Pescadero Memories

Story by John  Vonderlin

Email John (benloudman@sbcglobal.net)

Hi June,

I found the source for the alternate version of the origin of the name of Gazos Canyon. My previous understanding was based on the Gazos Canyon guided tour we went on. During which, a rhetorical question about the canyon’s name’s origin got a chorus of “herons” from some of the hike’s participants. It was said that gazos was the Spanish word for “herons.” While my Spanish vocabulary is pretty good, the section for types of birds doesn’t go too far beyond pollo and pavo, and of course paloma, the bird which was, I read somewhere,  possibly the source of Pigeon Point’s name, not the shipwreck of the Carrier Pigeon. So, I accepted it as fact, and posted it in my story.

Well, I found the source of the alternate theory again, and it’s Tess Black’s book, “Portraits of Pescadero.” In the “Steele Family Section,” on Page 145, she’s discussing Rensselaer Steele Sr. in 1879, and has this sentence: “”The property included “a narrow, spring-fed ravine” that ran along the coast about a half-mile south of where the Gazos Creek (named for the Clove Pink or Sea Gilly flower, that grew in the area) flows into the ocean.”"
This became the Gazos Ranch, that Harvey Mowry, documents so well in his book,”Echoes From Gazos Creek Country,” I’d tell you what he might have to say about this, but his book starts in 1862, and doesn’t seem to mention it.
Well, I looked up Clove Pink and Sea Gilly and here’s a little Wikipedia info that turned up a strange connection, that might or might not be related.

Sea Gilly A name given by writers to the clove pink (Dianthus Caryophyllus)

(Clove Pink) is a species of Dianthus. It is probably native to the Mediterranean region but its exact range is unknown due to extensive cultivation for the last 2,000 years. It is the wild ancestor of the garden Carnation
It is a herbaceous perennial plant growing to 80 cm tall. The leaves are glaucous greyish green to blue-green, slender, up to 15 cm long. The flowers are produced singly or up to five together in a cyme; they are 3–5 cm diameter, and sweetly scented; the original natural flower colour is bright pinkish-purple.
The name Dianthus is from the Greek words dios (“god”) and anthos (“flower”), and was cited by the Greek botanist Theophrastus.
The colour pink may be named after the flower. The origin of the flower name ‘pink’ may come from the frilled edge of the flowers: the verb “pink” dates from the 14th century and means “to decorate with a perforated or punched pattern” (maybe from German “pinken” = to peck). Source: Collins Dictionary. The verb sense is also used in the name of pinking shears

The Sea Gilly connection was problematic for me. Though there was only one far-northern, species of Dianthus native to this continent, it;s possible there are look-a-likes, or that its worldwide cultivation suggests an early introduction by settlers to the coastside and its possible thriving, upon escape. But, I’m not sure of the connection between “Gilly” and “Gazos,” as there is none mentioned.
The trouble with the Spanish-heron version is that “garza” not “gazo,” is the Spanish word, at least these days, for “Heron.” Admittedly “Las Garzas,” is difficult enough to pronouce that a change might be likely through the years. But, what happened to the “Los,” as in Los Gazos Creek, and how did it become a masculino noun, changing its gender from “una garza”?
Here’s a third theory. White House Canyon, the one just south of Gazos Creek Canyon, got it’s name from the two story, white-painted house Isaac Graham built on a flat above the little creek, in the 1850’s. In Harvey’s book, he says, Isaac (Steele) recalled hearing how Graham’s house, sitting isolated and painted white, had been a landmark for early (1850’s) northbound ships. And that might be relevant because the only language I could find that gazos means anything is Portuguese, where it means albinos.
A fourth theory, which is similar, would be that the nearby white cliffs, or chalk ridges as they were known then, which had been mentioned as early as Portola’s expedition, and were clearly visible from passing ships, might be the “albinos” instead.
The odd coincidence I was reminded of, was that President William’s McKinley’s family, and President Herbert Hoover’s family, had strong connections to this essentially empty, isolated-to-this-day remote area.
Here’s another odd fact I found in the Wikipedia Dianthus article:that might be connected. Could young William’s’s love of carnations been initiated by time spent on the Gazos Creek where his brother James had a sawmill?

