Eastwood Dams

When people think of Big Bear Lake or Littlerock Reservoir, they usually picture pine-covered hills or quiet desert canyons. But beneath those scenic views lie stories of bold ideas, early 20th-century innovation, and one man who didn’t mind going against the grain: John S. Eastwood.

Original Big Bear Dam – 1885 (colorized)

Eastwood wasn’t interested in building dams the way everyone else did. While most engineers were busy stacking massive concrete walls straight across rivers, he had something different in mind: a system of thin, curved arches that transferred pressure into solid rock abutments. It was lighter, cheaper, and—in his view—smarter.

In Big Bear, the original dam dated back to 1884. It was built by Frank Elwood Brown, a man with a vision to turn the dry, chaparral-covered inland valleys into citrus groves. His dam was modest and practical for its time, but growing demand soon outpaced its capacity. By 1910, the Bear Valley Mutual Water Company called on Eastwood to design something new. What he gave them in 1912 was a graceful structure of eleven concrete arches—his signature multiple-arch style. It raised the lake level and helped feed the thirst of the San Bernardino Valley below. A bridge was added in 1924, making the dam a true link between the north and south shores and turning it into a local landmark.

Meanwhile, about 60 miles west as the crow flies, the Littlerock Dam rose in a very different landscape—dry, wide-open desert edged by the San Gabriel Mountains. Built between 1922 and 1924, the dam had a job to do: tame seasonal flooding and store water for nearby farms and growing communities in the Antelope Valley. Again, Eastwood’s multiple-arch design was chosen. At the time of its completion, Littlerock Dam was the tallest structure of its kind in the world. It stood not just as a practical solution but also as a quiet sign of faith in human ingenuity—a way to harness nature without bulldozing over it.

Over the years, both dams have been modified to meet modern standards. Littlerock was reinforced in the 1990s, its delicate arches now hidden beneath a face of roller-compacted concrete. Some of Eastwood’s original elegance was lost, but the structure still holds firm. Big Bear’s dam remains more visibly true to his vision, standing quietly beside the lake like a relic from a time when ambition was poured in concrete.

Littlerock Reservoir

John S. Eastwood may not be a household name, but his work left a lasting mark on California’s landscape. His dams in Big Bear and Littlerock weren’t just about holding back water—they were about pushing engineering forward. More than a century later, their presence still shapes the way people live, work, and play in the Mojave and San Bernardino Mountains.

Eastwood wasn’t interested in building dams the way everyone else did. While most engineers were busy stacking massive walls of concrete straight across rivers, he had something different in mind: a system of thin, curved concrete arches that would transfer pressure into solid rock abutments. It was lighter, cheaper, and—in his view—smarter.

Dutch Charley Koehn

In the lonely reaches of the El Paso Mountains, where the desert stretches wide and the wind whispers through the canyons, Dutch Charley—better known as Charles Koehn—built a life that was equal parts rugged and legendary. A German immigrant turned desert rat, Koehn made his mark not with gold, but with grit, ingenuity, and a bit of old-fashioned stubbornness.

Koehn’s story begins in the 1890s, when he staked a claim at Kane Springs, a much-needed watering hole along the route between Tehachapi and the Panamint Range. While many men chased dreams of striking it rich in the goldfields, Dutch Charley had a different plan—he set up shop right in the heart of the action, offering supplies, water, and even a mail service to the miners and drifters passing through. For 25 cents a letter, a prospector could send word back home, and for a few more coins, he could rest his bones and share a drink at Koehn’s outpost. It wasn’t just a business; it was a lifeline in an unforgiving land.

Despite his knack for trade, Koehn had a prospector’s heart. He spent years scouring the desert for something valuable, and while he never found the gold mother lode, he did uncover something else—gypsum. In 1909, he staked claims on a massive gypsite deposit near his homestead, and by 1910, he had a small operation producing wall plaster. It wasn’t the romantic vision of striking it rich, but it was a steady business. His holdings expanded over the years, and soon, larger companies were leasing his land to extract the valuable mineral.

But life in the Mojave wasn’t just about hard work—it was also about holding your ground. In 1912, a group of claim jumpers, backed by hired guns, tried to push Koehn off his land. The desert was a lawless place, and disputes like these were often settled with more than just words. Koehn, known for being tough as nails, didn’t back down. A gunfight erupted on the dry lakebed, and when the dust settled, Dutch Charley was still standing. The courts later ruled in his favor, affirming his rights to the land. It was the kind of incident that turned a man into a legend.

For decades, Koehn’s outpost—known as Dutch Charley’s Cabin—served as a beacon for desert wanderers. Whether it was a weary prospector looking for water, a film crew from Hollywood needing a mule team, or just a lost traveler in need of a friendly face, Koehn’s place was a welcome sight in the vast emptiness. His generosity was well known, and many recalled his habit of offering water to anyone who needed it, free of charge. It wasn’t just about business—it was about survival, about knowing that out here, in the middle of nowhere, a little kindness went a long way.

But time and fortune have a way of shifting like the desert sands. In the 1920s, Koehn found himself in a series of legal battles over his gypsum claims, and in 1923, he was arrested for allegedly attempting to bomb the home of a judge involved in one of his disputes. Whether he was guilty or the victim of a setup is still debated, but the outcome was clear—he was convicted and sent to San Quentin State Prison. It was a tragic end for a man who had spent his life fighting to carve out a piece of the desert for himself. He died behind bars in 1938, just days before he was scheduled to be released.

Though Koehn himself is long gone, his legacy remains. Koehn Dry Lake still bears his name, a reminder of the claim fights and salt works that once played out on its barren surface. The remains of Dutch Charley’s Cabin stand as a ghostly relic of a bygone era, a time when men built lives in the harshest of places with nothing but their hands, their wits, and an unbreakable will. His story, filled with hardship, adventure, and the occasional brush with the law, is woven into the fabric of Mojave history.

Dutch Charley was more than just a miner or a businessman. He was a character, a survivor, and above all, a man who belonged to the desert. He may not have left behind great wealth, but he left something just as enduring—the kind of story that echoes through the canyons long after the last prospector has gone.

Dublin Gulch

Dublin Gulch in Shoshone, California, is a rich historical site filled with the remains of unique cave dwellings. In the early 1900s, miners and other early settlers dug the caves into soft volcanic ash cliffs. The makeshift shelters protected them against harsh desert weather conditions and extreme temperatures.

These caves were the dwelling place for miners in nearby mines during the early 20th century. Over a certain period, it did take on a kind of community presence. Some of the dwellings even had windows, doors, and chimneys added to them, making them rather homely. Today, Dublin Gulch is a quirky historic site where, among other things, one can see the cave homes and feel what life in the desert must have been like over a century ago.

Dublin Gulch is situated near the small town of Shoshone, one of the important points that both travelers and miners had to pass through in the early 1900s. It lies close to Death Valley and several mining areas. A small piece of history, it offers a glimpse into the rugged, resourceful lives that were lived early on.

Dublin Gulch, Shoshone, Ca. – 2015

Dublin Gulch, Shoshone, Ca. – 2003