18 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY october 3-9, 2024 www.montereycountynow.com This is the last installment of the Weekly’s four-part series of letters scientist William H. Brewer wrote to his brother back east during his travels in Monterey County in 1861, when Brewer was part of the first-ever California Geological Survey, which spanned from 1860 to 1864. Brewer was the first man hired onto the survey by geologist Josiah Whitney, who the state tapped to lead it, and over the course of the three-plus years, Brewer was Whitney’s right-hand man, though they were often apart. Brewer was a fine writer with keen skills of observation, and his scientific background allowed him to see the world in ways that a layperson might not. Though trained as a chemist, Brewer was more of a generalist, and he served as the survey’s botanist. But he also loved to collect specimens of all kinds, and in one case in the letters below, he mentions the specific grade of the trail they are on, adding that it wasn’t a guess—he measured it. In this final installment, Brewer and his men start at Pescadero Ranch— which is now the Pebble Beach Golf Links—and head up deep into Carmel Valley into the Jamesburg region, then south into the Santa Lucia Range, before returning back to Pescadero. Aside from a few ranches, nobody lived in the valley, and it’s fascinating to follow Brewer, on the back of his small mule, as he takes it all in. He often struck off on his own to explore as the others went hunting, and his marvel at the beauty he sees reads like poetry. This installment also includes the only time Brewer and Whitney were in Monterey County at the same time, as Brewer insisted Whitney come down from San Francisco so that he could see the incredible marine life on the coast at Pescadero Ranch. These letters have been edited slightly in a few places—like adding a parenthetical to translate a Spanish word—but they are otherwise just as Brewer wrote them, in his distinctive voice. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. —David Schmalz El Pescadero. Tuesday Evening, June 4 We were ready early Tuesday morning, May 28, for a start. Up at daylight—Averill, Peter, and a buccaro for a guide—saddlebags packed, and two pack-mules: Sleepy with blankets and some meat, coffeepots and bread; Stupid with more blankets, frying pan and more provisions. We followed a trail about three miles, then struck the road up the Carmelo Valley. We stopped at a house half an hour to wait for Charley, the buccaro, to overtake us. He had been to town for bread for the trip. Mrs. McDougal, where we stopped, insisted on our drinking a pan of milk, which we did, then struck up the valley. We followed the road about 20 miles. Five ranches were passed; some barley fields along the river, and wild oats in abundance on the hills, supporting many cattle. We lunched at a stream, saddled, and were again off. Here we left the road, and for 15 miles followed trails, now winding along a steep hillside—steep as a Gothic roof, the stones from the path bounding into a canyon hundreds of feet below—now through a wide stretch of wild oats, now through a deep canyon. We passed two more ranches, where cattle are raised among the hills, and at last struck through a rocky canyon, in which flowed a fine stream, with some glorious old trees. Before dark we arrived at a small ranch owned by a man named Finch, with whom Charley was acquainted. We camped near, and slept well, for we had been 10-and-a-half hours in the saddle in 13 hours. We frightened up four fine deer just as we went into camp. Peter and Averill had each bought a “Sharp” for hunting, so on Wednesday they tried for deer. I climbed the mountain for “geology.” First I passed through a wild canyon, then over hills covered with oats, with here and there trees—oaks and pines. Some of these oaks were noble ones indeed. How I wish one stood in our yard at home. One species, called encina (coast live oak), with dark green foliage, was not extra fine, but another, el roble (valley oak), was very fine. I measured one of the latter, with wide spreading and cragged branches, that was 26-and-a-half feet in circumference. Another had a diameter of over 6 feet, and the branches spread over 75 feet each way. I lay beneath its shade a little while before going on. Two half-grown deer sprang up close to me, but got out of pistol shot before I, in my flurry, had the pistol ready. Up, still up, I toiled, got above the grass and oats and trees into the chaparral that covers the high peaks. I struck for the highest peak, but backed out before quite reaching it, for the traces of grizzlies and lions became entirely too thick for anything like safety. Both are very numerous here. Finch killed three a few days before we Up and Down Monterey County, 1861 | Part IV - From valleys to the sea He only said it was back in the mountains—“A hell of a place to get to”—which I can easily imagine. William H. Brewer’s letters from 1861 provide a unique window into when Monterey County was still the Wild West—and it was wild indeed. By William H. Brewer Images: Monterey County Historical Society/Pat Hathaway Collection
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