Pescadero Memories

Summer 1929: Tragedy at Sea Near Pigeon Point Lighthouse, Part II

Posted on February 18, 2008 by June Morrall

[I wrote this in 2000.]

By June Morrall

As the San Juan continued south past Pigeon Point, the Standard Oil tanker S.C.T. Dodd was plowing northward up the coast toward San Francisco, nearing the end of her voyage from Baltimore.

The vessels were 12-miles out, off the San Mateo-Santa Cruz coastline when minutes before midnight the sound of a piercing whistle broke the stillness of the night.

Without any further warning, the sickening shriek of metal tearing metal roared through the San Juan’s staterooms. The Granstedts were thrown from their berths. Hearts pounding, pulses racing, the panicked couple threw on clothes and fled to the deck.

The oil tanker Dodd had rammed the San Juan and the old steamer was sinking. Once on deck, the Granstedts encountered an eerie scene of terrified passengers and crew dashing about madly—and the smell of fear was pervasive. Theodore Granstedt saw no order, only chaos.

Some passengers jumped overboard, others were swept away by the powerful waves. Through the foggy mist, Captain Asplund could be seen trying to help women into a lifeboat.

There was no time to reflect, hardly time for prayer: It all happened so fast.

One second the Granstedts were standing beside their good friends, John and Anna Olsen, and their daughter, Helen. The next moment the San Juan was plunging stern first into the sea, creating a whirlpool that sucked them all in the abyss.

Then there was a great and very loud explosion.

Of the original group, only Theodore Granstedt survived. The next thing he knew he had surfaced from beneath the cold water. Searchlights illuminated the sea littered with wreckage—but he did not recognize the faces of people struggling in the nearby surf, clinging to toolboxes, screaming for help.

Miraculously, before the seriously injured Mountain View man lost consciousness, he grasped the piece of floating debris that saved his life.

By now lifeboats had been launched from other vessels in the vicinity: the oil tanker Dodd, the lumber carrier Munami and the motor-ship Frank Lynch. Theodore Granstedt was one of the 38 surviving passengers and crewmembers.

Wife, Emma, whose anxieties were sadly proven valid was one of 72 presumed dead…as were the Olsens and Stanford student Paul Wagner.

Although many of the San Juan’s survivors were crew, Captain Asplund went down with his ship as did the purser, Jack Cleveland.

…To be continued…

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Summer 1929: Tragedy at Sea Near Pigeon Point Lighthouse, Part I

Posted on February 18, 2008 by June Morrall

[I wrote this in 2000.]

By June Morrall

(Above: Emma Granstedt, center; at right, Mrs. Olsen. Courtesy Patrick Moore, click here 4.jpeg (At right: Theodore Granstedt. Courtesy Patrick Moore.)

Emma Granstedt felt a premonition of danger as she boarded the popular “commuter steamer” San Juan at San Francisco on Thursday, August 29, 1929.

The middle-aged Mountain View woman tried to explain the feelings she couldn’t shake to her husband, Theodore: She was worried about an accident at sea, she told him.

Theodore assured his uneasy wife that there was nothing to worry about. The venerable 47-year-old iron steamer made routine runs between the City and Los Angeles—and he reminded her about the attractively inexpensive fare, ranging from $8 to $10 per passenger.

He may have pointed to the San Juan’s advertisement in the local newspaper: “A delightful way to travel,” promised the ad. “One fare includes comfortable berth, excellent meals, open-air dancing, promenade decks, radio music—all the luxury of ocean travel. A trip to be remembered! The economic way that entails no sacrifice!”

Premonition or not, it was too late for the Granstedts to change their mind.

It would mean canceling the plans they had made with the Palo Alto friends they were traveling with, John and Anna Olsen and the couple’s 28-year-old daughter, Helen.

The Granstedts and Olsens were traveling to Southern California to attend a wedding anniversary celebration—and the trip also gave them good reason to visit the Granstedt’s daughter, Irene, who was pursuing an acting career in Hollywood.

