The Station Fire started near JPL on Thursday and went crazy yesterday, expanding to 20,000 then 35,000 and now who-know-how-many acres. Remarkably few structures have been lost.There is a good chance, though, that the little cabin that I lived in when I first arrived at Caltech is now ash (it's NOT! I just got word from an old neighbor that the canyon was saved. so hard to imagine looking at all of the destruction in the region). I might be wrong; in the major fires 15 years ago Millard Canyon was saved when fire skipped over the top of it. But from everything I can see things don't look good. The firefighters started protecting structures in the real city, not crazy cabins up in the woods. The cabin was at least 100 years old and had survived floods and fires that had slowly gotten rid of the cabins throughout the rest of the San Gabriels mountains.
It was a wonderful if somewhat eccentric place to live. I write about it in my forthcoming book (sadly, books take way too long, even after you finish writing them, so forthcoming means perhaps a year), and I wanted to give a little excerpt here, in memory of the little cabin that I fear met its doom yesterday or last night.
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When I first started looking for planets, I lived in a little cabin in the mountains above Pasadena. Though I cannot prove it, I am willing to bet that I was the only professor at Caltech at the time who lacked indoor plumbing and, instead, used an outhouse on a daily (and nightly) basis. I worked long hours, and it was almost always dark, often past midnight, when I made my way back into the mountains to go home for the night. To get to my cabin, I had to drive up the windy mountain road in to the forest, past the National Forest parking lot, down to the end of a dirt road, and finally walk along the side of a seasonal creek along a poorly maintained trail. For some time after I first moved in I tried to remember to bring a flashlight with me to light my way, but more often than not I forgot. Eventually I had no choice but to give up on flashlights entirely and, instead, navigate the trail by whatever light was available, or, sometimes, by no light whatsoever.
The time it took to get from the top of the trail to the bottom, where my cabin waited, depended almost entirely on the phase of the moon. When the moon was full it was almost like walking in the daylight, and I practically skipped down the trail. The darker quarter moon slowed me a bit, but my mind seemed to be able to continuously reconstruct its surroundings from the few glints and outlines that the weak moonlight showed. I could almost walk the trail with my eyes closed. I had memorized the positions of nearly all of the rocks that stuck up and of all of the trees and branches that hung down. I knew where to avoid the right side of the trail so as to not brush against the poison oak bush. I knew where to hug the left side of the trail so as to not fall off the twenty foot embankment that we knew as “refrigerator hill” (named after a legendary incident when some previous inhabitants of the same cabin bought a refrigerator and had hauled it most of the way down the trail before losing it over the embankment and into the creek at that very spot; I never lost a major appliance, but I took extra care – and used ropes – one time when I had to get a hot water heater down the hill to install at the cabin; it was rough going, but the new found ability to take hot showers was definitely worth it).
I had almost memorized the trail, but, every 28 days, I was reminded that, really, there is quite a big difference between memorization and almost-memorization.
Every 28 days the moon became new and entirely disappeared from the sky and I was almost lost. If by luck there were any clouds at all in the sky I could possibly get enough illumination from the reflected lights from Los Angeles, just a few miles away, to help me on my way, but on days with no moon and no clouds and only the stars and planets to light the way I would shuffle slowly down the trail, knowing that over here – somewhere – was a rock that stuck out – there! – and over here I had to reach out to feel a branch – here! It was a good thing that my skin does not react strongly to the touch of poison oak.
These days I live in a more normal suburban setting and drive my car right up to my house. I even have indoor plumbing. The moon has almost no direct effect on my day to day life, but, still, I consciously track its phases and its location in the sky and try to show my daughter every month when it comes around full. All of this, though, is just because I like the moon and find its motions and shapes fascinating. If I get busy, I can go for weeks without really noticing where it is in the sky. Back at the time I lived in the cabin, though, the moon mattered, and I couldn’t help but feel the monthly absences and the dark skies and my own slow shuffling down the trail.
Contrary to how it might sound, however, back then the moon was not my friend. The 2 ½ year-old daughter of one of my best friends – a girl who would, a few years later, be the flower girl as I got married, would say, when asked about that bright object nearly full in the night sky: “That’s the moon. The moon is Mike’s nemesis.” And, indeed, the moon was my nemesis, because I was looking for planets.
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The moon is nearing full tonight, but it's no longer my nemesis. That honor will now go to the Station Fire which I fear has taken away that place I loved so well.
These statements cannot both be correct:
ReplyDeleteThis:
"I worked long hours, and it was almost always dark, often past midnight, when I made my way back into the mountains to go home for the night."
and this:
"Every 28 days the moon became new and entirely disappeared from the sky and I was almost lost."
Don't add up. If you were getting home at about midnight, then for the first 6 days from the new moon on, the available moonlight would be zilch, as the crescent moon would have already set. Similarly, for the last few days before the new moon, it would not yet have risen until closer to dawn than midnight, so it would still have been as dark as a new moon. So your moonless journey wound not have been once every 28 days, it would have been about two weeks out of every four.
Busted. Well. Mostly. My hours were irregular, so it >could< be dark at any time. But ever 28 days it was >definitely< dark.
