Jack Elliott's Santa Barbara Adventure

Bodie, California Ghost Town

Posted on March 15, 2013 by Jack Elliott

Stagecoaches in front of the Grand Central Hotel on Main Street in 1880.

Tucked away in the hills of Mono County is Bodie, with scarce 800 inhabitants. It is a peaceful, respectable town now, but time was when it contained 12,000 erring and excitable souls. Then “a bad man from Bodie” was a synonym for wickedness and daredeviltry, throughout the state, and Bodie, knowing this, was proud and tried to live up to its reputation.

It succeeded. Nowhere this side of the Rocky Mountains were there more wanton killings. Nowhere were more reckless displays of daring. It was a happy hearted time. If men died with great suddenness they also lived to the full every hour of their lives. Money was plentiful, for the mines were panning out and paying well. The numerous dance halls and gambling halls could be relied on to furnish ample excitement, and when this palled there were always shooting scrapes, lynchings, funerals, and then more shooting scrapes.

—Introduction to an article written by Maude Grange and published in the San Francisco Call newspaper on July 7, 1907

Bodie is becoming a quiet summer resort—no one killed here last week.

—Bodie Daily Free Press 1881

Bodie is an historic gold mining ghost town located at over 8000 feet elevation on the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in Mono County, California. During its heyday in the 1880s it was a stereotypical bustling, rough-and-tumble boom town of the American west.

Drinking, gambling, violence and prostitution seemed to be favorite pastimes along with opium parlors, though other upright citizens carried on more tempered and respectable family lives.

According to the book “Saga of Wells Fargo,” there were 30 mines operating in Bodie during its height of activity and establishments that served alcohol numbered “something better than one to a mineshaft.” This for a town of 5,416 people, according to the U.S. census count taken in mid-1880, though estimates vary.

“The workingman off duty was confronted with a bewildering choice of oases on which to lavish his patronage,” reads the book. “At all of these, the products of the town’s three breweries—the Bodie, the Pioneer, Pat Fahey’s—were the favored chasers. … The river of life flowed at its fullest in Bodie, both around and through its citizens.”

Today about five percent of the town’s historic buildings remain and the site is a designated State Historic Park.

Bodie has been the subject of much myth making and exaggeration, and inaccuracies either intentionally or unwittingly promoted and repeated. Some of which have, apparently, been included in the official State Park literature. Michael H. Piatt, author of “Bodie: ‘The Mines Are Looking Well …’,” has written about and debunked some of the most prominent myths (bodiehistory.com).

The following text is taken from the visitors brochure:

Bodie was named after Waterman S. Body (also known as William S. Bodey), who discovered gold here in 1859. The change in spelling of the town’s name has often been attributed to an illiterate sign painter, but it was a deliberate change by the citizenry to ensure proper pronunciation.

The town of Bodie rose to prominence with the decline of mining along the western slope of the Sierra Nevada. Prospectors crossing the eastern slope in 1859 to “see the elephant”—that is, to search for gold—made a rich discovery at Virginia City. This huge gold strike, later to be known as the Comstock Lode, started a wild rush to the surrounding high desert country.

By 1879 Bodie boasted a population of about 10,000 and was second to none for wickedness, badmen, and the “worst climate out of doors.” One little girl, whose family was taking her to the remote and infamous town, wrote in her diary: “Goodbye God, I’m going to Bodie.” The phrase came to be known throughout the West.

Killings occurred with monotonous regularity, sometimes becoming almost daily events. The fire bell, which tolled the ages of the deceased when they were buried, rang often and loud. Robberies, stage holdups and street fights provided variety, and the town’s 65 saloons offered many opportunities for relaxation after hard days of work in the mines. The Reverend F. M. Warrington saw it in 1881 as “a sea of sin, lashed by the tempests of lust and passion.”

Nearly everyone has heard about the infamous “Badman of Bodie.” Some historians say that he was a real person by the name of Tom Adams. Others say his name was Washoe Pete. It seems more likely, however, that he was a composite. Bad men, like bad whiskey and bad climate, were endemic to the area. Whatever the case, the streets are quiet now. Bodie still has its wicked climate, but with the possible exception of an occasional ghostly visitor, its badmen are all in their graves.