The state flower of Ohio is a scarlet carnation. The choice was made to honour William McKinley, Ohio Governor and U.S. President, who was assassinated in 1901, and regularly wore a scarlet carnation on his lapel.[6]

Enjoy. John
P.S. By the way there’s a picture of an apple box label from Chalk Ridge Orchards, Torquay, California, Grown and Packed by I.C. Steele, in Tess’s book. It’s on Page 158.

I came across June Morrall’s website Pescadero Memories and read the entire backlog of posts in 2 days. I spent part of my childhood growing up in Pescadero and my dad who just turned 80 grew up there. After I told him about the website we got into a pretty interesting discussion about his memories of the people and places he grew up with. Turns out he even knew Russel Towle from the days that he ran the gas station there at the entrance to Gazos Creek Road when Russel would come in now and again.

The reason I’m emailing you is because of a section of beach he remembers playing on between Franklin Point and Gazos Creek beach. It was called Bootleggers Cove and there used to be a cave that he played in. Apparently it was used by someone he remembers as Benzanni. He’s not sure if that was his real name of not but said he they all thought he was crazy. I don’t know if you have heard of this place in all your explorations and thought you might be interested.

Looking forward to reading more of you posts on June’s website,

Linda (Wyatt) Iacono

———

Hi Linda,

Nice to hear from you. I’m familiar with the stretch of beach you mentioned, from Gazos to Franklin Point, having visited there again just a few weeks ago, but not the name of Smuggler’s Cove. Though that moniker has been attributed to several coves along this stretch of coast, I can see why this would have been a natural spot for such activities. There is sand, lots of it, on a gently sloping beach and few offshore rocks. Plus the highway moves away from the beach as you head south from Gazos, with a old vegetated dunefield filling the ever-widening gap as you approach Franklin Point. The dune field has a series of small parallel valleys that would have been perfect to transport things unseen from the beach to near the road.

The most likely spot for the cave your father mentioned probably is in the small promontory captured in the first picture along with the gulls. The next two photos are shot from that promontory, looking north to the Gazos Creek parking lot and south to Franklin Point. You can see there’s not many places for a cave these days. The last photo is of one of a group of kite surfers who had driven down from Marin to enjoy our great winds on this beach.

If your Dad would like to share any of his other memories, I’d love to hear them. Especially if he can shed any light on some of the subjects of previous postings. If you can show him Pictures #6337 to #6344 (Gazos Creek to Franklin Point) on the “California Coastal Records Project” (CCRP) website, maybe he can pinpoint the location of the cave and cove. Enjoy. John

P.S. I think I remember reading an old newspaper article that said the beach north of Franklin Point was known as “The Fist,” possibly because of a large driftwood tree put in the ground upside down by the trail to the beach.

Email John (benloudman@sbcglobal.net)
————-

Hi John,

I just got back from a trip to Santa Cruz
and took a little tour of the places I lived in the Pescadero area.
Unfortunately all four of the houses (we moved a lot) are gone now but I
still have great memories of all of them.

My dad grew up at the White House Ranch which was right near the
entrance to Costanoa Lodge. I lived there as well in a different house
that they called the White House. It was the old Isaac Graham house
that had been built somewhere out closer to the ocean and moved to where
I knew it to be. Here is a link, please click here
to information about the house. It is also mentioned in the book
Portraits of Pescadero by Tess Black. Both the house I lived in and the
house my dad grew up in burned down years ago. The only evidence I
could find of anything ever being there was a section of pipe sticking
out of the ground.

I will try to find out the exact location of the cave next time I see my
dad.