Emma may have been consoled to learn that only a few days earlier the San Juan had been in dry dock at which time a new rudder and propeller were installed. The vessel was cleaned, painted and the sea valves overhauled. The steamer’s radio was in tiptop shape, and life-saving equipment included six lifeboats and 110 life preservers for adults and 17 children.

Steamboat officials, who inspected the San Juan, pronounced her safe and in fine condition.

Daylight faded and the sky darkened as the sailing hour neared on Thursday, August 29. It was customary for the purser, Jack Cleveland, to sell tickets to impulsive travelers who made a last-minute decision to sail from San Francisco to L.A. One such last-minute ticket-buyer may have been 24-year-old Stanford graduate student Paul Wagner, who was on his way to visit his family in Southern California.

On board the busy steamer there was no hint of anything out of the ordinary—but one significant change had been made: 65-year-old retired Captain Adolph F. Asplund replaced the regular commander who had taken time off for his summer vacation. The experienced Captain Asplund knew every inch of the San Juan, as he had been her captain many years before.

When the San Juan left port, there were 110 men, women and children on board, 65 passengers and 45 members of the crew. All were settling in and a few hours later the steamer approached the beautiful Pigeon Point lighthouse, south of the village of Pescadero.

By now many of the sleepy passengers, including the Granstedts and the Olsens, headed for their staterooms below deck to rest on their first night at sea.

…more coming..

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RIP: Mary Florey, Founder of Florey’s Books in Pacifica & Special Friend to Authors

Posted on February 18, 2008 by June Morrall

Mary Florey, Founder of Florey’s Book Co.

On Valentines Day Pacifica lost a sympathetic ear and a big heart. Mary Florey died after a prolonged illness at 81 years old. Mary, who founded Florey’s Book Co. over thirty years ago, will be remembered by many of Pacifica’s readers because she would always take the time to listen to everyone. Sometimes she’d offer advice but mostly she just listened to people expressing all of life’s joys and sorrows as they looked for the right book. She might sell them a book or send them to the library.

Mary is survived by her lifetime partner, George Carpenter. She was the loving mother of Barbara Schlieve as well as James, Jon and Roy Florey and aunt to John and Mona Dean as well as Ralph Raymond Black and the late Lee Black. She is also survived by her brother Matt Black and his wife Nancy and their children Nancy, Caroline, and Janet. Her grandchildren include Aaron Schlieve who continues as the proprietor of Florey’s. Other grandchildren are Juliet Schlieve as well as Jessica, Michelle, Robert, Glen, Owen and David Florey. She was proud of each one.

She was born in Kansas City, Missouri in 1926 and moved to San Francisco just before WWII started. She worked all her life, first as a waitress, bank teller, and sales clerk before deciding to open her own business and moving to Pacifica in 1977. Mary always supported local writers and her store was used for many, many lectures, events and meetings over the years.

A memorial service will be held at Holy Cross Lutheran Church at 1165 Seville Drive in Pacifica on Thursday, February 21st at 6 PM followed by a reception. Those who wish to bring food to the reception are invited to do so. People who loved Mary can also make a contribution to Florey’s Book Co. at 2120 Palmetto Avenue, Pacifica, CA 94044

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Unwritten Fairy Tale of the Redwoods…

Posted on February 17, 2008 by June Morrall

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 Blomquist 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 Blomquist 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. Blomquist. 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.]

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….Pescadero during Prohibition….(6)

Posted on February 16, 2008 by June Morrall

[I wrote this in 1977.]

Two years after the Great Blaze of 1926, sheriff’s officers followed a guide who led them over a trail covered with a tangled mass of ferns, shrubs and fallen trees. As the deputies hiked carefully through this secluded valley in the hills east of Pescadero, they guessed at what they would see ahead.

Yet the officers were amazed when they saw the size of the “mountain moonshine colony.”

