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This month
we take a break from our Western Mojave adventures and head for the Piute
Mountains high in the Sequoia
National Forest. Join
us as we sit around the campfire sharing the stories of the liars
of Old Kernville.
Lying
George Pettingill
The Genius
Who Couldn’t Spell His Own Name
Somewhere above the town of
Wofford
Heights, and before the
summit of Greenhorn
Mountain, a dirt road leads
to what was the home of the greatest liar of the Kern River Diggins. In
a flat area beside Tilly Creek, George Pettingill ran the tollhouse for
the old McFarland Toll Road. In addition to
collecting tolls from weary travelers, he often entertained them with
his tales, tall and true.
George Pettingill spent his younger years sailing, fighting
Indians, and soldiering. He
had no particular skills in reading and writing but he “wuz hell for
single-handed talkin’.” His outlandish stories have been passed on
from generation to generation. Although people laughed at his yarns in
the old days, and still do today, Pettingill was not out for only a
laugh. As the boys sat around the old tobacco stained stove, Pettingill
would come up with spur of the moment stories to ease the boredom of
another’s careless truths. George Pettingill couldn’t stand
half-baked liars, but was “mighty hard hit by it himself.”
The Chemist of La Mismo Gulch
While working his La Mismo Gulch claim, George Pettingill became
familiar with the neighboring claim owner. This fellow spent Sundays,
and rainy days as an amateur chemist. He had a bench in a blacksmith
shop where he did his chemical experiments. He rushed out of that shop
one day with his eyes “shinin’ kinda queer-like” and told
Pettingill about the most “explosive” explosive he was working on.
He not only told George Pettingill, but he told all the scientists he
knew, as well, and invited them into his blacksmith shop for a
demonstration. When the day came and the scientists were gathered around
the amateur chemist's bench, he took a pin and touched it’s point to
the contents of a whiskey glass. The whiskey glass held the new-fangled
explosive. The glass was then handed to a Mexican boy that was waiting
on his mule. The boy was told to “ride hell fer leather” four miles
up the river and hide in an old tunnel so he would be safe from the
impending explosion. The chemist touched an anvil with the explosive
coated pinpoint and grabbed a single jack, tapping the anvil in the same
place. The explosion happened so suddenly the poor man didn’t have
time to let go of the handle of the hammer and was thrown right in to
the roof of the blacksmith shop. George Pettingill said that the hole in
the roof was so small, the chemists boots were jerked off.
Hard Rock Miner & Jerk Line Skinner
George Pettingill was a man who held many jobs over the years. At
one time he worked as a mucker in the Mother Lode mines. He claimed to
have lost that job because they couldn’t break enough rock to keep him
busy. All day the miners would drill the face of the tunnel. The drill
steel was eventually dull from all of the drilling. A double shift was
worked so they could sharpen the steel. When the next shift went back
into the tunnel, Pettingill said the drill-holes stuck out three and a
half inches from the rock.
At a time when the roads were “considerably rougher and much
more crooked”, George Pettingill hauled timber from My Harmon’s old
mill on
Greenhorn
Mountain
to the famous Big
Blue mine in Whiskey Flat. When he returned, of course, he would haul
supplies back up to the mill. On one of the return trips, Pettingill
allowed his black and white coachman pup to follow behind the wagon. At
the top of the summit, he stopped his eight-horse team to pitch camp. He
looked around and realized his dog was missing. George Pettingill
re-traced the crooked road for three and a half miles by foot, then
suddenly came to his dog cramped on a turn.
“Feenominal” Growth
When George Pettingill wasn’t talking about his mining and
prospecting days, he enjoyed talking about the “feenominal” growth
in the area. He loved to tell about the “punkin” seeds that were
spread on the ridge above J. W. Sumner’s Ranch. Sumner’s cow grazed
in the area where the seeds were spread. One day she wandered into a pumpkin blossom and “got caught up
in the growin’ process.” George said that cow disappeared until fall
when the “punkins” had grown to enormous proportions. One was so
huge that it’s sheer weight pulled it from the vine. That big old
“punkin” rolled down the ridge and fell against a big boulder.
