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The Deep Creek Cutoff was built during a brief, decisive period when mountain travel in Southern California shifted from wagon roads to automobiles. For decades, access to Big Bear Valley depended on wagon routes suited for animal power, slow travel, and seasonal use. Chief among these was the Metcalf and Knight Bear Valley Wagon Toll Road, passing through Green Valley and following Snowslide Road to Fawnskin. Although sufficient for wagons, these routes became unreliable as motor vehicles became more popular.
A Mountain Corridor of the Wagon Era
The Bear Valley Wagon Toll Road belonged to a world that accepted distance, delay, and effort as the ordinary costs of movement. Built in the late nineteenth century by William Metcalf and Eli Knight, it was not intended to spur growth, tourism, or mountain promotion. It was a practical investment: a controlled corridor designed to reliably move freight, livestock, and people into Bear Valley, sustaining timber cutting, ranching, and permanent settlement.
From the outset, the road prioritized wagon traffic over speed. Grades were kept moderate, so loaded teams could climb without excessive animal loss. Alignments followed established drainages and shaded slopes, even though those choices guaranteed winter mud and lingering snow. The route passed through Green Valley, where teams could rest and resupply, and continued toward the north shore of Big Bear Lake, terminating near what later became Fawnskin. This routing made sense in an era when freight moved at an animal pace, and schedules were flexible. Waiting out the weather was inconvenient but acceptable; losing a team on a steep grade was not.
As a toll road, the Metcalf and Knight route functioned as a private utility. Users paid for access, and maintenance was performed only to the extent necessary to keep wagons moving. There was no incentive to widen the road, reduce grades beyond necessity, or anticipate future technologies. The road was built to last under its original operating rules, not to evolve. In that, it succeeded. For decades, it carried a steady flow of timber, supplies, and local traffic without encouraging speculative travel or boomtown development.
The communities tied to the road reflected this restraint. Green Valley existed as a service stop because teams required rest and feed at predictable intervals. Fawnskin developed as a working north-shore settlement tied to lumber and freight rather than as a resort or promotional town. The toll structure filtered out casual travel and limited use to those with a reason to be there. By nineteenth-century standards, this was a sound and durable arrangement.
The road’s weaknesses emerged only when transportation technology changed. Shaded, north-facing stretches—particularly along the Snowslide corridor—held snow and mud long after storms. Under wagon conditions, these were manageable delays. Under automotive conditions, they became fatal. Early cars lacked traction, power, and the ability to withstand prolonged stoppages. What had once been a reasonable compromise for animal endurance turned into a liability for engines.
The opening of Rim of the World Drive in 1915 did not immediately replace the Bear Valley Wagon Toll Road, but it exposed its limitations by introducing automobiles into the mountains. The decisive shift came in the early 1920s with the construction of the Deep Creek Cutoff, a route designed explicitly for motor traffic. Shorter, sunnier, and steeper, the new road prioritized reliability and scheduling over abandoned wagon routes. Once it opened, the old toll road was rendered obsolete almost overnight.
The decline of the Bear Valley Wagon Toll Road was not the result of poor planning or neglect. It was a clean case of technological succession. The road had been optimized for animal power, flexible time, and controlled access. When those assumptions disappeared, replacement proved simpler and cheaper than adaptation.
Historically, the Metcalf and Knight road stands as a peak expression of wagon-era mountain engineering in the San Bernardino range. It demonstrates how thoroughly transportation systems once shaped settlement, economy, and daily life—and how quickly those systems could fade when the work they were built to do changed. The road served its purpose well and, when that purpose ended, stepped aside.
Rim of the World
With the 1915 opening of the Rim of the World Drive, motor traffic reached the San Bernardino Mountains, exposing the old road system’s weaknesses. North-facing slopes stayed muddy and icy after storms, snow lingered into spring, and repair needs increased. A shorter, sunnier, more dependable route to Big Bear Valley was needed.
Given these problems, in August 1922, San Bernardino County awarded a construction contract to the Utah Construction Company to build a new road from Rim of the World Drive at Running Springs directly into Big Bear Valley. Named for the drainage it crossed, the Deep Creek Cutoff was designed as a shortcut—steeper, faster, and exposed to full sunlight—bypassing Green Valley and the north-shore wagon roads entirely.
Construction began immediately. Using steam shovels and early bulldozers, crews cut a twelve-mile dirt road along steep south slopes above Deep Creek. Isolation required worker camps for housing and food. Operating from both ends, the company finished the dirt roadway by fall 1923.
The Cutoff entered Big Bear Valley at Eastwood Dam, completed in 1912. Though no bridge was planned originally, one was soon added over the dam, followed by shoreline improvements. These upgrades eased access, but the crucial change was that traffic now bypassed old communities, going directly from the Rim.