ReplyDeleteMike,
ReplyDeleteIt was very strange to read your article on Millard Canyon. You could only have been living in one of three possible cabins there. Of those three I owned cabin #48 for about twelve years (I think). It was over the footbridge at the bottom of "refrigerator hill" and down the trail a little bit. As I am almost certain you never lived in the cabin I owned I assume it was one of the two across the creek.
It was really a magical place where I would take son almost weekend for years when he was very young. You could not keep him away from the creek. He was allowed to go from the footbridge to the little water fall. Good times.
Anyway, I enjoyed your story. I too am concerned about those cabins.
Morgan Jones
Morgan --
ReplyDeleteFairly amazing coincidence! I was in the further downstream of the two cabins across the creek from yours. Perhaps you even know the real "refrigerator hill" story? By 1994 it was only ancient legend.
Mike
IT'S STILL THERE! Just got word from an old neighbor that the fire was stopped a few hundred yards above the canyon.
ReplyDeleteHooray! That's really great news!
ReplyDeleteI fell in love with that place when a very good friend of mine (and actually yours as well ;-) ) introduced me to it.
Thanks for the update, Mike.
Hooray! That's really great news!
ReplyDeleteI fell in love with that little place when a very good friend and partner of mine introduced me to it.
It most certainly is a magical place and I am relieved to find it's still there.
Do you know anything about the other cabins?
Thanks for the great news Mike. It's nice to know that a magical place on our planet still exists
Glad the place still exists.
ReplyDeleteMy best friend is studying astronomy and wants to be a planet hunter. What are some of the best locations to do this? Can it be done with people's own telescopes or would they need to use a super powerful one like those on Mauna Kea?
Mike,
ReplyDeleteYour remembrance of one personally beloved structure reflects the concern of millions regarding #mtwilson. Thank you for the well written (yet possibly flawed ;) recollection of days that seemed both harsh and wonderful at once.
I'm curious though. "Refrigerator Hill", ropes and water heaters?
What happened to artificial lighting? Back in the late 1900's, we had all kinds of gear you could get for cheap to help you navigate in the dark.
I'm just jabbing you in the ribs ;)
The romance we have initiated with The Universe sometimes makes us blind to other details.
I may be in Tennessee but my mind is with you in California.
Please continue to update us on current events, past experiences and upcoming discoveries.
Sincerely,
Michael
I live 2 blocks from Caltech for 25 years, & I go up the Angeles Crest Hwy 2 for amateur astronomy (meteors & comets, click on my name for my website). I recently took up MTB (Mountain Biking) & start from the JPL parking lot, up lower Brown Mtn Rd, hit the saddle, & down El Prieto trail (famous single-track). Or, I bypass El Prieto & go down & hit Altadena/Lincoln drive. There's a sign "Millard Campground", which I've never been to.
ReplyDeleteDr. Robert Leighton (who co-authored Feyman's Lectures in Physics), former Caltech physics prof & dept head, used to take his family in these local mtns. His son Alan (his other son Ralph was Feynman's buddy, see the NOVA special Tanu Tuva) told me how they went up to see Comet Ikeya-Seki back in the 60's.
Man, that's wild living like that. What do you do about bathing? Did you have electricity & TV/radio? The smog (air pollution) goes right up to these foothills, how did you deal with it?
I just got back from SW China, near Eastern Tibetan Plateau for the solar eclipse. I was in the mountains (9000 - 15,000 ft), & there were a lot of Buddhist monasteries where I stayed at. Outhouses are the norm, running water came from the local streams/rivers (very rainy mountains there). At our eclipse site 15,000 ft on Zimei Pass, we were setup next to a "cabin" which was inhabited by 4-legged Yaks!!).
In 2008, I was in NW China for the solar eclipse. On the way down from the Balikun valley (nestled in Tien Shan mountains), we stopped by a roadside vendor along the windy road. They lived in a cabin & the running water was directly from the mountain. In the video, you can see the girl drinking from it.
I am looking forward to reading your book.
ReplyDeleteHello Mike
ReplyDeleteI am hoping that it's true that the wonderful Millard Canyon cabins have been spared. I owned Cabin #45 many years back and it is the only thing in my life that I've ever regretted selling. What a magical, well hidden gem this canyon is. A place where you can actually live a natural life within minutes from the LA mega-city.
I am a photographer and have a few photos that might be of interest to you for your book. Hopefully, Millard Canyon can remain somewhat a "secret", even after you reveal your life there ...
Hello Mike
ReplyDeleteI am hoping that it's true that the wonderful Millard Canyon cabins have been spared. I owned Cabin #45 many years back and it is the only thing in my life that I've ever regretted selling. What a magical, well hidden gem this canyon is. A place where you can actually live a natural life within minutes from the LA mega-city.
I am a photographer and have a few photos that might be of interest to you for your book. Hopefully, Millard Canyon can remain somewhat a "secret", even after you reveal your life there ...
THanks for the timely information. We were actually talking about the place 2 weeks ago.
ReplyDeleteI read this today while trying to find out what happened to that canyon and if it was worthwhile trying to hike there. I was glad to know that the canyon mostly survived (albiet with some charred surroundings). I enjoyed your memories of this place very much. You were lucky to be able to live for a time immersed in nature's rythms, with the moon to help out on the nights when she chose to guide you.
ReplyDelete