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pplpod — San Timoteo Canyon Fossils and Outlaws. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.
Finding a hoodie that lasts through the season can be tough. The American Giant Classic Foolsip hoodie is made to last year after year. Snag the hoodie that brings comfort for life. Save 20% off your first order at american-giant.com with code staple20 at checkout. Picture this. You are driving through the inland empire in Southern California. Like right on that stretch between Beaumont and Redlands. Exactly. You're on that commute. Maybe you have the AC blasting and you look at your window. And you know, you just see what looks like totally unassuming canyon scenery. Right, just dirt and scrubber. Sun-baked foothills, it's the kind of landscape you might not even glance at twice. But what if I told you that underneath that very dirt lay an entire prehistoric ecosystem? You're waiting there. Right, over a million years of ancient history, just bury it in the dust. And what if I told you the quiet air outside your car window was once like filled with the sounds of a Wild West shootout involving a legally sanctioned Native American
posse? I mean, it completely shatters that illusion of the empty landscape, doesn't it? It really does. We tend to look at the spaces between modern cities, you know, those stretches of highway scrub. And we just assume nothing of consequence ever happened there. But usually the exact opposite is true. Oh, 100%. And that is exactly the topic of our deep dive today. We're looking at Santa Mateo Canyon. It's such a fascinating thought. It really is. And to guide us, we are relying on a really comprehensive historical and geographical overview of the area, which is packed with just incredible details. Right. So our mission today is simple, but it's a big one. We're going to peel back the layers of the single, you know, seemingly unassuming geographic location. We want to show you just how deep and complex and, frankly, wild history can run right in our own backyards. Oh, yeah. We're taking you all the way from the place to scene epic straight through to modern highway planning. OK, let's unpack this. Because before we even get to the human drama, we really have to look at the map.
Yeah, the geography sets the stage for everything. It does. If you look at the inland empire, you have this River Valley Canyon in the far northwestern foothills of the San Jacinto mountains, which basically acts as a bridge, right? Exactly. It runs northwest from Beaumont in Riverside County, all the way up to the area west of Redlands in San Bernardino County. That is the perfect way to visualize it. I mean, it's a natural corridor. Yeah. And the architect of this entire landscape, like the force that carved that corridor is Santa Mateo Creek. Right. The water is everything. It really is. The creek flows straight through it, draining the water divide of the San Gogonio pass. And then it gathers from all the surrounding mountain watersheds and flows right into the Saniana River. So you basically have this perfect geographic funnel created by water over just countless millennia. Exactly. And that water is the key. Because before we even talk about Spanish missions or outlaws, we have to start at the literal bedrock. Right. Because this geography didn't just carve a path.
It essentially created the ultimate time capsule, which brings us to a massive, just completely accidental discovery in 2010. Oh, this is my favorite part. It was such a paradigm-shifting moment. Totally accidental. So construction crews were out there working on the El Casco Association. Just doing regular infrastructure stuff? Right. Exactly. They're just trying to build modern electrical infrastructure. So they're digging trenches, moving dirt. And suddenly, they stumble upon this massive natural cache of what researchers call Irvingtonian fossils. OK, wait, let's translate that for a second. The Irvingtonian is basically a specific era in North America, right? Yeah, it's roughly a million to a million and a half years ago. OK, wow. Right. It's one of our most famous ice age mammals first appeared. And we are talking about nearly 1,500 bone fragments, dating back 1.4 million years. That is just wild. It's honestly like digging a hole for a modern electrical pole in your backyard and accidentally unearthing a prehistoric zoo. What's fascinating here is the sheer variety
of what that zoo contained, because it tells us so much about how the environment actually functioned back then. Because it wasn't just a few scattered bones that washed down a river. No, not at all. This was a beautifully preserved window into the early place to see and play a scene, eras. Which are just the geological terms for those epochs spanning from what, a few million to about 10,000 years ago? Exactly. The era is characterized by repeated glaciations and drastically different climates. So the crews uncovered two different species of saber-toothed cats. Oh, wow. Right. And they found ground slots. But you have to erase the image of the little slow-moving tree slugs we have today. Oh, I know. These things were massive, weren't they? Huge. These were ground slots, the size of modern grizzly bears. Just casually roaming around Southern California. I mean, I love trying to picture that while sitting in modern traffic on the I-10. It's quite an image. And along with those giant slots, they found two types of camels. Wait, camels in California? Yeah, camels.
