14 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY september 28-october 4, 2023 www.montereycountyweekly.com Scientist William H. Brewer was the first person Josiah D. Whitney hired to join him in carrying out the first-ever California Geological Survey, which lasted four years and traversed nearly every region of the state. Brewer led the field parties during the spring through fall months, and spent his winters in San Francisco writing up notes of his scientific observations. Up and Down Monterey County, 1861 | Part II - The Salinas Valley illiam H. Brewer, from late 1860 to 1864, served as the botanist of the California Geological Survey led by Josiah D. Whitney, and over the course of those years, their party traversed regions all across the state, focusing on places that might be of scientific—and perhaps economic— interest. Brewer’s time in Monterey County was exclusively in 1861, and for the most part, he was leading the party during that time—Whitney was often up in San Francisco, working out business arrangements and studying scientific specimens. During his expedition, Brewer wrote regular letters to his brother back east whenever the group made camp, describing the environs and the people he encountered in the days prior. They provide a timeless, contemporaneous account of the county as it was at the time, and what makes them even better is that Brewer was a fine writer with a keen, observant eye. The expedition’s journey into Monterey County began at its southern border, and in April, the Weekly published Brewer’s first two letters describing his journey in the county. The first was written at a camp the crew made on the upper Nacimiento River, the second from a camp on the San Antonio River near Jolon. The Weekly will be publishing, in installments, all of Brewer’s letters written during his time in Monterey County, and what follows is just one of those letters, which was written at Guadalupe Ranch, just southwest of what is now Chualar. It recounts Brewer and his team’s trek up the Salinas Valley, battling its relentless, afternoon winds. And even though it was May at the time, the valley was exceedingly dry, but as Brewer may not have known, California was in its last year of a 20-year drought. Months later, in December, the skies finally opened up, dropping so much rain through January it became known as the Great Flood of 1862, turning nearly the entire Central Valley into a lake and inundating the Central Coast too, not to mention parts of inland states as far east as Idaho and Utah. It remains the largest flood in American history. -David Schmalz Camp 31, Guadalupe Ranch. May 12, 1861 We left San Antonio Thursday morning May 9, and followed up the valley a few miles, then crossed a high steep ridge over 1,000 feet high, which separates the San Antonio from the Salinas, and then descended and struck down the great Salinas plain. Dry as had been the region for the last 60 or 70 miles, it was nothing to this plain. The Salinas Valley for a hundred or more miles from the sea, up to the San Antonio hills, is a great plain 10 to 30 miles wide. Great stretches are almost perfectly level, or have a very slight slope from the mountains to the river which winds through it. The ground was dry and parched and the very scanty grass was entirely dry. One saw no signs of vegetation at the first glance—that is, no green thing on the plain—so a belt of timber by the stream, from 20 to a hundred rods wide, stood out as a band of the liveliest green in this waste. The mouth of this valley opens into Monterey Bay, like a funnel, and the northwest wind from the Pacific draws up through this heated flue with terrible force. Wherever we have found a valley opening to the northwest, we have found these winds, fierce in the afternoon. For over 50 miles we must face it on this plain. Sometimes it would nearly sweep us from our mules—it seemed as if nothing could stand its force. The air was filled with dry dust and sand, so that we could not see the hills at the sides, the fine sand stinging our faces like shot, the air as dry as if it had come from a furnace, but not so very hot—it is wonderfully parching. The poor feed and this parching wind reduced our mules in a few days as much as two weeks’ hard work would. Our lips cracked and bled, our eyes were bloodshot, and skins smarting. We stopped for lunch at a point where the mules could descend to the river. A high terrace, or bluff, skirts the present river—that is, the plain lies from 75 to 150 feet above the present river. The mules picked some scanty herbage at the base of the bluff; we took our lunch in the hot sun and piercing wind, then drove on. We pulled off from the road a mile or so at night, and stopped beneath a bluff near the river. We had slept in the open air the previous night and did so again. It turns very cold during the clear nights, yet so dry was it that no dew fell those two nights, cold as it was! The mules found some picking where you would think that a sheep or a goat would starve. Friday we pushed on all day, facing the wind. We met a train of seven wagons, with tents and beds—a party of 25 or 30 persons from San Jose going to the hot springs, some on horseback. Two-thirds were ladies. A curious way for a “fashionable trip to the springs,” you say, but the style here. They will camp there, and have a grand time, I will warrant. [Note: Brewer appears to be describing what is now known as The contemporaneous letters of scientist William H. Brewer illuminate the rugged and relatively unpopulated Salinas Valley of the 19th century. By William H. Brewer Edited by David Schmalz We could see a house by the river every 15 to 18 miles, and saw frequent herds of cattle.
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