Camp Cajon off of Interstate 15, Highway 138 has long appealed to pioneers

I have traveled more north and south through the Cajon Pass than I can count. From the early days of carrying a knapsack across my shoulders looking out for grizzly bears, to the days of covered wagons being dismantled at the southern base and then reassembled at the top of the pass, to the modern days when motorized vehicles zoom up and down.

Yes, I’ve been around quite a while.

But I have never stopped near the McDonald's off the intersection of Interstate 15 and Highway 138.

Sure, I have taken the offramp and headed to Wrightwood to the west or Silverwood Lake to the east but never actually stopped near the McDonald's.

Nothing against Ronald’s house, great fries, but there was an occasion I, or we, had to make an emergency hunger stop since our abode was less than twenty minutes to the north.

“Daddy, I’m starving, and I need a Happy Meal,” one of our daughters once said.

“Yeah, why can’t we stop at Micky Dees off the freeway?” Another daughter said, but I don’t recall her name.

I would look over to my co-pilot, my lovely wife Laureen, who would give that ‘okay, for the girls’ nod.

Suddenly my right foot would mash down on the gas peddle, and by the time we were approaching the exit for Highway 138, our car would be hurtling at nearly 400 miles per hour.

“Sorry, girls,” I said. “Daddy seemed to have had a lead foot moment right then.”

So, recently, Laureen was sitting on the sofa and asked where I was traveling next.

“To the refrigerator,” I replied. “There is a cold one with my name on it.”

A sigh came from somewhere in the house — probably from the air conditioning vents — and she said, “I meant to find another place to write about.”

“Got any suggestions?” I asked.

“How about Camp Cajon?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s off Highway 138 near the McDonald's,” she said. “It’s a historical site.”

The room started to spin, and I grabbed the countertop. This must have been a mistake. A historical place so near that I had never visited.

“It is very famous, though not much is left of it.”

The world had changed at that moment. I sat down, grabbed my phone, and did some research.

Historical — I will be the judge of that.

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It turns out there is a historical thing or two right by McDonald's, at the juncture of 15 and 138.

More research showed the trails used by the early pioneers in Southern California ran through Cajon Canyon and Coyote Canyon, now known as Crowder Canyon, to the southwest. Both canyons were used by Antonio Armijo, who utilized these canyons as his way to move back and forth along the rough terrain on various ventures transporting horses.

It was Armijo who pioneered the Old Spanish Trail through the locale.

The trail saw more action during the 1849 Gold Rush into California as folks traveled north and south along the trail to discover their fortunes.

In December of 1849, a group of pioneers referred to as the Death Valley 49ers stopped near the site of the beforementioned McDonald's to rest after mistakenly taking a wrong turn earlier and wandering through Death Valley for weeks.

“Wish there was a restaurant nearby,” one pioneer may have said to another.

“Perhaps in a hundred years, there may be one on this very spot,” the other pioneer replied.

“You say the darndest things sometimes, Patrick McDonald.”

An interesting tidbit, two of the survivors of the hazardous Death Valley crossing were 19-year-old Sheldon Stoddard and 12-year-old Sydney Waite, who worked tirelessly assisting other pioneers with their wagons and goods.

In 1851, the Mormon Waybill pamphlet was published for those daring enough to travel into this part of California. It was written by Joseph Cain, who had traveled these parts in 1849 and wrote in the pamphlet, ‘Road bad down the canon.’

These trails had been used by the Serrano people for eons before any of the traders or gold seekers had come west.

The Serrano had villages spaced out throughout the Mojave Desert, including locations near the present-day cities of Victorville and Hesperia. The San Bernardino Mountains were used for hunting game. In 2003, the U.S. Forest Service accidentally uncovered artifacts believed to be over one thousand years old and attributed to the Serrano.

These trails were rough, steep, and rocky, but so were the folks that followed them. Up and down and down and up went the traffic from the lowlands to the highlands of the Mojave Desert.

American trappers had used these same trails starting in the late 1820s, but it wasn’t until the finding of gold at Sutter’s Mill that heavy usage took place along Cajon Canyon and Coyote Canyon.

In 1861, gold was discovered in Holcomb Valley in the San Bernardino Mountains. The local governments and the state of California knew a good thing when they had one and improved the trails so that wagons could easily make their way up and over the pass.

A toll was charged. Have to love the government.

A road that crossed the Mojave River near the lower narrows near Victorville cut out hours of travel through the desert. This would be later known as Lane’s Crossing. As time went by, the roadway improved, and routes were located to make traveling easier and faster.

So, I took off to find these monuments and see what I could see.

I was rather impressed with what I found.

Leaving the 15 and heading east on the 138, I took a right onto Wagon Trail Road —apropos for this section of Cajon Pass. I did not stop at McDonald's but headed probably a hundred yards south of it, and there were the two monuments.

There is a wonderful plaque dedicated to those adventurous souls who traveled over these trails in the mid-19th century seeking their fortunes and fame.

And there is a huge pyramid-shaped boulder monument next door to the Salt Lake and Santa Fe Trails plaque. The Camp Cajon welcome sign is for all weary travelers along the highway.

A gentleman named William M. Bristol had an idea while attending the dedication of the Pioneers Monument in December 1917.

Bristol was a successful citrus grower in the area and knew the area would continue growing with people moving to California from other parts of the country. His vision was to set up a place for people to rest and feel welcome in the golden state. The stop would be sold as the ‘gateway to southern California.’

World War I raged in Europe, and Bristol was called away for duty. But when he returned to Cajon Pass in May of 1919, he pitched a tent and stayed for months.

Bristol did not return to his orchards but instead went full steam in creating a beautifully constructed welcome center for out-of-state travelers.

There were no fast-food restaurants, few gasoline stations, and scarce places for folks to spend the night at the time, so Bristol had his work cut for him.

Bristol got land donated from the Santa Fe Railroad and began building his dream. He spent time building picnic tables, but instead of wood, he built the tables out of concrete. A lot of concrete, and soon these heavy round tables and benches were ready for people to sit and relax while having a bite to eat.

Those individuals or families who needed a place to sleep were encouraged to pitch a tent and get some rest for free.

On July 4, 1919, there was a dedication ceremony for Camp Cajon, and Jennie Cook Davis wrote a poem: ‘We have built a shrine to friendship, good fellowship, and cheer. That all who cross our threshold may find refreshment here.”

Soon, the ‘Gateway to Southern California’ was known nationwide, and travelers could at least find solace that there would be a welcoming place for them as they neared their final destinations.

A headline from the Los Angeles Times in 1921 stated, ‘Camp Cajon Takes Cake for Comfort, Gives Motor Travelers Great Welcome as They Come in from Desert.’

Sponsors and volunteers showed up during the years, funding more tables, stone cooking stoves, barbeque pits, toilets, showers, and much more. It was a thriving community.

The Elks Club constructed a large stone building, and soon, a small store and post office opened at Camp Cajon.

Sadly, in March of 1938, a terrific storm hit the area, creating massive and devastating floods. Soon tons of rocks and mud buried the welcoming center leaving nothing to salvage.

Bristol’s dream had come to an end.

As I walked about the place, I realized that dream did not end. If a person can sit quietly, they can hear the laughter of bygone travelers who had found comfort during their long journey because of one man.