Mission Falls

I hiked Tunnel Trail to Mission Falls on Monday morning. Not far up the actual trail a heavy drizzle set in and I threw on my rain gear before it turned to a light rain. For a brief moment it turned to frozen slush as I climbed in elevation and the temperature dropped. The roar of muddy swiftwater runoff filled the canyons all around. And the verdant tangle of annual growth carpeting the rocky slopes of the Santa Ynez Mountains right now appeared especially vivid after the torrential rains.

Sunlight striking the rocky slopes surrounding Mission Crags and bringing out the warm colors of the Coldwater Sandstone.

Trailside view.


Related Post:

Tar Creek, Ventura County

Cliff Diving at Montezuma Falls, Costa Rica

 

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First Day of Spring Roars In Wet and Windy

A 50 foot vessel washed ashore on East Beach today.

Select rainfall totals from around Santa Barbara County for the last 24 hour period:

Santa Barbara: 5.29                                                                                                                       San Marcos Pass: 9.55                                                                                                          Figueroa Mountain: 4.05                                                                                                     Cachuma Reservoir: 10.63                                                                                                   Gibraltar Reservoir: 10.78                                                                                                    Jameson Reservoir: 7.64                                                                                                           Santa Barbara Potrero: 3.72                                                                                                        Don Victor Valley: 5.26                                                                                                                New Cuyama: 1.83                                                                                                                   Goleta: 6.03                                                                                                                            Tecolote Canyon: 7.48                                                                                                            Refugio Pass: 6.15                                                                                                                  Gaviota: 3.96

RELATED POST:

Santa Barbara County 163% of Normal For Rainfall

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The Klutzy Career of Highwayman Dick Fellows

“Horses threw him, ran away with him and from him, led him into trouble and never out of it. Yet this bandit-on-horseback never seemed to learn. No matter what horses did to him, he came back for more. . .[Dick Fellows] emerges from the small fry of his time almost solely because of his persistent error in believing he could ride.”

-Joseph Henry Jackson, Bad Company (1939)

Born George Brittain Lyttle in Kentucky, he turned up in Los Angeles by the handle “Dick Fellows.” (c) Wells Fargo Archives

On March 27, 1882 “California’s most spectacularly unsuccessful highwayman” was sentenced in Santa Barbara County court to life in Folsom prison.

Dick Fellows had been convicted of one count of robbery and one count of robbery with a prior conviction of robbery for twice holding up the stagecoach that ran between Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo. His prior conviction was in 1870 for holdups in the Los Angeles area.

Wells, Fargo & Co. suspected Fellows of committing up to twelve robberies between 1869 and 1882. During that time he hit several stages in San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara Counties. Yet it was not his criminal prowess that immortalized his name, but a career of comical mishaps.

One night it took Fellows three attempts to successfully rob a stagecoach including two separate tries at different locations on the same stage. The first two times, the drivers had  cracked the reins forcing the six-horse teams right past him when he had stepped masked and armed before the oncoming stages demanding that they stop. On one occasion his horse took off into the night following the stage before finally returning so he could make his escape.

While on the lam afterward as a recognized outlaw, Fellows was confronted by the owner of a roadside eatery pointing a pistol at him while he was chowing down. Fellows feigned surrender before trying to smack the pistol away from the owner, who fired a shot that hit the bumbling robber in the foot. Fellows managed to hobble off and ride away on his horse, but was later apprehended while seeking medical help. He served four years in state prison.

In another ill-fated sequence of events, only sheer bad luck prevented Fellows from trying to rob a stagecoach in which heavily armed Wells, Fargo Chief Special Officer, J. B. Hume, was aboard for security. He was overseeing the transfer of $240,000. Having spotted Fellows casing the stage earlier in the day, Hume was actually waiting in anticipation for the bandit to make his move. The bank officer had beside him two sawed-off double-barrel shot guns and two Winchester rifles. Three other officers armed with pistols accompanied him.

Only because the hapless highwayman was bucked off his horse before he could attempt the robbery, and landed on his head and knocked unconscious, was the deadly showdown averted. Although perhaps Dick Fellows looked at it as though the unruly horse foiled his plans, rather than saved him from being blasted to shreds by double-aught buckshot.

The original Wells, Fargo strongbox was made from pine and oak and reinforced with iron straps. Fully loaded with gold they could weigh up to 150 pounds. (c) Wells Fargo Archives

Not to be deterred a tenacious Fellows stole a different horse and successfully robbed another stage of $1800 later that same night. His success was short lived. While heaving the bank strongbox onto his horse the spooked animal bolted.

Scrambling to get away in the dark on foot, Fellows heaved the gold laden chest off the road and into the bush and along with himself right off a 12 to 18 drop into a trench. He fell into Tunnel Five, which Southern Pacific Railway had recently excavated, and broke his leg above the ankle. His foot on the same leg was also partially crushed by the strongbox either when it initially fell off the horse or when Fellows plunged over the edge with it in tow.

He was arrested several days later. The boot had to be cut off his swollen, ballooned leg for treatment, but it was not his severe injury that lead to his capture. The Wells, Fargo detective tracked Fellows down by following the unique sign left by a horse he had managed to steal. This particular horse happened to have a mule shoe tacked on to one foot while the other three hooves had normal horseshoes. It was quite easy to track.