And over 1,200 bones from small rodents. Now, the rodents might sound less exciting than a saber-toothed cat. I mean, a little bit. Fair. But they are actually incredible for understanding the micro-environment, because rodents are highly sensitive to changes in their habitats. That makes sense. They're like little ecological barometer. Exactly. And beyond that, the deposit contained entirely new species of deer, new species of horses, and possibly even llamas. Which completely changes how you view the modern landscape. Like, you look at the window now and you see dried dirt and scrub. Yeah, mostly dry brush. But the density of those fossils paints a radically different picture of Southern California's ancient ecosystem. It really does. It tells us that 1.4 million years ago, this canyon wasn't just some dry transit corridor. It was incredibly lush resource rich and wet enough to support a massive, diverse array of megafauna. Because the water from the creek and the local geology
created an oasis that basically trapped and preserved this history over time. Right. And it makes total sense that this same hospitable environment eventually drew the canyon's first human inhabitants. Because you have the steady water from Santa Mateo Creek, plus there are natural hot springs bubbling up in the area. Yeah, the natural resource has made it an absolutely ideal location. So for thousands of years, long before any European contact, Santa Mateo Canyon served as the winter homeland for the Serrano people. Because they could utilize the canyon's natural wind protection. Exactly. The wind protection, the reliable water flow, and those hot springs. They used all of that to sustain their communities, generation after generation. It sounds like a perfectly balanced, stable part of their seasonal migration. It was. But then the timeline suddenly accelerates in a way that almost gives you historical whiplash. Oh, definitely. We go from thousands of years of relative stability to this rapid series of massive landscape altering shifts. Because in 1819, the Spanish mission era reaches the canyon.
Yes, 1819 marks the establishment of the San Bernardino de Santa Estancia. Which was basically a ranch outpost, right? For missions in San Gabriel, Archangel. Exactly. Now, initially, the primary purpose was just to graze cattle using the labor of mission Indians. But it quickly grew into a really significant industrial and religious hub. Yeah, we aren't just talking about a few cows out in a pasture. No, the original footprint expanded to include a chapel, a tile kiln, a line kiln, and a grist mill for grinding grain. So they are essentially industrializing the canyon at this point? They absolutely are. But it doesn't stop there. Because by 1842, the flag changes again. All the California is now under a Mexican rule. Right. And the governor, Juan B. Alvarado, grants this land to a private group of wealthy ranchers. The Lugo brothers and Diego Spolveda. Right, exactly. Becomes known as Rancho San Bernardino. And I want to pause here and really look at this. Because the mechanics of this shift are just staggering to me. It's a massive transition in a very short time. Right. You have a landscape that served as a sustainable wintering ground
for indigenous people for thousands of years. Then it's turned into this industrialized, Spanish mission outpost with kilns and mills. And then barely two decades after that. It's carved up into a privately owned Mexican rancho. I have to imagine that turning a sustainable valley into a massive commercial meet and hide factory fundamentally changes the local ecosystem. Oh, without a doubt. So how does this sudden concentration of private wealth set the stage for the conflict that was about to explode? That is the crucial question. Because when you introduce a Mexican land grant of that scale, you aren't just changing a name on a map. You're bringing in resources. Emense resources. You're introducing tens of thousands of cattle, which completely dominates the water supply and the grazing land. Wow, tens of thousands. Yeah, and you're consolidating immense material wealth horses, livestock, silver supplies into one centralized isolated location. So when you have a private rancho holding that much property surrounded by a vast, relatively unpoliced frontier,
it becomes a beacon, a magnet for opportunists. Exactly. It made the canyon a highly lucrative target, which leads us directly into one most violent and honestly surprising events in the canyon's history. Enter the outlaws, specifically John Redder Irving and his gang, a very notorious group. Very. This was a heavily armed group of outlaws originating from San Francisco in Sydney, Australia. And in May of 1851, they were just terrorizing the San Bernardino Valley. Reading, robbing people, stealing property all over the place. Right. And this included hitting the rancho San Bernardino. Now living right there on the rancho was the mountain Kauwila band at a village called Palatana. Led by their chief, Juan Antonio. Yes. And the situation comes to a violent head on May 27, 1851. And the climax is straight out of a movie. It really is, but it flips everything you think you know about the era. So the Irving game is actively robbing the rancho San Bernardino home. And Juan Antonio and a group of his mountain Kauwila tribesmen intervene. Right. They pursue the heavily armed gang right into San
