Pescadero Memories

In the early 1970s, when the long summers stretched before me, I often visited the redwoods in La Honda because my good friend, John, worked at Memorial Park.

John, an expert outdoorsman, was an art student whose summer job entailed spearing ground garbage and cleaning the bathrooms in the giant-tree filled park.

When I went along, we often camped out among the silent redwoods, and when John had time off, we visited some of his friends, including famous local ranger Jan “the bee man” Snyder, (whose hobby was beekeeping)—and Dave Cline—a fellow student, who worked summers as the athletic lifeguard at the old swimming hole.

As I recall, Henry Bloomquist was the head man at Memorial, and his old-fashioned name matched exactly what you might think he looked like– a character from a fairy tale who lived in a little white cottage at the top of a hill.

Memories have faded, and I’m not certain anymore if the Bloomquist home actually stood at the crest of a hill but in my mind it remains the quintessential gingerbread house.

For sure everybody called him Henry, never Mr. Bloomquist. He was a small but stoutly healthy fellow, who grew up on the fresh redwoods.

In the 1970s La Honda was a living fairy tale. Everyone seemed to be a good, upright character and a bit unusual–I’ll grant you that—but that was because the pressure to be exactly like everybody else hadn’t yet shoved its dark hand into the remote redwoods.

Who else, but characters from a fairy tale, would live in such a magical place, sweet scented in the still summer heat, where fern-lined trails led us to sparkling creek, the site of secret waterfalls, dreamy meadows and abandoned apple orchards on slanted hillsides—where, on Billy’s land, we pulled the fruit from the trees to eat and nobody chased us away.

One weekend John told me we would be staying (in our sleeping bags) on the Reverend Orril Fluharty’s land near tiny Loma Mar. In the distance I saw John talking with the Reverend, a tall figure to me, and at that time of day, the light was shooting a spectrum of rays behind him.

I was fortunate to be living another chapter in the unwritten fairy tale of the redwoods.

[to be continued in the next post.]

Riding the Storm

Story by John Vonderlin (email John: benloudman@sbcglobal.net)

Meg attended a ten- year anniversary memorial this weekend for the mudslides and flooding that devastated her house and neighborhood in La Honda, during the famous El Nino-generated disaster of 1998.

She and her neighbors celebrated their survival and recovery from several deadly landslides and mudflows that threatened their lives– and took the life of a dear friend in nearby Loma Mar whose home was swept into the raging Pescadero Creek as he slept.

But the effects of the 1998 mudslide disaster lives on in everyone’s memory and each time there’s a strong series of storms like we’ve had lately, everybody gets real worried about a repeat.
.
A repeat of seemingly endless landslides smashing houses and blocking roads for days.

A repeat of floodwaters swallowing up homes and washing out or crippling several bridges.

Add to this extremely bad weather menu, the accompanying high winds that prevented rescue helicopters from removing the injured.

Relying on their own strength, which proved to be powerful, the community rallied and pulled through the difficult time learning many valuable lessons along the way.

I wasn’t there. But much of what I do know about these horrific events, including personal recollections, comes from a U.S.G.S. documentary called “Riding the Storm.” To view the show, click here.

When I decided to write about the landslides, I borrowed Meg’s “El Nino/landslide disaster folder,” for background information. As I was reading, I came upon an email posted to “coastside.net” by Terry Adams, owner of the Ken Kesey house, about a week after the floods and mudslides started.

The family perservered and with the support of the community reached a brighter day.

Meg tells me the same spirit infused her neighborhood throughout the disaster’s aftermath. Today you’d be hard pressed to find any sign of what happened that scary night a decade ago. But, it is obvious in talking to locals that strength truly is fired in the crucible of adversity.

I sent this email***(see below)

to Terry Adams after reading his posting:

Hi Terry,
As you are aware we just passed the ten- year anniversary of the devastating floods, landslides etc. of 1998. Meg and her neighbors, who were almost wiped out by a landslide, had a party celebrating their survival and recovery. I thought I should write a short story about that time, particularly since it is something she recalls fearfully every time she gets prolonged and heavy rains. I’ve been researching for the story and she lent me her El Nino, flood, landslide folder to help. One of the documents I found was a printout of an email you posted on Feb.11th. It was about the scumbags that robbed and pillaged your home after it was nearly destroyed. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but am glad you have recovered so well. If you would like a copy of that email, let me know and I’ll scan it and send it along. I guess it’s true that anything that doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Congratulations on making it to a brighter day. Enjoy. John Vonderlin

Thanks John,
Sure, I would love to have a copy of that email. Every year, on February 2nd, we go out and pour some schnapps into the creek, to pacify it symbolically. About two weeks after the flood, with the help of a bunch of friends, we strung a rope across the creek and
pully-ed across all our rescuable stuff, including a TV - I wish I had photos of that! It was fun - we ended up using the pulley system to ride across the creek ourselves.

Terry

—————————–

***Terry Adam’s Email

Subject: Be On The Lookout

Date: Thurs, Feb. 19, 1998

From: Doug C. Woods

To: Subscribers Southcoast.net

The Storms of 98 really showed what our communities are made of. The spirit of community and co-operation in the face of devastating losses and damages brought out the best in us. We all gave, and continue to give, in our own way. So before the Storms of 98 Part II arrive this weekend let’s see if we can’t find the people who would rather TAKE then give.

