Imprisoned by a River, a Hamlet Hangs Tough

Stranded on a sliver of riverbank deep inside the Angeles National Forest, a dozen residents of Follows Camp crowded around one end of a cable that stretched 200 feet alongside the remnants of a narrow steel bridge that a week ago provided their only path to civilization.

Their faces full of anticipation, the residents used a crude pulley to drag an antiquated steel compartment over the swift gray waters. They quickly unloaded the contraption, stocked by friends with essentials such as propane gas, sandwich bread, mail and even cases of beer.

“We have enough food for three days,” said Jim Lewis, chief of the Follows Camp Volunteer Fire Department and a father figure of sorts in the community 15 miles north of Azusa. “It’s like we’re imprisoned.”

Torrential rains earlier this month turned the normally calm East Fork of the San Gabriel River into a raging force that swallowed all of the community’s public camp space, widening sections of the river four times and toppling the three bridges that linked residents to the outside world.

Built in the 19th century to accommodate gold miners, Follows Camp is home to 200 full-time residents who live mainly in trailer homes and a few rustic wood cabins sandwiched between an impenetrable canyon wall and the river. In recent years, they endured lesser floods and fought to save their homes from wildfires.

For the last eight days, 135 residents have been confined to the 90-acre parcel, rationing food and supplies and worrying about losing the jobs they commute to. It will be at least two weeks before another bridge can be built to provide access to Highway 39.

“It’s like ‘Survivor,’ but we can’t vote anyone off,” said Joan Headlee, 48, who moved there from Riverside eight years ago.

But the week of solitude has given them time to reflect on what drew them there in the first place: community, affordable housing, nature and serenity.

Much like the residents of La Conchita in Ventura County, where the ever-present threat of mudslides didn’t deter people from buying homes, the residents of Follows Camp say no number of fires or floods could drive them away.

“All you have do is take a look at this canyon,” said Tim Dowling, 50, an artist and volunteer firefighter who has lived there 16 years. “Isn’t that worth it?”

Dowling, a muscular man with a graying ponytail, pointed to the vibrant green slopes that surround the winding river. In the background, the snow-capped mountains looked reachable, not like distant shapes that come and go amid the smog.

Follows Camp has persevered over the years as a sanctuary for those who dislike modern urban life and are drawn to the affordable rent of about $500 a month. In warmer months, thousands of visitors pitch tents or park RVs on a large grassy clearing adjacent to the full-time residents’ homes. But that camping area vanished when the river rose to 20 feet above normal during the storms, burying in the silt a vintage fire engine the community had had for decades.

“I used to live in El Monte,” said Lewis, a stout man with a bushy white beard and a two-pack-a-day smoking habit. “On two different occasions, my children left to go get hot dogs and came back with bullet holes in their car.”

The 61-year-old Lewis started visiting Follows Camp as a boy, panning for gold with his parents. Fed up with the city, the roofing company owner moved there permanently 14 years ago. He lives with his wife, Audrey, in a 30-foot-by-7-foot trailer home outfitted with a kitchen, a bedroom, a long living room and two bathrooms.

A handful of cottages with stone chimneys and wood picket fences, built before World War II, dot the landscape. In recent times, the privately owned campground has prohibited residents from securing their homes to the ground.

“Everything has to be mobile,” Lewis said.

So trailer homes abound. A couple of residents converted school buses and a Greyhound-style coach into homes by stripping the interiors and adding bathrooms and kitchens.

A passion for handiwork at Follows is equaled by a passion for animals. Lewis says he has 15 cats, three dogs, four raccoons and two skunks. He also claims to have a California brown bear, a docile creature who descends the mountain on trash days.

Because he’s chief of the volunteer fire department, residents looked to Lewis for guidance over the past week. Regular meetings at the Fort Restaurant -- where many nights have been spent eating “Miner Burgers” and listening to local blues and country bands -- provided a morale boost as Lewis kept neighbors informed of deliveries and chores that needed to be done. It’s the closest thing to a neighborhood council they’ve got.

“People realized we were making an effort, and that added some calm,” said Dowling, who, like everyone and everything in the community, has a nickname.

“We call Tim ‘Straight Shooter,’ because he’s never been known to lie,” Lewis said of Dowling. “He tells it as it is.”

Lewis is nicknamed “Cheeseburger,” because that’s all he ate the first six months he was in Follows Camp. There’s also a Bill known only as “Scooter” and a David who goes by “Murdoch” because he reminds people of a character from the TV show “The A-Team.” A tractor that was sucked downstream by the river was named Fergie. No one could explain why.

“The rain and river sounded like Niagara Falls,” Lewis said. “When the bridge went down, it was the angriest sound of grinding of steel. You could hear rocks crashing into other rocks.”

That was the third and final span to fall -- “The Big Green Bridge,” locals call it -- and immediately afterward, residents began to worry about how much food and medicine they had and how they would get to work or send the approximately 15 children left at Follows to school. Many work down the mountain in what locals refer to, almost disdainfully, as “the city.” The commuters include truck drivers, heavy-machinery operators and veterinary assistants.

“I’m fine, but I need to work because I’m losing money,” said Audrey Lewis, a bartender in Glendora.

“The first thing I thought about is what’s going to happen to my son,” said Jeff Kolb, 30, from inside his trailer home, a cramped space littered with soda cans, clean diapers and video games. “How am I going to feed him for a week?”

Unlike nature, Follows Camp has been forgiving to people like Kolb. Three years ago, he was homeless, recovering from drug addiction and living out of a tent in the public camping area. Follows’ owner at the time, Joe Davison, offered Kolb the trailer if he found work. Davison died in 2002, but Kolb remains, working as a mechanic in Glendora and raising his 1-year-old, Gunner. He spent Saturday carrying the boy along the riverbank.

“We’re getting cabin fever, and all we can do is walk it off,” he said.

Lewis has shared food he’s stacked inside a wooden shed outside his home. The shelves hold canned milk, canned soup, canned vegetables, beef stew, granola bars and pancake syrup. One of the recent donations delivered over the cable was more than 50 pounds of pork roasts from the California Barbecue Assn., which often holds events at the camp.

To pass the time, men sit on picnic benches, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Some of the musicians get together and jam, singing about the canyon and life by the river.

“At least we have TV. If we didn’t, I think I’d have to swim across the river,” said David Caruthers, a gold-panner and three-year resident who recently found several gold nuggets, each no larger than an ant. Residents had hoped the rising waters would unearth a safe filled with $6 million in gold that was lost in the 1880s after a nearby mining town was washed away.

A sheriff’s helicopter arrived last week to drop off food, diapers and medicines. Residents who wanted to leave were told they could hitch a ride. Only six opted to go.

“We’re clinging to each other for strength and companionship,” said Lewis, pacing the muddy road that connects the mile-long community.

“I think we have a new nickname for this place,” he said. “Follows Island.”