Tumatio Canyon, because again, it's a geographic funnel. There's nowhere else for them to go. Exactly. So there is a standoff. The outlaws refuse to surrender. And what follows is this brutal running fight through the canyon. And Juan Antonio and his men end up killing 11 of the 12 outlaws, which is just a staggering outcome. But if we connect this to the bigger picture, it is absolutely vital to understand the why behind Juan Antonio's actions here, because it's very easy for a modern audience to hear that story and assume it was some kind of chaotic frontier vigilante justice. Right, but it wasn't at all. The man Kauwila were acting on the direct legal orders of the local justice of the peace. Wait, really, this was an official law enforcement action. Absolutely. It was completely sanctioned. The justice of the peace at the time was also the California owner of the rancho. The very estate the Irving Gang was in the middle of robbing. Exactly. And this wasn't some desperate spur of the moment deputization. There were decades of established legal precedent for this. Oh, interesting.
Yeah, during the Mexican rule of Alta California, which lasted from roughly 1822 to 1846, local ranchos, frequently and legally requested the mountain Kauwila to track down bandits and raiders. So it was a contracted formal service? Yes, so when the justice of the peace gave the order in 1851, Juan Antonio's band was fully authorized to carry out local law enforcement. Even though they were now technically operating within the one-year-old United States state of California. Right, the overlapping jurisdictions are fascinating. Here's where it gets really interesting. Think about how this completely upends the traditional Hollywood Wild West scenario. Oh, completely. We are always fed this image of the lone white sheriff defending the dusty town. But here, you have a legally authorized Native American posse actively hunting down a gang of white outlaws from San Francisco and Australia. On behalf of a California ranch owner. Right, acting under the authority of a brand new United States government.
It's like trying to run three completely different operating systems on the same computer at the exact same time. That is a brilliant way to put it. You have indigenous alliances, the remnants of Mexican land grant law, and brand new American state law, all crashing into each other in this one canyon. It's a perfect snapshot of a region and massive turbulent transition. It is. All these overlapping legal systems and cultures were trying to function simultaneously. But unfortunately, because of the rapidly shifting demographics of 1850s, California. Things went wrong. Very wrong. This legally sanctioned shootout immediately ignited a massive, incredibly dangerous cultural misunderstanding. Right, because I want you, the listener, to imagine being one of the newly arrived American settlers in Southern California at this exact moment. You have no idea about decades of Mexican legal precedent. Not at all. You don't know that ranchers contract native bands for security. Precisely. They lacked all of that historical context. So all they heard through the frontier grapevine was,
a Native American war party just killed a dozen white men in the canyon. Oh, wow. So they completely misread the situation. And the panic button is smashed. Panic said it immediately. The settlers assumed a massive, coordinated mission Indian uprising had just begun. So what happens in response? A company of American militia was dispatched from the Presidio of San Diego. Keep in mind, at this time, present day, San Bernardino and Riverside counties were still part of a massively sprawling San Diego County. Right. So these troops marched north fully intending to put down a violent rebellion. I have to push back here on the logistics of this, though. If Juan Antonio and his posse were legally contracted by the justice of the peace and official of the court, why did the American militia just immediately march out to attack them? That's a great question. Shouldn't there have been a paper trail protecting them? Like a dispatch sent to San Diego saying, hey, we handled the outlaws, everything is fine. Well, in a modern functioning state, yes. But you have to remember how terrible frontier communication
actually was. Oh, right. No telegraph yet. Exactly. No reliable postal service across these expanses. Information moved at the speed of a horse. And frankly, rumor moved much faster than official documentation. It's like a deadly game of telephone. It really was. By the time a legally binding piece of paper could reach the military command in San Diego, the settlers panic had already mobilized the militia, which forced Juan Antonio and his people to abandon their homes. Yeah, they had to flee their village of Palatana. And they retreated deep into their homelands in the Sanis and Tomatans, simply to avoid being slaughtered by the very government they had just successfully enforced the laws for. It was incredibly precarious. I mean, the survival of their entire community hung by a thread. That's terrifying. It was. But fortunately, the American leader of the militia, Major General Joshua Bean, was one of the rare officers who actually took the time to investigate before engaging. Thank goodness. Right. He wrote ahead, interviewed the locals, and discovered the truth about the Irving gang,