In the beautiful green valley the cops saw a series of log cabins, hastily abandoned. Inside the cabins deputies found large vats with a holding capacity of 1000 gallons. In the center of the moonshine colony stood a big building with an electrical generator and other machinery.

The only inhabitants left were two chained and starving police dogs. They were barking loudly and despite their emaciated condition, attempted to lunge at the “invaders” who shot them down.

Inside another cabin there were overturned chairs and tables, bullet holes in the walls and windows and splotches of dark blood on the floor. Everything pointed to a terrific gun battle.

The cops theory was that some sort of dissension divided the “colony.” A bitter feud developed settled with gunfired. Those left alive feared unwelcome guests and quickly dispersed.

But what happened to the bodies? Nobody answered that question.

When more distilling equipment was discovered concealed beneath a nest of shrubbery, the police were convinced the bootleggers would return.

The “Mountain Moonshine Colony” was shut down but whether the people who ran it were found and arrested, we may never know.

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…When the forest wouldn’t come to Burt, he went to the forest…

Posted on February 13, 2008 by June Morrall

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This is How John Vonderlin Has Fun at the Beach….

Posted on February 13, 2008 by June Morrall

John Vonderlin Tells Us How He Has Fun At The Beach

email John ([email protected])

Hi June,

I had so much fun on the Palmer Gulch trip, I thought I should fully chronicle the rest of my half day at the beach.

I started out by sawing through a large “telephone pole” beached at Pescadero Beach. I really wanted the pole for my “Battering Ram” display.

While I usually like poles that are oozing lots of creosote, it was hard to resist this one, because of the giant Frankenstein-like nut and bolt protruding from it, near one end. Creosote is important because it confers extreme long life to these brutes, allowing them to pound the vulnerable life clinging to the reef and shore rocks millions of times before they splinter into harmless pieces, as well as leaving a daub of their toxic load every time they do.

After hand-sawing through it, I discovered the five- foot- long piece weighed nearly 200 pounds. While I was sure I could have lugged it across the rocks and up the stairs with “Rubber tree/ant” persistence, I would have been fit for nothing but a hot tub the rest of the day. Wanting to visit the Palmer Gulch Trestle, a fair challenge in its own right, I settled with oomphing it up the rocks to the cliff’s base, where it should be safe for a while.

I also collected tire #59 for my “101 Tire” project. A fine whitewall, captured just before it split in half and became uncountable. Yes, even whacky projects need rules that must be adhered to.

After that I headed for San Gregorio Beach and the Palmer Gulch trestle described in an earlier post. Besides what I mentioned in that post, there are a few other things I’d like to tell you about now.

(1) Anyone who’s looking for some firewood might check out the stretch north of the parking lot at San Gregorio Beach. For a half mile a huge raft of wood, much of it evidencing chain saw work, was spread along the beach.

(2) There were also eight tires, all of which will probably eventually end up at a more accessible beach to the south. At least they will have to if they want to become part of my “artplay.”

I collected one small, almost brand new, smooth, fine-line incised tread, ten- inch tire, with a fancy rim and bearing mount. Though it was too small to join its full-grown, recovered brethren, as part of “101 Tires,” I was curious as to what it was used on. After quite a bit of Internet searching, I discovered it was from a “GoPed,” those irksome, noisy motorized scooters teenagers buzz around my neighborhood on occasionally. How something like that ended up in the middle of nowhere, in such perfect shape, escapes me.

(But, there have been enough disturbed afternoons in my hood to cause an irritating-noise fueled vision of a lemming-like swan dive off the San Gregorio cliffs to flit through my mind as a momentary hope. However, that seems unlikely, as well as curmudgeonly.)

Having started the day at 1 p.m. it was getting late by the time we got back to the parking lot. One of the new Game Wardens was there and he came over to chat with us. I had told him about your blogs during my first encounter with him a few weeks ago and he wanted to know where the W.W.II observation tunnel was. He followed us to the parking spot closest to the path near it, and vowed he was going to visit it on his day off. Perhaps, he can find out something about its history.