Thanks for responding,
Linda

Story by John Vonderlin

Email John (benloudman@sbcglobal.net)

Hi June,

Last weekend Meg, I, and a handful of other people met Mike Merritt

the Interpretive Ranger for Butano State Park, at the corner of Cloverdale Road and Gazos Creek Road for a tour he was offering of the historic sites of Gazos Canyon. After chatting for a while to gather any latecomers, we proceeded up Gazos Road into the canyon.

Our first stop was the former site of the historic Gazos Lumber Mill. Here Mike introduced us to a subject he obviously knows really well, the history of the Gazos Canyon. He had a portfolio of large historic photos that showed the site a hundred years ago. While this was the area in which I’d found the pre-Prohibition beer bottle I’d mentioned in a previous posting, I was amazed at what I’d not seen. He’d hold up a photograph shot from where we stood, demonstrating what it looked like a hundred years ago, and at first blush it was unrecognizable. Only as he would point out various long-lasting landmarks could I make the connection.

I must say the last hundred years have been kind to the canyon, allowing it to recover from the clearcutting get-it-while-you-can lumber practices practiced way back when.

My fellow tourists were an interesting, intelligent and curious group. Several of them had just come from a tour of the Pie Ranch property, sponsored by the Pescadero History Association (just across the road from where Russell Towle, Stuart Harwood and the rest of that colorful group of folks used to exit their Ano Nuevo artist commune onto Highway 1.)

When Mike asked us if we knew what Gazos meant, I think I was the only one who didn’t know it was Spanish for Heron. They were also fans of Harvey Mowry. I know that because when Mike mentioned him and his book, “Echoes of the Gazos Creek Country,” not only was there a chorus of recognition, but one person pulled out a photocopy of the funky, but serviceable, hand-drawn maps of mill sites Harvey sprinkles throughout his book. Various members, obviously amateur naturalists, chimed in with plant and butterfly identifications as we hiked along.

As Mike filled in the details about this site, I splashed through the creek to take some photos of the mill pond dam.

This wooden dam, composed of large trees laid atop each other across the creek, is still essentially intact a hundred years later. Rangers have cut through part of it to improve stream flow for fish and to minimize the chance of a logjam forming, but it still looks almost serviceable.

From there we moved up the creek, with Mike pointing out the subtle remnants of what used to be here and there. Things I’d have never noticed without a lot of searching. There was the short stretch of shallow ditch alongside the creek that was probably the remnant of the wooden flume built in 1870-1871 to float the cut lumber down the canyon. The cut tree roots along its side were strong evidence it was not a natural feature. Harvey’s book describes the flume as half a square, turned on edge with the top 40 inches wide. It had a slant of an inch and a half every sixteen feet and was five -and -a- half miles long. From there it was shipped by rail or wagon to Pigeon Point where it was loaded by aerial cable onto awaiting ships.

At one point he pointed out five feet of tiny rail that stuck out of the gravel in the creek.

This is apparently the only remnant of the tramway that was built atop the mill’s deck. Two hundred and fifty feet long it allowed the cut lumber to be easily moved about to the various stacks it was put in before shipping or floating downstream. I’m eager to see that piece of history, about 130 years old, be rescued and preserved for future visitors.

Nearby, in a spot the creek had scoured the sand and gravel away from the bedrock, were four large, deep, strangely round holes.

Their shape and positioning shouted a manmade origin. Mike’s theory, is they were acorn soaking holes. During the summer or fall when the creek’s flow was gentle, net bags full of acorns could be suspended in them. This would have allowed some of the tannic acid they contain to be removed before they were ground into the flour that was an important part of the local tribe’s diet.

So it went. Just as Harvey mentions in his book when he describes his 1972 return visit to his childhood haunts, most everything is gone or covered by a thick layer of forest duff. But Mike, a student of the history of the area was able to point out things like springboard cuts in various giant stumps. (018)

By jamming springboards into the cuts, loggers were able to stand atop them and make cuts higher up the trees where the wood was softer and had a straighter grain. Or the grooves in other stumps that were used to guide the cables as the donkey engine snaked giant logs downhill towards the mill. Or tiny flat spots on the steep slopes above the creek where housing for the workers or their families had been perched.

