Trails of the Angeles. John W. Robinson
Stories of gold in the San Gabriels go back as far as the 1770s, but not until 1842, when Francisco Lopez discovered gold clinging to the roots of a cluster of wild onions in Placerita Canyon, near present-day Newhall, was there what might be called a gold rush. The San Fernando Placers, as the discovery was called, were worked on and off for about a decade, until strikes elsewhere drew the miners away. By far, the largest gold strike in the San Gabriels occurred on the East Fork of the San Gabriel River. The precious metal was discovered in the canyon gravels in 1854, and for the next seven years the East Fork was the scene of frenzied activity, an estimated $2 million in gold being recovered. A smaller strike occurred in Big Santa Anita Canyon about the same time. During the next half century, prospectors rushed into the mountains at every rumor of bonanza, tearing up hillsides in their frantic search for wealth.
Bandits, including Jack Powers, Salomon Pico, Juan Flores, and the legendary Tiburcio Vásquez, turned to the San Gabriels for refuge. They drove stolen cattle and horses up the canyons and pastured them in backcountry flats. Utilizing the faint network of old American Indian trails, these outlaws established isolated hideouts deep in the mountains.
The pioneer trail builder in the San Gabriels was Benjamin Wilson, who in 1864 reworked an old American Indian path up Little Santa Anita Canyon to the top of the mountain that now bears his name. During the next three decades, trails were blazed up all the major canyons of the front range, some of them continuing over the ridges and into the backcountry. In increasing numbers, homesteaders and squatters followed these trails and found favorite spots on which to build their cabins. The names of many of these early mountain men have endured to the present, attached to canyons, camps, and peaks—Wilson, Millard, Henninger, Newcomb, Chantry, Chilao, Islip, and Dawson, to name a few.
Almost all these pioneers came into the mountains for utilitarian reasons—to mine gold, to cut timber, to find refuge, to pasture livestock, or to establish a home. Around 1885 a new reason for going to the mountains arose—recreation. Great numbers of San Gabriel Valley residents journeyed to Mount Wilson on weekends and holidays to enjoy the cool mountain air and take in the fabulous panorama. (This was before air pollution muddled Southland skies.) Hunters entered the range seeking big game, plentiful in the San Gabriels until around the turn of the century. Grizzly bears, black bears, deer, mountain sheep, and mountain lions were stalked by bands of thrill-seeking hunters who penetrated far into the mountains. Sportsmen packed in for a week’s fishing on the trout-filled West Fork of the San Gabriel River. For the less energetic, there were Sunday afternoon picnics in such woodsy haunts as Millard and Eaton Canyons.
Other people entered the mountains for a different reason—exploitation. Most Americans of that day assumed that our natural resources were inexhaustible and therefore there was no need to conserve them. Lumber was needed to fuel Southern California’s great boom of the 1880s; why not use the timber close at hand? Indiscriminate cutting of forest trees appeared imminent. Furthermore, the value of chaparral for the mountain watershed was little understood. Brush fires, some deliberately set by cattlemen to clear land for grazing, raged across the mountains until extinguished by rain. Fortunately, some farsighted residents in Los Angeles and the San Gabriel Valley became alarmed at this exploitation and devastation of the local mountains, and they began working to preserve the lands.
One of these was Abbot Kinney, a rancher, botanist, and land developer who lived at his Kinneloa Ranch above Altadena. Kinney is best remembered as the creator of Venice, the Southern California beach town that once had canals for streets, but it was as chairman of California’s first Board of Forestry that he did his most important work. In the first report of the Board of Forestry to Governor George Stoneman in 1886, Kinney urged “intelligent supervision of the forest land and brush lands of California, with a view to their preservation.” This California movement for forest conservation, sparked by Kinney and others, soon became part of a national movement. John Muir, using his eloquence in a series of magazine articles urging forest protection, was the leading spokesman.
Congress finally responded by passing the Forest Reserve Act of 1891, granting the president the authority “to set apart and reserve … any part of the public lands wholly or in part covered with timber or undergrowth.” As a result of this act, and strong pressure from Southern California civic leaders, President Benjamin Harrison signed the bill establishing the San Gabriel Timberland Reserve on December 20, 1892. This was the first forest reserve in California and the second in the United States. (The first was the Yellowstone Park Timberland Reserve in Wyoming, established by presidential proclamation on September 16, 1891.) The designation was at first rather ineffectual; for one thing, forest rangers were not assigned until 1898. But gradually the San Gabriel Timberland Reserve was brought under efficient forest management and protection. In 1907 the name was changed to San Gabriel National Forest, and the following year it became what we know today—Angeles National Forest. A succession of capable supervisors—Everett Thomas, Theodore Lukens, Rush Charlton, William Mendenhall, Sim Jarvi, William Dresser, and Paul Sweetland—have made the Angeles one of the most effectively run national forests in the nation.
Clouds over southeast ridge of Mount Wilson (Hike 45)
Worldwide fame came to the San Gabriels in the 1890s with construction of the Mount Lowe Railway, considered one of the engineering wonders of its time. This breathtaking cable incline and trolley ride—along with associated hotels in Rubio Canyon, atop Echo Mountain, and on the slopes of Mount Lowe—was the brainchild of inventor Thaddeus S. C. Lowe and engineer David Macpherson. The famed mountain railway-resort complex attracted more than 3 million visitors during its 43 years of operation.
Professor Thaddeus S. C. Lowe (center) and party on Mount Lowe (1892)
The human quest for scientific knowledge played its part in the story of the mountains too. In the days before city lights and air pollution interfered with sky viewing, Mount Wilson’s broad summit was ideal for astronomical observation. The first telescope on Mount Wilson was the 13-incher of Harvard University Observatory, placed on the summit in 1889 (but removed the following year). The year 1904 saw the beginning of the Carnegie Institute’s famed Mount Wilson Observatory, one of the 20th century’s great scientific ventures. Largely through the initiative and enthusiasm of astronomer George Ellery Hale, several of the world’s greatest telescopes were erected on the mountaintop, the most important being the 60-inch reflector (1908), the 150-foot solar tower telescope (1912), and the 100-inch Hooker reflector (1917), the latter the world’s largest optical telescope for 31 years.
Before highways crisscrossed the San Gabriels, the mountains were the delight of hikers. Mountain historians call the period from about 1895 to 1938 the Great Hiking Era. Multitudes of lowland residents enjoyed their weekends and holidays rambling over the range. Trails that today are almost deserted vibrated to the busy tramp of boots and the merry singing of hikers. The mountains were a local frontier for exploration and a challenge to the hardy. For some, hiking was simply a favorite sport; for others, it was almost a religion. Trail resorts sprang up to offer hospitality, food, and lodging to hikers. Such places as Switzer’s, Opid’s, Colby’s, Loomis’s, Sturtevant’s, and Roberts’s were visited by thousands every season.
A strange combination of disasters and “progress” brought the Great Hiking Era to a close. The disasters were a series of fires and consequent floods, the great destructive torrent of March 1938 being the final blow. Overnight, miles of canyon trails were obliterated. “Progress” took the form of the Angeles Crest Highway, begun in 1929. Relentlessly, the great asphalt thoroughfare snaked its way into the heart of the mountains, reaching Red Box in 1934, Charlton Flat in 1937, and Chilao a year later. By 1941 it had inched its way across Cloudburst Summit and reached that most isolated of backcountry haunts, Buckhorn. Places that once required a day or two of strenuous hiking were now accessible in an hour of driving. One by one, the old trail resorts succumbed. As one old-timer sadly reflected, “Only people who hike for the love of hiking use these trails now.” The Angeles Crest Highway, more than anything else, changed