Pescadero Memories

The Coburn Mystery

By June Morrall

(Photo: The famous Swanton House.)

After church on Sunday afternoons, the Fourth of July–or, for no special reason–the Pescadero folk announced a picnic at Pebble Beach. Picking the pebbles became a pretense, sharing the experience of being together replaced the village Town Hall.

Pebble Beach became the fabric that held the close-knit community together.

Simultaneously, the pebbles attracted visitors from as far away as Maine, outsiders who needed a comfortable place to stay. Mrs. Sarah Swanton offered them rooms in a row of charming white cottages, smothered with blood red roses and trailing green ivy.

(An alleyway separated the six cottages called Fern, Myrtle, Rose, Ivy, Elm and Woodbine. All of the cottages opened onto a common garden filled with blooming flowers and shrubs. Beyond the garden was a wide promenade. Owners Charles and Sarah Swanton lived in the main house with their two children, Frank and Eva.

The Swanton House, owned by Sarah and Charles Swanton, stood at the corner of San Gregorio Street and Bean Hollow Road, names that have changed over the decades. Travel writers described the bed and breakfast as a “plain country hotel with a good table,” which meant Sarah was a pretty good cook. Old fashioned hospitality kept families returning to Pescadero but it was especially popular with women.

The flagpole–a significant marker by which everyone marked distances–stood in front of the hotel. It was a part of everyday life, always mentioned when giving directions to strangers. And there was a story behind the flag made of store-bought blue flannel with the stars sewn on in the 1850s by the town’s leading ladies.

To the south stood a landmark ridge that the locals called Lincoln Hill, named for the famous president, giving away the town’s Civil War sympathies. [I mention this because many & briefly, in San Francisco, were pro-Confederacy.] Union Army General Frederick Steele was a close relative of the Steele family, prominent dairymen at Ano Nuevo, south of town.

Wooley & Taft’s stagecoach picked up passengers daily at the San Mateo train station on the opposite side of the tree-covered mountain. The stage drivers, with reputations as hard drinkers and daredevils, careened over the hills.

By June Morrall

(Photo: The Swanton House.)

The shoreline of Pebble Beach was rocky, and the pebbles, or stones, that been rolled and tumbled by the tides until they were polished smooth were ankle deep. The bright pebbles ranged in size from “a shot to a marble;” there seemed to be an endless variety of colors and shapes. There was a magnetic quality about them–and the place was enchanting.

“The wind blows there like the blazes sometimes,” said pioneer Alexander Moore.

But the strong winds didn’t affect the beach’s reputation as a special place to visit, especially by the nearby community of Pescadero. In these early years, Pebble Beach was the glue that brought the villagers together, for picnics and celebrations of all kinds–the pebbles and the sand on which they lay became sacred ground.

When Moore, a farmer, was nearing 70, he said it wasn’t the pebbles that he was interested in, but, “What took me there mostly was to get something good to eat…” He’d never picked up more than a dozen pebbles off the beach.

“Well, usually when I went there, I went to take ladies and children,” said the dairyman Issac Steele, “to go pick pebbles and play on the beach and picnic….”

Steele said he first rode horseback over the well worn trail to Pebble Beach in 1863. He suspected that were it not for the fascination of the pebbles, fewer people would visit Pescadero. Moore agreed with his neighbor. “…The people find Pebble Beach a nice place to go and lie down and wallow around in the pebbles….”

The highly respected businessman J.C. Williamson, who settled in Pescadero in 1869, visited Pebble Beach “quite often…I have averaged 10 or 12 trips each year.” In 1895 he recalled seeing two or three hundred picnickers there at one time. He had something to say about the road to the beach as well, noting that the people had created the road with their horses and carriages. The road was well worn with chuck holes filled by the local stablemen who brought visitors to the beach.

Henry B. Adair, the roadmaster, who moved to Pescadero in 1875, noted: “…the first time I ever was at Pebble Beach was, I guess, not more than a week after I arrived in Pescadero.”

“If a fellow wanted to take his girl,” said I.C. Steele, “he took her on horseback, either behind him or in front of him….” He remembered “wagon-loads, lumber wagons, there was scarcely anything else in the county there at the time,”–the time being the decade from 1862 to 1872, the years that the Steeles leased the southern portion of the Rancho Ano Nuevo from Loren Coburn.

The pebbles were the big draw at Pebble Beach, but fishing from the rocks was a popular pasttime, too. Alexander Moore observed that “..there is hardly a day that passes without some people driving by my house with a fishing pole tied to their buggy.”

By June Morrall

“The only road to Pebble Beach was ‘a kind of a zig zag…never laid out by anybody…[and it looked like]…a cow trail because it was crooked, but wider because wagons crossed over it…”–Alexander Moore, Pescadero pioneer who built the first wood frame house in 1853.

Nobody knew where the shiny, colorful pebbles that covered Pebble Beach came from, so the beach was tagged a “nautical wonder,” a “geological freak.” There were theories, though: Half of the townfolks said the glacier of pebbles originated in the cliffs and were pulled into the Pacific. The other half said the tides brought them to Pescadero from somewhere else.