Doug Woods

Thank you Jack for circulating good info - it gave me a good idea. Our house (the Kesey house HWY 84 near the old Boots and Saddle) - is probably a total loss. Well, we were ripped off, also & I would like to spread the word as far as possible to local folks to keep out an eye for their own homes as well as our stolen goods.

Please pass this on.

Someone broke in and stole everything we might have saved from the flood…all my power tools, two guns, two computers, monitors, VCR, stereo, etc., Minolta camera, my CR500 dirt bike - over $10,000 of stuff.

And on top of that they went through every drawer and shelf in the house and dumped everything in the mud - clean clothes. irreplaceable momentoes, documents and photos - everything. The sheriff has a complete report of course. Given how hard it is to get to the place without a bridge, I’d guess it is someone who lives nearby and knows the area and how to ride a dirt bike. I’d like to see them caught. No hung!

Terry Adams.

(coming later…)

Friends,
The house and I were on TV, along with Bob Dougherty, and other Local
Folks - Channel 5, Eye On The Bay, on 1/22. You can view the clip on
the WEB, here:

http://cbs5.com/video/?cid=6

Once you get to that site, choose the program titled “Point A to B
#4″. - about the 4th show down the list, on the left. The show is a
tour beginning in Cupertino, ending in San Gregorio. Once they get
into the hills, they stop at Alices, the Pioneer Market, and
Applejacks, then stop at our house for a brief visit. They get here
about half way through the show, which is about 20 minutes long.

Love Ya, Terry

Thank you John Vonderlin for sending this to pescaderomemories.com.

When I was writing a historical column for the San Mateo County Times in 1997, “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest” author Ken Kesey put a “for sale” sign in front of his famous log cabin nestled in the redwoods of La Honda.

I never met Kesey but, like many others my age, he made a big change in my life by writing “Cuckoo’s Nest.” Of course, it was a great book that fit in with the theme of the times, a great and ageless message: that it was okay to be you.

I never met Kesey but I wrote about him and even to him, receiving a wonderfully creative response in return.

I also drove past Kesey’s cabin many times on my way to Loma Mar or to the more secluded Coastside beaches. The home had it’s own “sense of place,” with a small, funky wooden bridge that allowed the person on foot easier access across the, what? The big gully? I can’t remember.

In his “Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test,” book, Tom Wolfe described the scene as worthy of a Christmas card and when I think of Kesey’s house, that’s what I see.

In May, 1997, the San Mateo County Times’ Carolyn Jones broke the news: “The rustic log cabin that served as the lively epicenter for a generation of hippies, beatniks, Hell’s Angels and artists is being sold.”

Kesey’s home, where the colorful Merry Pranksters hung out (and who were not afraid of being themselves) was going for $239,000. Rumor was Kesey didn’t want to leave but he might have been encouraged due to an unfortunate accident involving a county sheriff who fell and injured himself on the property.

I haven’t met the Terry Adams family, the new owners , but they understood they were purchasing a precious piece of 20th century San Mateo County History. What greater homage to Ken Kesey, than this beautiful website, including “Prankster House, Hippie Empire, Psychedelic Mecca, Dragons, Wynchwood”…and more… click here.

(Note: Photo of Kesey’s house courtesy of Terry Adams.)

In August, 1995 I mailed a letter to Ken Kesey–the famous novelist, counterculture hero and former controversial La Honda resident–asking him to contribute a story, even “a fragment,” to an issue of “La Peninsula,” the San Mateo County History Museum’s journal. I was a member of the museum’s board of directors and I knew an article by Mr. Kesey would shake things up in the sometimes staid publication.

Hey, I didn’t really expect a response from the author of the highly acclaimed “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (1962)–yet, what’s the harm in keeping my fingers crossed?

Turned out fingers crossed helped because a few months later my original, letter typed on a white sheet of paper was returned to me, forever altered.

Ken Kesey, the real life central character in Tom Wolfe’s, “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” (1968), responded with a double blast of psychedelic energy. Kesey, who led his band of Merry Pranksters on a continuing adventure “tripping out” in the redwoods of La Honda, couldn’t resist the opportunity to play a prank. What he did was magically turn an ordinary sheet of white typing paper into an extraordinary work of art. At least I think so. You be the judge.

With Kesey’s creative contribution (in lieu of a story) I still needed one, a story, I mean.

I searched the Internet in quest of “Keseyana,” downloading articles by then San Jose Mercury News columnist Lee Quarnstrom. I tracked him down and we talked: Lee had been a “Merry Prankster.” [I think once you've been a "MP," you're one forever.]

In 1964, Lee, then a San Mateo Times reporter, interviewed Ken Kesey, whose latest book, “Sometimes A Great Notion” had been published. Kesey was already nationally renown for “Cuckoo’s Nest,” a smash Broadway play destined to become an Academy Award-winning film starring the irrepressible Jack Nicholson in 1975.

“Cukoo’s Nest” was based on Kesey’s personal experiences while working in a Menlo Park psychiatric ward–where experimental drugs were administered to the patients.

Reporter Lee Quarnstrom was a great admirer of Kesey whom he interviewed in the author’s neck of the La Honda redwoods. Some years later, Tom Wolfe, the great observer of contemporary culture, made the same trek, resulting in “Kool-Aid Acid Test.” Wolfe described Kesey’s home as a log cabin surrounded on three sides by Sam McDonald Park, with a creek flowing nearby, all as photogenic as a Merry Christmas card. Highway 84 slinked by in front of the cabin, reached by crossing a wooden bridge. Kesey had the perfect location with no neighbors.

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