With just a little time left before dark, we decided to take a quick jaunt to Invisible Beach. It has been non-productive for months, but the return of the wrack and the marine debris are unpredictable and mysterious, so we have to keep looking. It’s not like a sunset walk down a beautiful beach is a great sacrifice. In this case it was… Jackpot!

Neptune’s Vomitorium was covered with a thick layer of seaweed and a moderate amount of debris. It will take a few high tides to drive it all up the beach in a huge pile, but it’s returned!

Golf balls, toys, kayak shoes, fishing line balls, and a slew of other things were interspersed in the wrack. I’ve attached a picture of the more interesting (to me) items we quickly collected. It was a sweet, thick layer of frosting on a truly delicious day. I hope to return with large bags on Monday, a day predicted to be wonderfully sun and mild-temped, and haul all the booty away. Does it get any better then this? Enjoy. John

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…Pescadero during Prohibition (5)

Posted on February 12, 2008 by June Morrall

[I wrote this in 1977.]

Rumrunners, bootleggers and raids by the liquor police remained topic number one on the South Coast until March 1926 when a quick-spreading fire rallied the small community to save the little town of Pescadero.

A local resident was filling his gas tank at the Coast Side Transportation Company when a few drops of the flammable liquid splattered a nearby lantern that was lit. Seconds later a loud explosion caused the man to cover his ears–and the building burst into a hot fence of flames.

Next door the warehouse caught fire, and the wind pushed the flames towards Duarte’s Lodging House and a soft drink parlor. On fire were Williamson’s General Store and warehouse.

Hundreds of citizens flocked to the disaster scene, forming a bucket brigade. There was no professional fire department; it was up to the residents to carry heavy pails of water from Pescadero Creek a thousand feet away.

Mrs. Manuel Enos, who for 30 years supervised the Pescadero telephone exchange, remained at her post even as the fire destroyed her own home. When Mrs. Enos learned that high tension wires interfered with fire fighter’s efforts, she calmly called the PG&E office in Redwood City and asked them to switch off the dangerous current.

When telephone service was lost, Pescadero’s lone traffic officer sped over the twisty road to San Gregorio where he called the Redwood City Fire Department for assistance. It didn’t take long for the Seagrave chemical pumper truck to race over the winding mountain road in the record time of one hour and 18 minutes.

As the fire truck screeched to a halt on the main street of Pescadero, firemen jumped down and dropped their hoses into the creek. At last powerful sprays of water cooled the hot flames, preventing the fire from spreading any farther.

Half the “business district” stood in ashes. Despite the emotional and economic tragedy, the owner of Williamson’s General Store displayed the pioneer spirit, announcing plans to rebuild in a new location next door to the Bank of Pescadero.

And within days a small army of carpenters got to work constructing half-a-dozen new buildings destroyed by the blaze that some described as the worst in the history of San Mateo County.

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….Pescadero during Prohibition….(4)

Posted on February 12, 2008 by June Morrall

[Note: I wrote this in 1977.]

The how, where and when of landing illegal booze along the Pescadero coast was not something the locals openly talked about–but there were plenty of whispers about an isolated ranch house which reportedly served as local headquarters–the “where” where the booze was unloaded.

During one raid, the liquor police netted a dozen “alleged” smugglers, including higher-ups employed by a Canadian rumrunning company (which claimed a business of $12 million a year.)

Those who knew the landing point described it as elaborately fortified with a sophisticated system of signal lights that could transmit messages between the Canadian rum fleet and landing boats. A machine gun mounted on the beach warned possible hijackers to stay away.