While the forest has regrown and once again shade and quiet reign supreme in this deep dark canyon, for a few hours the noise, danger, and industry of these pioneers as they wrested a living from the giant trees that grew here a hundred years ago came alive in our imaginations. I give the tour two thumbs up and recommend you keep an eye open for the next time Mike gives it.

When towards the end of our hike we re-entered the creekbed, I photographed this brick remnant sticking out of the gravel.

Since then I’ve located the website for the “International Brick Collectors Association.” Five hundred of these enthusiasts recently met in San Francisco to trade, sell, or just share their passion about all things brick. The website encourages questions, so I’m hoping with a reply to my email to soon know the answer to where the “? BALL” brick company was. The website lists dozens of antique brick producers from throughout California, but none seem to apply.

Just before we left the creek and headed back to our cars, I wandered around a corner from the group. and scared up a Great Gray Heron from its pursuit of small fish in the deep pools. A fitting bit of symbolism of nature’s resiliency and a reassuring token of this area’s totem returning to its rightful domain. Enjoy. John

P.S. The discussion about the brick elicited Meg’s memory from a decade ago of entering Apple Jack’s one day with her husband and being approached by a man who asked them if they had any bricks. It turns out this was the famous Hubert “Limey” Kay, another of La Honda’s seemingly endless group of colorful characters. I did a websearch of “La Honda and bricks” and up popped his obituary. You can read about this unusual man and his colorful life in a Half Moon Bay Review article here:
www.hmbreview.com/articles/2008/07/30/news/doc4890cf2ab86eb690731841.txt

or go on an online photo tour of his house, which is now available for rent. For more info, please click here:

Enjoy. John

Story by Mike Merritt, Butano State Park Seasonal Interpreter

Hi June,

In August I am putting on some special interest hikes at Butano State Park.

On Sunday Aug. 10 at 1:00, I am leading a two hour hike on the Goat Hill Trail. Along with the ever
interesting plant and animal life of the area, Goat Hill was also a major homesteading area for many years, and we will be visiting historical sites along the way and discussing their importance.

I hope to have photos and artifacts handy as well. The hike is roughly two to three miles with sections of uphill. Water, snacks, and good hiking shoes are recommended.

Meet at the intersection of the Olmo Fire Road and the Park Road.

The other hike I am leading is in the Gazos Canyon from 1:00 to 3:00.

A sanctuary for animal life including the Steel-Head Trout and the Marbled Murrelet, the canyon also holds a rich history of logging mills. While enjoying the pristine creek, with its second-growth redwoods, we will explore the remains of the logging days of the Gazos.

A moderate hike, roughly two miles. Wear good shoes and bring water and snacks. Meet at the intersection of Gazos Creek and Cloverdale Roads.

From: Place Names of San Mateo County, Dr. Alan K. Brown (1976)

Gazos Creek: (Coast highwy 2.4 miles S of Pigeon Point. According to Vasquez, the name “arroyo de las Garzas (Heron creek) was given because large numbers of “cranes” were attracted by fish trapped in the shallow lagoon at the mouth of the creek in summer. The name first appears on an 1851 sketch map (Manuel Castro papers, Bancroft Library), and must have been first used in the 1840s.

The Gazos may refer to the creek, but usually means the place at it: the old lumber mills were “up in the Gazos.”

The stream is called the arroyo de la Bajada (Descent creek) on an 1838 sketch map; because one of the main Santa Cruz trails came down to the beach here. Rice’s creek on the 1857 survey may refer to a Mexican named Arias who had a ranch here right after the Gold Rush.

William Steele Moves His Cows by Galen Wolf

Long before daybreak, the cows of William Steele were milked that memorable morning, at Steele’s barn on the shore of Tomales Bay, by milkers under weak lantern light. This was the day that William Steele’s option on thousands of acres of land, running from the Gazos Creek to Santa Cruz County line, took effect and he was to move his herd south to his new land. He intended to move his dairy, and he chose the daring route of the area. The milking that afternoon was to be done before the sun set, a hundred sea miles from where he had milked the cows that morning. This late milking had to be done because you can’t shut down a cow just because of a move.