and the legal orders from the justice of the peace. So he was able to stop it? Barely. Bean had to work with great difficulty to restrain his own troops, who were really primed for a fight. But he managed to prevent a battle and a massacre. It really forces you to consider how terrifyingly fragile justice is when no one shares a common history. Oh, absolutely. The survival of an entire people depended entirely on one single military officer bothering to ask a few questions before giving the order to open fire. It highlights the extreme fragility of life during that transitional period. And the political maneuvering didn't stop there. You know, no, because closely following this near miss, Juan Antonio and his people realized the Rancho was no longer safe, which makes sense. So they moved eastward and settled in a new valley, branching off north from Santa Mateo Canyon, establishing a village called Sahadapa. And he actually had to prove his allegiance to the Americans again later that very same year, right? In a way that really shows his political savvy.
Yes, he did, because later in 1851, the region was engulfed in the Gara revolt. Right, which was part of the wider Umo War. Exactly. This was a broader regional conflict where a Copenio leader, named Antonio Gara, tried to organize a massive indigenous independence revolt to push the Americans out of Southern California. And Gara actively attempted to recruit various groups, including Juan Antonio's mountain cohea into the fight. But Juan Antonio, clearly navigating this incredibly dangerous political landscape, says no. In fact, he goes a step further. He arrests Antonio Gara himself and hands him over directly to the American authorities. He was the leader trying to ensure the survival of his people through incredibly turbulent times. He had to be so strategic. He did. He understood that another war would devastate his community. So he utilized his alliances and the legal frameworks available to him to basically shut down the revolt and solidify his position as an ally to the new government. It's just an incredible story of survival
and political maneuvering. Truly. But, you know, just as the canyon weathered the violent shifting cultures of the 1850s, it soon found itself staring down an entirely different kind of force. The march of modernity. Yes, the relentless engine of American industrial and infrastructural expansion. The geography that funneled the outlaws was about to funnel the modern world. Exactly. And before we get into the heavy machinery, I have to drop a surprising piece of trivia here. Oh, please do. Just to show how many different lives this canyon has lived. Yeah. From 1864 to 1868, one of the canyon's most famous residents was actually a teenager named Wyatt Earp. Wait, Wyatt Earp lived in Santa Mateo Canyon. He did. His family lived right there in the canyon farming and driving stage coaches long before he ever went to Tombstone. That is wild. It's such a fun historical footnote, firmly connecting this specific canyon to the broader lore of the American West. It really does. But the real physical shift towards a modernity
began about a decade later. The railroads. The railroads. By 1877, the Southern Pacific Railroad identified the canyon as the perfect geographic path for its new Southern Trancontinental route, which was a massive engineering undertaking. Huge. It laid the steel tracks that finally connected the Eastern United States directly into Los Angeles basin and it ran right through the heart of the canyon. So the canyon goes from a Native American wintering ground to an outlawed shootout site to a major artery of transcontinental commerce. All within a few decades. And it almost became something even more disruptive. Because in the mid-1950s, the planners of the brand new interstate highway system were looking for a route for interstate 10. Right, they needed to move millions of cars. And Santa Mateo Canyon was considered as one of three possible alignments, which makes complete sense from an engineering perspective. I mean, highway planners often follow the routes of old railroads, which followed the wagon trails, which followed the path is originally carved by the water. The creek had already done the hardest work
of grading a path through the mountains. It's the path of least resistance. Exactly. But ultimately, after much debate, the planners selected the central route through Redlands instead. So what does this all mean? It is the ultimate irony. Oh, totally. Losing out on a massive lucrative interstate highway contract was actually the absolute best thing that could have ever happened to Santa Mateo Canyon. Because by being bypassed by the engineers of interstate 10, the canyon was spared from being completely paved over by eight lanes of concrete. Right, that bureaucratic decision is what allowed the canyon to survive relatively untouched. It paved the way pun intended for modern preservation efforts to eventually take hold. It was preserved by omission, essentially. Because it was ignored by the highway, it survived for the historians and conservationists. And that preservation became official in 2001, right? Yes, through the dedicated efforts of the Riverside Land Conservancy and other local groups, a significant portion of the canyon was legally protected.
