The internet is filled with things. Here are some of them.
The Orestimba is a wilderness in the fullest meaning of the word. As a longtime volunteer at Coe Park, I have visited the Orestimba Wilderness many times over the last 20 years. I have startled groups of tule elk, seen countless coyotes, bobcats, and golden eagles. In spring, when the hills are green and the creeks are running, I have crossed fields ablaze with shooting stars. I have watched the setting sun ignite the Rooster Comb, and a little later, I have lain down beneath a star show of stunning clarity. In most wilderness areas in the lower 48 states, there would probably be another camper a mile or two down the trail. Not here. In the Orestimba Wilderness, I’m not far from home, but the solitude is so complete, it’s almost unnerving.
For a short moment this summer my home of Santa Cruz County was in the global spotlight. The reason: A man was miraculously rescued after being lost for 10 days in the forest, found alive and well. Big outlets like the New York Times, CNN, and the BBC jumped on the story, posting photos of the hiker covered in mud, overcome with emotion as he was reunited with his family.
And while I was relieved that he’d been found safe, in my opinion, all the media outlets were missing a key point. The story wasn’t adding up. ... Someone who doesn’t know the Santa Cruz Mountains well might read that story during their morning coffee, crack a small smile at the heart-warming news, and never think about it again. But, having grown up in the area, I was left scratching my head. How on Earth does a local who is, according to the NYT, 'an experienced backpacker who has traversed other rugged regions of the United States,' get lost for 10 days?
"In 1893, the residents of what was then known as Swauger's Station decided to change the town's name. Mrs. Rufus F. Herrick consulted a Wiyot elder to find an appropriate indigenous appellation. The Indians actually called it katawólo 't.
A joke was played on Mrs. Herrick. The elderly gentleman told her that it was hó wiwItak. This does not translate as 'beautiful place at the end of the river,' but rather 'Let's have intercourse!'
She interpreted the last part of the phrase, in baby-talk fashion, as Loleta. And thus she suggested 'Loleta' to the residents of the town, which they accepted."
After her sale, she served as a floating restaurant in lower San Francisco Bay during the depression years of the 1930s. In February 1944, the Navy repurchased the ship and partly sank her in the mud flats of San Francisco Bay, south of the San Mateo Bridge, where Army and Navy aircraft carried out bombing runs with dummy bombs. Portions of the wreck remain above the waterline to this day. She is commonly referred to as the 'South Bay Wreck' and many tide tables reference her as a reference.
In 1854 he [...] retraced his footsteps to San Mateo county, and opened a store at Searsville, which he conducted for thirteen years. In 1878 he came to Mayfield where he has since resided, being now engaged in the lumber business. He has an interest in a large tract of timber land in the southern portion of San Mateo county, also a half interest in a steam sawmill, with a capacity of fifteen thousand feet in the twelve hours.
Iverson split redwood shakes and shingles for a living and, in the 1880s, served as a bodyguard for the wife of Capt. Harry Love, a California ranger who supposedly captured and beheaded the famous outlaw Joaquin Murrieta. One day Love flew into a jealous rage and opened fire on his wife and her protector, only to be shot to death by Iverson.
In 1889, Iverson sold his property to William Page, who had built the first of two sawmills along Peters Creek, which was named after another early immigrant named Jean Peter, who ran a dairy and grew hay and grain.
Page, who also operated a general store and served on the San Mateo County Board of Supervisors, used the lumber to make shingles. He later built a logging road that became known as Page Mill Road. The road, which still exists, was used to transport lumber to Palo Alto.
In 1880 California the railroads (led by among others Leland Stanford) squared off against a group of former Confederate soldiers now squatting on speculated land in a place called Mussel Slough, in the southern Central Valley. When the conflict spilled over into violence, it resulted in a gunfight leaving 7 dead immediately. The incident's infamy was felt far and wide though, by those as far away as Karl Marx in London, with many siding with one interest or the other for their own ideological or political reasons. This linked well-researched 2015 blog post by historian Adam Smith goes into all the details.