Roma T. Jackson, the controversial editor/publisher of the Coastside Advocate often wrote of Pebble Beach and its charming little pebbles.

“Many are valuable gems,” Jackson wrote, “such as carnelians, opals, cats eyes, agates, moonstones and water crystals making it a profitable as well as a pleasant pasttime to search the pebble banks.”

All this was hyperbole, making Pebble Beach sound like a big beach teeming with priceless jewels, similar to the Great Diamond Hoax (1872) where the pricey, glittering stones were said to be growing on the ground and in trees.

Pebble Beach was only a quarter mile in width and several hundred yards long.

“The first that I knew of it being called Pebble Beach was in 1864,” Alexander Moore said. “I heard them talk about the pebbles….A lady by the name of Hale, an old lady that used to come down from a boarding house and a fellow by the name of Bill Carr…Ever since that time Pebble Beach has been a place of public resort.”

…more coming..

available at the San Mateo County History Museum in Redwood City. There’s ten copies at the museum and I am running out of the book.

By June Morrall

If Pescadero was the recipe for a popular resort, here’s a list of its good ingredients:

Healthfulness: The ocean breezes were well advertised.

Location: Close enough to ride the stage, far enough away to feel secluded.

Sightseeing: Ride horseback into the mountains or down to the seashore. Within a two mile radius, enjoy magnificent pine and redwood forests, rocky canyons, brilliant green hills, babbling brooks and spectacular vistas.

Recreation: Excellent trout and ocean fishing; hunting. For the artist with an interest in the botanical–a great variety of sea moss, shells, ferns, and flowers.

Special Places To Visit: Breathtaking Butano Falls, and a secret cave on upper Butano Creek; Angel’s Roost, an enchanting grove of redwoods; Singing Beach, so-called for the friction of sand and water, resulting in a pleasant humming sound, and highly recommended, an educational tour of Pigeon Point Lighthouse.

Famous “Magical” Attraction: Pebble Beach, south of Pescadero.

Story by June Morrall

In the mid-to-late 19th century, San Francisco’s great need for wood for building new structures– as well as replacing old ones that fed the frequent fires– led to the construction of profitable sawmills south of Half Moon Bay.

(At least in one case, ownership of the Rufus Hatch Mill, led to local political power in the 20th century when son Alvin Hatch went on to become a San Mateo County supervisor.)

But the Hatch Mill was located close to Half Moon Bay, with the pier and warehouse at Amesport (Miramar Beach), probably shipping Hatch’s timber to the City.

Pigeon Point Landing, south of Pescadero, was the shipping headquarters for the sawmills located on the South Coast. Redwoods and pine trees stood tall near the Pescadero, Butano and Gazo creeks.

[In the 1870s the Gazos flume did an outstanding business. During less than 5 hours, 25,000-feet of lumber floated through the flume.]

Lumber operators set up deep inside the forests, felled the trees, and processed them into shingles and railroad ties. Logging was an extremely dangerous profession, naturally attracting fearless men who loved danger. For the investor, it was an expensive proposition, due to the added cost of physical labor and mules moving the heavy logs and finished wood through the roadless redwoods to isolated Pigeon Point.

[In other cases, "flumes," were used to float the wood from one place to another.]

The dream was to build a small railroad that would ferry the wood and shingles between the wharf and the sawmills. Better yet move the sawmills next door to Pigeon Point.

On the other hand, the difficulty that the logistics presented left many of the trees untouched–including a large stand of redwoods along Pescadero Creek (said to be the largest such stand south of Mendocino.)

Millions of board feet of lumber were also left along the Butano and Gazo creeks, untouched well in the 1900s.

Clarence Hayward was a big name in the lumber business. Hayward’s lumber, shingle and grist mills were located three miles east of the flag pole on San Gregorio Street in Pescadero. Clarence, who lived in an old house with beautiful gardens near the mill, sold pine and redwood and sometimes bartered for grain.

William Waddell was a pioneer sawmill owner who came to the South Coast from Kentucky in 1851. A good storyteller, Waddell said the abundant timber lining the banks of Pescadero creek was “unknown to the woodman’s axe” when he arrived.

William Waddell became the stuff of legend when a grizzly bear killed him in 1875. As a tribute to the sawmill owner [whose operations stood on both sides of the San Mateo-Santa Cruz County boundary line Waddell creek was named in William Waddell’s honor.

[While this original draft may be messy, it does contain more details and research than the edited version.]
By June Morrall

The Steeles moved from Ohio to California in 1855, first farming in Marin and Sonoma County. Seven years later the Steeles were forced to move when the Point Reyes property they rented was sold to new owners.

Then they heard that Loren Coburn, the San Francisco stableman and San Mateo County landowner, was looking for someone to lease his property at Ano Nuevo. Originally a deal was struck where Renneslear (”RE”), Issac (”IC”) and Edgar Steele rented the Ano Nuevo land for ten years. But by 1864 they owned it! [I believe what happened is that Loren needed cash up front for another project and the Steeles had the money.]