The consequences for communities were immediate: Green Valley and Fawnskin were abruptly bypassed, losing their roles as corridors. With no county help, Green Valley survived by reinventing itself as a destination. In 1926, a dam across Green Valley Creek created Green Valley Lake, securing the community’s future.
Green Valley
The communities associated with the road reflected this restraint. Green Valley developed as a service stop rather than a destination, existing because teams needed rest and feed at predictable intervals. Fawnskin developed as a working north-shore settlement tied to lumber and local freight, not as a resort or promotional town. The toll structure filtered out casual travel and limited use to those with a reason to be there. By nineteenth-century standards, this was a sound and durable arrangement.
The road’s weaknesses only became apparent when transport technology changed. The shaded, north-facing stretches, especially along the Snowslide corridor, held snow and mud long after storms. Under wagon conditions, these were manageable delays. Under automotive conditions, they failed. Early cars lacked traction, power, and the ability to withstand prolonged stoppages. What formerly had been a reasonable compromise for animal endurance turned into a liability for engines.
The opening of Rim of the World Drive in 1915 did not immediately replace the Metcalf and Knight road, but it exposed its constraints by introducing automobiles into the mountains. The decisive change arrived in the early 1920s with the construction of the Deep Creek Cutoff, a route designed explicitly for motor traffic. Shorter, sunnier, and steeper, the new road abandoned wagon priorities entirely in favor of reliability and scheduling. Once it opened, the old toll road was rendered obsolete almost overnight.
The decline of the Metcalf and Knight Bear Valley Wagon Toll Road was not due to planning or maintenance failures. It was an example of technological succession carried out cleanly. The road had been optimized for animal power, elastic time, and controlled access. When those assumptions disappeared, replacement was cheaper and more effective than adaptation.
Historically, the road acts as the peak expression of wagon-era mountain engineering in the San Bernardino range. It shows how thoroughly transportation systems once shaped settlement, economy, and daily life, and how quickly those systems could be erased when the job they were built to do changed. The Metcalf and Knight road did its work well and, when that work was no longer needed, stepped aside.
The Deep Creek Cutoff
The opening of Rim of the World Drive in 1915 brought automobiles into the San Bernardino Mountains, but access to Big Bear initially followed older wagon routes through Green Valley and Fawnskin. These north-facing roads—especially the Snowslide Road—proved unreliable for motor traffic, remaining muddy and difficult to maintain for much of the year.
In 1922, San Bernardino County approved construction of the Deep Creek Cutoff, a new south-facing route from Running Springs to Big Bear Lake. Built rapidly by the Utah Construction Company using steam shovels and early bulldozers, the road opened in 1923 and entered Big Bear Valley at Eastwood Dam. A concrete bridge and a new lakeshore road soon followed.
The Cutoff diverted nearly all traffic away from Green Valley and Fawnskin. With no county assistance forthcoming, Green Valley faced extinction. In response, fishing guide Harry “Green Valley Mac” McMullen promoted a bold solution: damming Green Valley Creek to create a resort lake. Backed by the DeWitt-Blair Company, the dam was completed in 1926, forming Green Valley Lake and securing the community’s future.
The Deep Creek Cutoff did exactly what it was built to do. It shortened travel, favored sun-exposed slopes, and aligned mountain access with the realities of automobile travel. In doing so, it permanently reshaped settlement, economy, and movement in the San Bernardino Mountains.
Rim of the World Drive (1915)
The dedication of Rim of the World Drive in 1915 indicated a major change in how the San Bernardino Mountains were entered and understood. Unlike earlier wagon roads that dropped into valleys and climbed out again, this new automobile road followed the high rim of the range, holding elevation and affording a continuous east–west passage across rough landscape. It was built not for animals or seasonal freight, but for machines—and for the growing expectation that mountain travel should be reliable, scheduled, and repeatable.
Before 1915, access to the high country depended on animal-drawn wagon routes. These roads tolerated mud, snow, and delay because time was less important than survival. The arrival of automobiles exposed their weaknesses. Early cars were heavy, underpowered, and intolerant of poor surfaces. What had been acceptable for wagons became frustrating, even dangerous, for motorists.
The Rim of the World Drive addressed that problem by changing the logic of mountain travel. Beginning near Arrowhead Springs, the road followed the crest of the range rather than plunging into shaded drainages. By staying high, it decreased exposure to floods and lingering mud, shortened travel times, and allowed drivers to move laterally across the mountains before choosing where to descend. The road passed through Running Springs, which soon became a critical decision point for travelers.
The Rim did not immediately replace older access routes into Big Bear Valley, but it rendered them obsolete in principle. North-facing wagon roads—particularly those passing through Green Valley and Fawnskin—remained slow and unreliable. Once motorists experienced the relative ease of rim travel, patience for muddy, shaded grades disappeared. The Rim made the problem visible and, in doing so, demanded a solution.