Between 1860 and 1941, the Bodie Mining District produced close to $100 million in gold and silver. During those years, gold prices ranged from $20 to $35 an ounce; the price of silver ranged from 70 cents to $1 an ounce.

Methodist church

The J.S. Cain residence. He purportedly mined $90,000 in gold in 90 days on a plot of ground leased from Standard Mine and Mill, which refused to renew his lease. That amounts to over $2 million in 2012 dollars.

James S. Cain and Martha Cain, married in Carson City, Nevada, September 17, 1879

“The small sawmill was used for cutting firewood. With snow as much as 20 feet deep, winds up to 100 miles and hour, and temperatures down to 30 or 40 degrees below zero, plenty of firewood was needed to keep Bodie’s poorly constructed houses warm during winter.”

The interior of a Bodie house.

Ore cart

Small wrench

Sharpening stone

Schoolhouse

Shingled roof made from recycled tin containers. Many of the houses in Bodie are cleverly faced or roofed in this manner.

“Wide West Mining Company 1862”

Dechambeau Hotel and Post Office on the left. The Bodie Independent Order of Odd Fellows (I.O.O.F.) used the upper floor of the building on the right, which also housed the Bodie Athletic Club and at one time an undertaker’s business.

Posted in California | Tagged Bodie, Ghost Towns, Gold, Gold Mining, History, Old West, Photographs, Photos, Pics, Travel | 9 Comments

Pool Rock, Condor Bird Bath?

Posted on March 12, 2013 by Jack Elliott

Pool Rock holding relatively little water for early March.

This pool sits atop an outcrop some 80 feet above the ground. In being similar to other pools that attract(ed) California condors, I suspect that in times past condors made use of it if’n people weren’t around. Not a bad bird bath, eh?

Posted in Santa Barbara County | Tagged Condors, Hiking, Hiking (2), iPhoneography, Landscapes, Los Padres National Forest, Nature, Photos, Pics, Rocks | 5 Comments

Fallen Rock Chumash Pictograph Rock Art

Posted on March 8, 2013 by Jack Elliott

In September 2012 I had the privilege of naming a Chumash pictograph site theretofore undocumented by the U.S. Forest Service. In August 2012 I mentioned on this blog that I stumbled across some Chumash rock art I didn’t know existed. Following that post a friend, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say an acquaintance, contacted me and said there was a chance that the site in question was unknown to the U.S. Forest Service. Not that it was a new, never before seen discovery, but that it was not officially documented and recorded by the U.S.F.S. in their annals of archaeology.

And indeed, he was correct. He later organized an outing with a friend of his that serves as a volunteer for the U.S.F.S. and who documents archaeological sites in the Los Padres National Forest. His friend has, let’s say, a family association with recording the history and prehistory of the L.P.N.F. And so one sunny morning we met in the mountains and I led them to the site for a day of oh-fficial documentation.

It was mentioned while hiking that as the person that reported the pictograph site I was entitled to bestow a name upon it. At first I thought it was said in jest, but through out the day I was asked several times what I wanted to name the site. For whatever reason I was preoccupied with other thoughts and never thought much about a name.

The archaeological site was recorded in detail with photographs, sketches, and descriptions of the pictographs and notes taken on “culturally relevant variables such as vegetation, fauna, soils, geology, landform, slope, aspect and exposure.” It was concluded to be, “A Chumash rock art site without artifacts or other cultural features, which suggests a spiritual significance.”

Later that afternoon, after having returned from the pictographs, the subject of naming it came up again. I mentioned that I wasn’t sure what to call it, but that I would like to choose an appellation that reflected the unique nature of the location. I wanted a name based on the specific character of the pictographs or the geography of the area where they are located.

One of the guys in our four man group, I’ll call him WC, suggested “Fallen Rock.” That was exactly the type of name I wanted. One of the defining features of the site are the rocks that have fallen off of the sandstone cliff where the main panel of paintings are located. These fallen rocks are adorned with numerous pictographs including, “An anthropomorphic figure composed of an aquatic with a dorsal fin and a bulbous head with two short, knobbed antennae.”