Besides dairying, the Steele brothers raised stock and cultivated grain. They built lovely homes for themselves at Ano Nuevo and at the famous Cascade Dairy. During the Civil War, Edgar produced a gargantuan cheese weighing one ton and donated it to the U.S. Sanitary Commission, forerunner of the Red Cross.

The Steeles had a personal reason for producing the giant dairy product: General Frederick Steele, who fought in the Civil War, was a close relative.

Edgar Steele also distinguished himself by demonstrating at county fairs new production techniques designed to yield higher quantities and qualities of cheese.

——————-

From: Coastside Cultural Resources of San Mateo County, California (1980)

Steele Brothers Dairies: In 1862, Rensselaer Steele and his three cousins established a chain of dairies between Gazos Creek and Ano Nuevo known as the Steele Brothers Dairies which became famous throughout the Bay Area for their products. A number of houses and barns still stand which were constructed by the family. The dairies are listed as a California State Landmark.

Cascade Ranch House: Built in the mid-1860s for Rensselaer and Clara Steele, the building is constructed in a classical form with a symmetrical placement of windows and doors, and is the most elegant of the buildings. A wide veranda with a balcony on the second floor runs along the front and both sides of the house. Alterations made to the house over the years have not destroyed its distinctive coastal character.

Cascade Ranch Dairy: This three-story redwood structure was the first erected by the Steeles after their location on the Coastside in 1862. The building was designed for function rather than style, which may explain the irregular placement of its windows. A wide band, or fascia, just under the eaves was the builder’s only architectural embellishment.

By June Morrall

When San Francisco experienced growing pains, Pigeon Point felt the pressure and nearby Pescadero’s rich bottom lands turned into a thickly planted potato patch. The potatoes were popularly called “Irish oranges.”

Author/adventurer Colonel Albert S. Evans wrote in 1872 that he observed Indians and Chinese working side-by-side in the fields, digging up potatoes, filling 100 to 125 bags per acre, each weighing more than 100 pounds.

Barley, red oats, onions, early peas, lettuce, cauliflower, sweet corn, string beans, horse beans and Brussels sprouts were easily cultivated on the lowlands and sidehills; the sweetest strawberries thrived near the Pacific Ocean.

The artichoke, “the dainty aristocrat among vegetables,” was a latecomer to South Coast agriculture but the choke developed a flavor in the Pescadero soil attained no where else. Irish oranges (potatoes) and alll the other vegetables were shipped from Pigeon Point to San Francisco.

The coastal climate featured mild winters and boasted a phenomenon known as a “Second Spring,” when crops could be planted in the fall during what East Coast folks called an “Indian Summer.”

Dairies dotted the coastal slopes. Producers of cheese and butter, the Cloverdale Dairy was spread over 1700 acres.

The Steele family numbered among the most successful dairymen. They were a large family, seven brothes and two sisters, who moved from Ohio to California about 1855. The Steeles projected the image of the sturdy American farmer.

[This is from the original manuscript--and contains many more details than the final, edited version.]

Pressure to illuminate the hidden reefs off the coast of Pescadero intensified as more shipwrecks occurred. Lighthouse advocates argued that the heavy fog lured sailors toward the underwater hazards and a watery death. Public officials listened and lobbied the US government for a lighthouse.

A lighthouse would encourage commerce as well.

Captain Despeaux and 12 sailors drowned when the Sir John Franklin broke up soon after striking Pigeon Point in January 1865. The deaths so traumatized the local villagers that a plaque honoring the drowned men was planted on the cliffs above the point. Three weeks before Christmas 1866 the Coya was wrecked midway between Pigeon Point and Ano Nuevo***. Eight mangled bodies were found after being repeatedly smashed against the rocks that littered the shoreline. The Hellespont, carrying a load of coal bound for San Francisco, broke-up after striking the dark reefs in November 1868. Seven the crew survived but eleven, including the brave Captain Cornelius Soule (well known in San Francisco as the captain of the ‘Panama’) were missing and presumed dead.

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(The original draft of the Coburn Mystery contains many more details than the final, edited version of the book.)

(Photo courtesy Tony Pera)

While the Pacific Ocean crashed at Pescadero’s sandy feet, this extraordinarily beautiful place remained deeply isolated.

And perhaps, the residents watched with some envy as small coastal vessels, part of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company’s fleet, sailed by carrying letters and supplies from San Francisco to Santa Cruz. Both of those places boasted natural harbors but the little steamers didn’t stop at Pescadero because along this breathtaking–but windy and inhospitable stretch of coast–there were no natural harbors. The only plausible spot for a landing was at Pigeon Point, a six mile horseback ride over the rolling countryside.

At Pigeon Point there was a little semi-circular bay, partially sheltered from northern winds. It was the only place deep enough for small vessels to pick up local produce and lumber, and to drop off supplies. But Pigeon Point was also an imperfect bay where, hidden beneath the water, long rocky reefs waited like fingers ready to grasp whatever came their way.

One writer described the scene: “…black reefs that reared their ugly fangs like wild beats watching for their prey…”

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