Deep Creek Cutoff (1922-23)
That solution came in the form of the Deep Creek Cutoff, a steep, south-facing shortcut dropping directly from the Rim into Big Bear Valley. Built in 1922–1923, the Cutoff depended entirely on the Rim for its western connection. Without the Rim of the World Drive as a stable spine, the Cutoff would have made little sense. Together, the two roads illustrate a new hierarchy of movement: a dependable rimline route paired with faster, riskier descent roads.
Over time, Rim of the World Drive was formalized as State Route 18, but its essential character remained unchanged. It was never meant to be dramatic or fast. Its value lay in continuity—holding the mountain edge, linking gateways, and enabling travelers to choose their path rather than endure it.
The Rim of the World Drive reshaped settlement, tourism, and access throughout the mountains. It turned Running Springs into a junction, enabled later cutoffs, and quietly ended the dominance of wagon-era geography. More than a road, it was a statement: the mountains could now be crossed on human schedules, not seasonal ones.
Fawnskin and the Boom That Never Came
In the mountain West, development frequently followed a common pattern: a road arrived, land was promoted, and a place was urged to become louder and larger than it had ever been. Fawnskin is notable because it never fully accepted that invitation.
Fawnskin began as a working north shore, defined by timber rather than speculation. Logging camps and mills formed a settlement that existed to do a job, not to advertise itself. When the forests thinned and the mills quieted, there was no hurry to reinvent the place as a destination. The habits of adequacy—build what you need, keep what works—had already taken hold.
Across the lake, a different path emerged. On the south shore of Big Bear Lake, access improved sooner, followed by promotion, and tourism became the organizing principle. Fawnskin watched this transformation without imitating it. Where resorts and subdivisions clustered elsewhere, the north shore remained plain, measured, and unconvinced that growth was a virtue in itself.
Access reinforced this outlook. Before the Rim of the World Highway made travel reliable, reaching Fawnskin necessitated patience. That inconvenience discouraged speculation and favored residents who needed to be there rather than visitors passing through. By the time the road arrived, the boom impulse had already found its preferred ground elsewhere.
There came occasions when Fawnskin might have tipped toward expansion. Lake use increased. Cabins appeared. Each time, development stayed incremental. No grand hotels rose. No marketing campaign announced a new identity. Growth followed need, not anticipation.
The result is continuity. While nearby communities cycled through enthusiasm and correction, Fawnskin held its ground. Its steady endurance reflects an early understanding of itself—a place content to remain useful, restrained, and real. In mountain history, that choice is not accidental. It is the lasting mark of a town that declined to pretend.
Green Valley (1911-12)
Green Valley Lake: A Community Defined by Timing and Distance
High in the San Bernardino Mountains, Green Valley Lake occupies a meadow that was never meant to become a town in the usual sense. Its history is shaped less through ambition than by sequence—what arrived first, what departed early, and what never returned. To understand Green Valley Lake, one must look not at what was built there, but at what passed it by.
In the late nineteenth century, the valley’s purpose was utilitarian. Lush timberlands made it attractive to timber interests, and logging operations moved in during the 1880s and 1890s. A toll road and tollhouse served wagons moving between lower mountain communities and Big Bear Valley. For a time, Green Valley functioned as a working corridor space—valuable because it lay along the way, not because it promised permanence. Logging rail spurs reached into the area, trees were cut, and the forest economy ran its course.
By about 1911 or 1912, large-scale logging had effectively ended. The most accessible timber had been removed, rail lines were abandoned, and the valley slipped into a quieter phase of grazing and scattered homesteads. This was not unusual in the mountains; many such places awaited a second life as tourist or resort centers. Whether that second act arrived depended almost entirely on access.
That access changed decisively in 1923 with the completion of the Deep Creek Cutoff. The new road provided a faster, more direct route between San Bernardino and Big Bear, bypassing Green Valley entirely. Traffic that once passed slowly through the valley was rerouted in a single stroke. Unlike nearby communities that gained importance due to upgraded roads, Green Valley Lake lost its last connection to the main flow of traffic.
The lake itself was created shortly afterward, in 1925–1926, when developers dammed the meadow to form a small alpine reservoir. This was not the beginning of a boom but a recognition of limits. Without rail service, without highway frontage, and without a large basin or industrial anchor, Green Valley Lake could not compete with Big Bear or other mountain resorts. Instead, it offered something else: quiet, scenery, and a sense of separation from the rush.
Through the mid-twentieth century, the community settled into a stable pattern. Cabins replaced camps, fishing replaced freight, and modest winter recreation complemented summer retreat life. Growth came slowly and seasonally. Even disasters, such as wildfires, reinforced the town’s long-standing character rather than altering it. Green Valley Lake endured by remaining small.
In the end, Green Valley Lake was formed not by failure but by timing. Logging ended before tourism could replace it, and the road changed before the town could reinvent itself. What continued to be a mountain community defined by restraint—a place that survived by being bypassed, and in doing so preserved a quieter vision of what a mountain settlement could be.
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