Months later following his conviction on highway robbery charges, a relentless Fellows escaped from jail while awaiting transport to prison. He made his way to a farm and stole a horse without a saddle. After leading it to another farm and picketing it outside the barn, Fellows went inside to fetch a saddle. When he came out hauling the stolen tack he spooked the horse, which reared, snapped the rope and bolted for home. Without anything but his two feet to get away he was arrested shortly afterward and served five more years.

After his release Fellows drifted back to highway robbery. In one last escape attempt after his final life sentence conviction in Santa Barbara, he broke free and hastily stole yet another horse. He made it only a short distance clinging to the animal bareback before being tossed onto the sun-baked dirt road where he was quickly nabbed.

He was finally transported to Folsom Prison where he spent 26 years and was pardoned on March 08, 1908. While serving his time Dick Fellows, long known for his smooth spoken articulate manner, had worked as a teacher in the Department of Moral Instruction.

Reference:

Joseph Henry Jackson, Bad Company: The Story of California’s Legendary and Actual Stage-Robbers, Bandits, Highwaymen and Outlaws From the Fifties to the Eighties (Harcourt, Brace and Company 1939), 217-44.

The Misadventures of Tricky Dick Fellows (PDF), Harold L. Edwards, Quarterly Bulletin: Historic Kern, Kern County Historical Society, Vol. 60 No. 3, September 2010

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San Pedro Creek Webcam

The United States Geological Survey has a remote control camera set up at a small cascade on San Pedro Creek near Goleta. It can be accessed and controlled by the public via the Internet. Click the image below during daylight hours for the webcam’s live feed. It’s worth a looksee every now and again during rainy weather.

A still shot of San Pedro Creek on March 12, 2011. Click image for live webcam.

(update) Heavy run off in the rain on the morning of March 20, 2011.

March 20, 2011 in the afternoon.

Archived video of heavy runoff on 1-21-10: San Pedro Creek Webcam.

Click here for the complete USGS list of California Water Science Center webcams.

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Chumash Camp

I headed into the forest in late afternoon with three hours of light left. It was dead calm in the lower reaches of the canyon and I could see that it rained the day before. Upside down oak leaves still held water in their concave undersides.

Two miles along my way, I rounded a bend and spotted two backpackers a quarter of mile off. They stood ambling around apparently taking a breather. I caught up to them on a short, but steep incline, and followed a guy hiking in Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots and a big white cowboy hat to the top, where his buddy stood decked out in full fatigues and eight inch combat boots laced up tight. Each man, in their late twenties or early thirties, cradled a stubby, military-type rifle in their arms.

Neither one of them had spotted me approaching. And the guy in jeans I followed had no clue I walked up right behind him struggling up the gravely slope. His buddy commented in surprise, as did he, when we reached the top of the hill and they both finally saw me.

They were oblivious to their surroundings, which was a bit amusing considering their outfits and what they were packing. Guess it was all show. I blew by them with a clipped, “howdy,” and stomped on down the trail pondering what the hell they were doing. Or thought they were doing.

Less than a mile later, I was walking a flat section along the canyon floor at the foot of a mountain, just beyond the confluence of two creeks, when a shiny black pointed shape caught my eye. 

An arrowhead as found lying in the weeds.

Right on the trail, in the weeds that have been clipped short by constant foot travel, just inches from the bare dirt path itself, laid an inch long obsidian arrowhead. It had been cleaned of dirt from the rain and was lying there as if somebody had set it down.

It was a fairly well crafted point and in near perfect condition with only a slight chip missing from one edge, which was hardly even noticeable if the arrowhead was flipped over. Still miles from the old Indian camp that was my destination and I stumble across an incredible artifact during a trip I postponed and almost didn’t even take.

I pushed on and ended the day hiking the last thirty minutes by twilight and walked into camp just as darkness really set in. An ornery wind was blowing over the mountain, but the camp is well protected and only had a slight breeze by comparison.

The camp sentinel.

I made some quick grub and a cup of coffee by headlamp and then hit the light. I laid back and stargazed for an hour or so in total darkness, peering through a huge almond shaped window to the sky created by the surrounding sandstone formations.

The wind owned the night. A mighty river of air, it flowed over the mountain in a roar whittling away the monolith I was hunkered beneath grain by grain, which rained down and tinkled against my tent all night long. I lay in bed listening nervously. At the height of the gusts, it would reach an eerie howl and I waited to hear the sharp crack of a falling tree or section of sandstone giving way.

I woke at six o’clock to birds singing and more wind. A fine grit coated my face and covered everything else inside my tent. Ominous looking dark clouds were being sucked over the mountains and speedily flying through the sky. Geez, what happened to clear skies for Tuesday? I thought. Am I gonna have to hike outta here in the rain? But it soon cleared to blue skies and I spent a leisurely day wandering around the area near camp.

Late that afternoon while heading back on my way home, I passed the same guys I saw on the way in. They sat in camp aside the creek in full cammies playing cards. My curiosity continued. I walked the remaining two hours in the deepening shade of late afternoon, and timed it so I arrived at my truck at dark, squeezing every minute I could out of the day.

Water flows through the u-shaped hole in the rock on the upper right hand corner and falls onto the rocks below.

View from camp.

Another view of camp showing my tent. The water flows over a double fall.

A drip drop divot under the falls. How long does it take for single drops of water to wear such a depression in the sandstone?

A view from a trip last June.

A night shot from that previous trip.

Another camp nearby with its own waterfall flowing through it.

A line of three bedrock mortars.

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