe out a rival gang, had an Albert Kachellek (alias, James “Jimmy” Clark) as one of the murder victims. 

Could it be this ‘Jimmy’ that tormented the sadistic killer while on the Rock? 

Don’t know and don’t really care. But, we were at the house and took some photos. That’s all one can do, unless you know the owner, and we didn’t.

“Well, that was interesting,” I stated.

“And a little creepy.” Laureen agreed. “Now, how about that lunch?”

“Of course.”

“Then shopping,” Laureen replied.

And that, is my true spectre this day – shopping.