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Pilmigrage to the Palmer Gulch Trestle by John Vonderlin

Posted on February 10, 2008 by June Morrall

Story by John Vonderlin

(email John: [email protected])

Hi June,
We made a pilgrimage to the remains of the Palmer Gulch Trestle yesterday to get some pictures before nature completely erases these most southerly structural signs of the Ocean Shore Railroad’s ambitions to run a railroad down this coast.

As you know the Tunitas station is considered the “End of the Line” for the Ocean Shore Railroad because that was as far as the rails got. The Tunitas Creek Trestle was built south of that, but rails hadn’t been extended over it when the Great Quake of 1906 shook up the company’s finances so badly, its dreams permanently smashed of connecting with the southern section that had reached as far as Swanton in Santa Cruz County.

Though many of the other trestles needed to bridge this missing gap had been surveyed south of Tunitas, only the Palmer Gulch Trestle was built. It stood as a forlorn symbol of dreams unrealized, until a fire caused its collapse decades later. There isn’t much to see nowadays, but the changes in the local topography in the last hundred years give you an idea of what the Ocean Shore would have been in for, maintaining the trestle, had they successfully completed the whole line.

The easiest way to reach the remains is to pay the $10 entrance fee into the private nude beach, reputed to be the oldest in the United States, and park in the lot just north of San Gregorio Beach.

Take the trail to the beach and keep heading north. If that’s closed, just wait for a low tide, park at the San Gregorio Beach parking lot and head north. This way is more interesting with its sculpted cliffs, spectacular caves,

beach debris, and unusual sand dunes at the foot of the cliffs. It’s free too, if you park at the corner of Highway 84 and Highway 1, and take the slightly longer, more interesting walk.

Since the remnants are not easily noticed I’d recommend you familiarize yourself first by examining the California Coastal Records Project photos of this area. Picture #6216 has a caption of Trestle Gap and shows both the gulch and some of the remains if you view the large file. The southern portion of the Ocean Shore right-of-way is the horizontal swath of green at the lower right hand side of the picture, just above the bare part of the cliff rising from the sands of the beach.

The roght-of-way ledge looks like this if you make the risky climb up the slope.

The disintegrating remains of the trestle you can see on the slope look like this up close.

The northern part of the right-of-way, where the trestle’s end rested, has not survived so well. It has been totally obscured by a landslide of loose soil.

You can see the cliffs of Tunitas where the rails stopped in the background. If you examine the nearby CCRP pictures carefully, you can follow the narrow ledge of the right-of-way all the way back to those cliffs. Or at least where it hasn’t been totally wiped out by landslides or severe erosion.

Heading further north along the beach you can see a good example of the changes the landslides and severe erosion have wrought to this landscape in the last 100 years.

You’ll also see one of the tallest coastal waterfalls in this area. Picture # 6215 on CCRP shows the gully the waterfall occurs in. It’s on the left side just north of the sinuous road snaking down the steep hill. This must not have existed in early 1900 because no trestle was needed in this area. Having experienced the loose soil and dirt-clod-like rocks in the streambed it is easy to believe this has happened since then. The harder rock at the top has kept the stream’s rapid erosion from retreating further inland, destroying the waterfall.

While such rapid erosion found in this new canyon is usually considered bad, especially if you’re trying to maintain a coastal railroad line, it’s probably no coincidence that the nearby beaches are luxuriant with sand when compared to many other places along our coast. Enjoy. John Vonderlin

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Summer 1929: Tragedy at Sea Near Pigeon Point Lighthouse, Part II

Summer 1929: Tragedy at Sea Near Pigeon Point Lighthouse, Part I

RIP: Mary Florey, Founder of Florey’s Books in Pacifica & Special Friend to Authors

Unwritten Fairy Tale of the Redwoods…

….Pescadero during Prohibition….(6)

…When the forest wouldn’t come to Burt, he went to the forest…

This is How John Vonderlin Has Fun at the Beach….

…Pescadero during Prohibition (5)

….Pescadero during Prohibition….(4)

Pilmigrage to the Palmer Gulch Trestle by John Vonderlin

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