When it busted, Sumner’s cow walked out from where it had been
grazing that spring. That cow had gotten caught up in the “punkin”
blossom and wound up spending it’s summer growing as it grazed inside
the pumpkin.
George Pettingill also enjoyed telling stories about the
gooseberry vine that he passed by every morning and evening when he was
“going and coming” to work on his La Mismo Gulch placer claim. The
bush always attracted his attention because it had just one blossom that
grew right out of its top. The berry grew up on one side and down on the
other side from the stem, taking on an amazing size. One evening
Pettingill realized that the under side had grown down until it
“almost teched the ground.” The
next morning, much to his surprise, Pettingill found the berry and the
vine had rolled off down the slope to the bottom of La Mismo Gulch.
“That darn gooseberry had kept right on growin’ till it pulled the
vine right up by its roots!”
Hunting Stories
Hunting, of course, was another activity that George Pettingill
enjoyed. One time he was up at Bar Trap Flat and ran into a big old
grizzly bear. Pettingill shot at him with his old muzzle-loader, and the
“bar” made for him before he could reload. He headed for the nearest
tree, dropping his gun as he jumped up and reached for a low limb.
As he grabbed for “greater
heights”, the “bar” swiped at him and raked his left boot off. He
hurried on up to safety higher in the tree, then finally looked down to
see that “bar” pointing his rifle at him. The grizzly snapped the trigger and motioned to Pettingill to
throw down some ammunition. After awhile, Pettingill said the “bar”
grabbed the boot he had slapped off of him, and slipped it on his left
rear leg. Many hunters
claimed to have seen the grizzly bear track, but would not follow it
because it appeared he was being tracked down by a one legged hunter.
Word has it that the “ ‘bar wore George Pettingill’s boot
‘till the heel turned and the sole wuz gone.
Pettingill could tell by the fringe left around the foot imprint,
that the “bar wore that boot like a spat.”
Pettingill also talked of hunting for buck along the foot of Sawtooth
Mountain. Near the bluff at
the mountain top, he saw a big buck. It was a long shot, and way up the
hill, but Pettingill aimed high and pulled extra hard on the trigger. As
he stepped aside to see around the powder smoke the buck staggered and
fell. He scrambled up the slope to find the carcass “laying there “festerin’.”
“It was bad enough fer that venison to spile before I could reach it;
but wuz an extra heavy blow fer me to reelize later that I strained my
gun in makin’ that long uphill shot. The gun would never carry up
worth a damn after that.”
Out at Greaser Gulch, George Pettingill ran across another big
buck. He aimed and fired and the buck dropped in his tracks. Pettingill
traveled across the canyon where the animal was. He leaned his empty gun
against a boulder while he stood and admired his game. As he whipped his
knife out in his right hand to cut the deer throat and bleed it, the
buck jumped up and started down the draw. Pettingill didn’t have time
to re-load his gun but lunged and grabbed for the deer tail with his
free hand, as it startled. George Pettingill said it was a lucky lunge,
as he managed to insert his middle finger up the buck’s ass half way
to the first joint. “I chased that buck seven and a half miles up hill
and down before I could gain enough to crook my finger.”
The Genius Who Couldn’t Spell His Own Name
An old timer said that George Pettingill was “a genius who
never took the trouble to put anything down fer keeps.” Folks said
that the storyteller from the Kern River Diggins couldn’t even spell
his own name. In fact,
the only place his name was ever seen spelled out completely was on his
tombstone, which is decorated with a flag by Whiskey Flat Veterans every
Decoration Day because Pettingill had always said he had “done some
soldierin’.” George Pettingill will always be remembered for his
yarns “that’ll be floatin’ around from mouth to mouth long after
his headstone has crumpled like an old dump on Cula
Vaca
Mountain.”
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ic
lands in and around Jawbone Canyon to promote the preservation, multiple
use, and restoration of all public lands, local, state, and federal.
The Friends of Jawbone assist the BLM in operation of the Jawbone
Station visitor center and bookstore, present Moose Anderson
Days each April, and offer outreach and educational programs.