And so it is that this particular site came to be officially named Fallen Rock.

Posted in California | Tagged Archaeology, Art, Chumash, Hiking, Hiking (2), History, Los Padres National Forest, Photos, Pics, Pictographs, Rock Art | 9 Comments

Night on Carrizo Plain, Tule Elk and Caliente Peak

Posted on March 4, 2013 by Jack Elliott

Sun kissed sandstone.

“A house was simply a place to sleep. The time that mattered would be spent outdoors.”

-Elmer Kelton, Stand Proud (1984)

We arrive at Selby Campground in the waning darkness before first light. It’s frosty and clear skied, the glow of dawn growing brighter above the skyline of the distant Temblor Range as we sip hot coffee. The campground sits on an abandoned oil pad leveled out of the foothills of the Caliente Range, tucked back in a draw above the Carrizo Plain. It’s bare, minimal but sufficient, and nearly as stark as the plain itself.

“We left a little early,” Stillman says. I’ve been awake since 2:30 a.m. and the black coffee feels as good as it tastes. “It’s nice to be up here at dawn,” I say.

In all the times I’ve been to the Carrizo Plain and watched the sunset I’ve never seen the sunrise. It’s not long before the orangy light of early morning illuminates the nearby hillsides and brings some welcome warmth. A few ravens pass overhead breaking the silence between our idle chitchat with their throaty cackles.

“Well. Shall we get going?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

We roam the vast grass land. There are few sounds. Dry grass crushing under foot and brushing against our legs, the occasional melodious songs that bursts forth from unseen birds. Wind rushing past ears. In certain places, between sloping undulations, where the surrounding mountain ranges disappear from sight, I feel like I’m lost in the vast rolling hills of the American Midwest.

Views of the gleaming white saltpan of Soda Lake across the plain, and the barren Temblor Range in the background, inspire thoughts of ancient hominids hunting big game with bow and arrow. It’s a thought that comes to mind every time I visit the Carrizo Plain. The landscape has a primordial feel.

We come upon low-lying shelves of exposed bedrock in a crease of the land that leads out of the foothills. In spots here and there along the dry drainage depressions in the sandstone hold small pools of water. Such natural tanks always catch my eye, like in the forest up on top of Whiteacre Peak, but especially in a dry realm like the Carrizo Plain. Yet, these natural reservoirs are a bit different here on the plain. I quickly notice something else about them. The soft stone is heavily scarred with long scratch marks all around each pool of water. The tell-tale traces of hoofed animals. Deer, elk or pronghorn antelope.

There are cows nearby, but they appear to be fenced out of this particular area and I haven’t seen the usual ubiquitous cow patties littering the area. Looking down the fence line a little bit later, it’s clear by the way the grass is growing on either side of the barbed wire barrier that the cows graze the grassland on the opposite side of the fence from where the natural tanks of water are located.

On a landscape of very little fresh water such seasonally available collections of rainwater would naturally attract thirsty wildlife. I wonder how many ungulates were taken in this particular area in ancient times. This place has an unrecorded history told only by its landscape features to those with keen eyes and a pondering mind.

Tule elk on Carrizo Plain.

Prairie falcon

Overlooking the Caliente Range foothills at night from Selby Camp lookout, the white saltpan of Soda Lake seen in the distance.

Selby Rocks in the light of a full moon.

On our second day we hiked to the top of Caliente Peak (5106′) in temperatures in the 40s beneath clear skies with light gusts of wind. It was an excellent day of winter hiking. It’s 17 miles round trip on a smooth gated road that runs atop the ridgeline along the spine of the Caliente Range.

The trail meanders through scrub oak and juniper and through some patches of open grassland in places. On clear days it offers superb views of the Cuyama Valley to the south and the Carrizo Plain to the north. It’s the best place to gain a bird’s eye view of the plain and the San Andreas Fault which runs the length of its far side. The old wooden World War II lookout hut, built to house watchman surveying the air for Japanese planes that presumably might have sought to attack the nearby oil fields, is nothing but a pile of lumber these days.

The line of crinkled hills seen here about center frame, this side of the Temblor Range which are the larger mountains, is Dragon’s Back Ridge. Caliente Peak