That morning, Wiliam Steele had a large barge tied to the short wharf at Millerton on Tomales Bay. He had engaged a wheezy steam tug to pull it. The route would follow the narrow bay, pass through the far narrower channel and then into the open sea. Even today, modern boats avoid the dangerous channel. Once in the open ocean, his tow faced the grim Point Reyes, the windiest promontory in America. Beyond the peril lay Duxburg Reef, noted for shipwrecks, and then the turbulent Potato Patch at the mouth of the Golden Gate.

Steele had set up high and heavy railings and stanchions for anchoring the animals on the barge, to keep them from being rolled into the unsteady waves.

A few flocks of awakening bay ducks were scattered by the tumult of shouting men and bawling cows as the loading began. Cows are hardly cooperative and this occasion was no exception as the loud voices of men and animals rang out in a great hullabaloo to distrub the dawn.

Cowhandling, however, was the forte of the Steele hands. The trip began with the first light, which saw the tug wheezing into the channel with the tow obediently swinging astern.

Meanwhile, on the faraway ranch, plans had been completed to house to new seaborne guests. Barns had been built, pad-stalls and stanchions stood ready, milk houses waited and great stacks of hay perfumed the air.

But now Steele’s problems began to unfold. A few days before the move, the Tomales workers informed him that they would not leave their beloved Maria. They agreed to load the cows for Steele and then….no more. Milkers were hard to come by. The nearby townspeople had cows of their own and they could not help.

Finally, in desperation, in the grey dawn of that day, a foreman came in from San Francisco with a gang of Chinese men. Few of them had ever seen a cow, let alone milked one. In haste, they had their schooling. They secured a few nearby animals and milking was demonstrated to a ring of serious nodding heads. They picked up the idea quickly. Smiling, nodding, “Plenty savee. Can do.”

Tomales Bay was now behind the barge and the bar made its challenge. It was full tide now and serenly the convoy swept out to open sea. It was a fair day, but ocean is ocean and the cattle stood in seasick misery as the sun glinted whitely on the windswept waves of Point Reyes.

Hours passed with the whistling wind and spray on the wet decks. The old tug had been honestly built. The barge followed closely behind the tug. As they passed Duxburg, all were reminded of the fatal wrecks on that notorious reef, as they watched the breaking reef.

Then came the plunge and tumult of the Potato Patch’s cross seas, and finally the even rollers of the coast south of the Gate. Soon Pigeon Point appeared. The sun was low. They were ready for landing the distressed cargo at last.

Chalky patches on Rattlesnake Mountain marked the Gazos Creek as they neared the shore. The cove below Norman Steele’s home had been reconnoitered. Since there were no rocks, it was a fairly safe landing cove. The little tug crept in towards the shore. It had caught up the barge in brackets and pushed it hard toward the sandy cove. The deeply laden barge grounded a hundred feet from shore, but its heavy load could not be taken any closer to the beach.

The cows were wildly excited as little rollers sloshed along the barge’s sides. A gangway was lowered and the first cows were forced down it. The water was back-deep for the animals and splashed along their sides. The men on board were just as excited with success so near. The rush and crash of the small surf, the smell of land and hay, and the return of miling time all had the cows in a state of wild confusion.

The cows began leaping from the low barge amid the screams of the gulls, shouts of the men and barking of dogs. They streamed ashore, wild-eyed and shaking seawater from their faces.

The Steele boys were born to handle cattle. It must have felt like home to the cows, as they buried their muzzles in their feeding boxes. As they were being milked on new land, even the fingers of Chinese recruits did not seem too strange.

And thus William Steele came to San Mateo County. Other neighbors arrived as dramatically and in many different ways. These years were of high enterprise and a man’s worth was measurable.