Which is fantastic. It came under the management of the California State Parks Department to be developed into Santa Mateo Canyon State Park. And while the park is still in development for full public access, the long-term plan is to provide some much-needed public open space for the fast-growing inland empire. Yeah, it'll feature trails for hiking and horseback riding, which is vital for protecting the native flora and fauna across the canyon's varied habitats. But just as importantly, it protects the historical landmarks that still stand there. Most notably, the Santa Mateo Canyon Schoolhouse. Which is a marvel in itself built in 1883 and it's operated by the Riverside County Parks Department. Acquired in 1993, I believe. Right, and it was officially added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2001. And finally, after a massive painstaking five-year restoration that ended sometime after 2007, it was open to the public. It stands there today as a tangible physical reminder of the canyon's pioneer era. It provides a necessary anchor, I think.
It does. When you have a landscape that has seen so much transient history, you know, nomadic tribes following the seasons, massive herds of moving cattle, fleeing outlaws, passing trains. Yeah, it's a lot of movement. Having a beautifully preserved structure, like that 1883 schoolhouse, gives people a physical place to stand, touch the wood, and just process the weight of that history. When you synthesize this entire journey, it is almost hard to wrap your head around. It's a lot for one canyon. A single, unassuming canyon holds layers upon layers of history. You have ground sloths, the size of grizzly bears resting just below the earth. Yeah, the echoes of indigenous winter homes that thrived along the high springs for thousands of years. You have the phantom gun smoke of wild west shootouts with Native American prosthesis enforcing the law. And you have the near miss of a massive highway development that inadvertently saved it all. It is a vital reminder to you listening right now that history isn't just something trapped and dry, dusty textbooks. It is a living thing, layered literally beneath the commuter
routes you drive every single day. This raises an important question, I think. How often do we look at the empty spaces between our modern cities and as soon they are just blank slates? All the time. Right. Santa Mateo Canyon proves that these overlooked spaces are often where the most intense foundational history happened, precisely because they were the geographic paths of least resistance. The water carved the canyon, the prehistoric animals followed the water, the humans followed the animals, the outlaws followed the wealth, and the railroads followed the flat ground. The land dictates the history. The land dictates the history, I love that. And it leaves us with one final provocative thought to mull over today. We talked earlier about how a completely routine construction project for a local power substation out in the canyon accidentally uncovered 1.4 million years of hidden prehistoric life. A million and a half years of history, just waiting there. Exactly. So I want you to think about this. If that much history, entire lost ecosystems
can be hiding just inches beneath the patch of dirt in the inland empire, what entirely unknown chapters of the past might be resting quietly beneath the foundation of your own home right now? That's a wild thought. The next time you were driving down that unassuming stretch of road, looking out at the dirt and the scrub brush, maybe sitting in traffic. Remember, you never really know what kind of wild history is buried right under your tires. You're listening to a podcast right now. Driving, working out, walking the dog. If you're into podcasts, chances are, you have something to say too. With rss.com, starting your own is free and easy. Upload an episode, and we distribute it to Apple podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, and hundreds more. Track your listeners, see where they're from, and start earning from ads like this, even with just 10 listeners a month. If you've been thinking about starting a podcast, this is your sign. Start free at rss.com.
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