The Legacy and Legends of California Camels

The first thing anybody asks when they hear you've gone to a camel dairy is, "What does it taste like?"

Sad to say, after visiting Oasis Camel Dairy in East San Diego County, I still don't know.

The females do get milked there, but the farm isn't permitted to serve or sell camel milk in a drinkable form (or even as cheese)—only as soaps and lotions.

But apparently camel milk is actually far closer to human milk than the stuff we normally drink from cows, which aren't even native to the United States.

Camels, however, existed in what is now known as North America millions of years ago. In fact, the camel family (which also includes llamas) originated here. (Theoretically, they migrated to Asia across the ice bridge of the Bering Strait.)

But the camelops—as they were called at the time—went extinct around 11,000 years ago—which is also when our native horses and mastodons disappeared.

Fossils of them have even been found, for example, in the area of the former Rancho La Brea (where the Tar Pits are now), Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, and Death Valley.

Of course, their distant descendants made their way back to North America from the Middle East and Africa by way of the U.S. Camel Corps, a now-infamous experiment of the Army. In the mid-1800s, the idea was that the animals would already be acclimated to dry, hot conditions—and, occasionally, sandy—and could be useful as military beasts of burden in situations that would be too trying for horses or mules.

The camels made the 1200-mile trek from Texas to California on foot in the now notorious "Camel Brigade," which brought them to Fort Tejon. Their military service ended shortly thereafter. Although they could maintain a decent speed while carrying a lot of weight, and they were good at finding watering holes, Congress refused to further fund the project in the advent of the Civil War.

At that point, camels had found their way back to this continent, but were left with nothing to do. Some were killed, stolen, and mistreated. Some were turned loose and roamed wild. Others were sold off to circuses and carnivals, where they were raced (as at the Indio Date Festival and Riverside County Fair) and could use their skills as pack animals to give camel rides.

Which brings us back to Oasis Camel Dairy.



Now, having taken camel rides myself in both Morocco and Tunisia, I probably shouldn't have been surprised to see some of the camels harnessed up to be climbed on by children. And although they're able to carry much more than the posted weight limit of 200 lbs, I still felt bad for them.



Their ancestors were soldiers, and now they get to be paraded around as a curiosity.



They're certainly well-behaved...



...charming...



...gentle...



...and handsome...



...but camels want to work.



It's in their nature.



But here, at the only camel farm in Southern California (that I know of), the boys get taken out for off-site events and demonstrations and made a spectacle of, sometimes dressed up like Scheherazade.



Do they mind? Who knows—because at least when they're back at the farm, they're the studs...



...breeding with the females.



As long as they're having babies...



...they're producing milk that can be used by the dairy farm to make skincare products.



This little cutie was born in mid-April, making her just three weeks old at the time this photo was taken in early May.



Calves are born relatively big, weighing around 65 to 85 pounds at birth. And they grow up so fast.



This calf is the daughter of Zohan, the herd bull, and Jamila—and she's already learned how to give side-eye.

But she's not the baby anymore, because her new half-brother arrived late last night...



...the son of Zohan and Lily, who's working on standing up and learning how to walk.



Oasis Camel Dairy has another open house this weekend, giving visitors the rare opportunity to see a brand new baby calf who's just a few days old.

It'll be hard for me not to go back. Everybody loves to gawk at a new baby.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Fort Tejon and the Ghost of Peter Lebec
One Hell of a Sandstorm
Photo Essay: Secrets of Death Valley

One Hell of a Sandstorm

Since I was the youngest of our tour group in Tunisia, which was thirty people strong consisting of mostly English retirees, I suppose it's not surprising that I was only one of three to opt in to the camel ride excursion on Tuesday afternoon in Douz, all of us solo travelers and therefore somehow braver than the others.

Even though I'd taken a camel ride once before in Morocco, I didn't know how brave I'd have to be for this one.

Setting off on the camel was easier this time than last, perhaps because I didn't have Michelle behind me tipping to one side, and, with arms wrapped around my waist, dragging me down with her. My camel this time was smaller than the last, but lifted herself up on her hind legs and then front with considerably less effort and vocalizations. Being only at the gateway to the Sahara Desert, the terrain ahead looked relatively flat, with a light-colored sand that not only matched the fur of my camel, but also the dress in which I'd been outfitted by our tour guide Kamel. He'd insisted against the standard prison-issue black-and-white striped garb, but rather be dressed "like a princess."



After an uneventful saunter into the Sahara, past dunes not taller than me, we felt just a few raindrops before the wind kicked up and nearly blew that garb off of me.

By the time we reached the turnaround point, about a half hour into our ride, it was clear: we were in one hell of a sandstorm.



I'd experienced one before, at the riad in Morocco, which passed fleetingly but sent chairs, drinks, and t-shirts into the pool and darkened the skies as it passed. This one was more like an oncoming snowstorm, with persistent low visibility, screeching wind, and freezing temperatures that seemed to have dropped instantaneously. And it didn't just pass. It got worse as proceeded, our guide on foot and three of us atop camels, thethered together by turquoise rope strung through pierced noses.

The camels didn't resist the worsening conditions, but rather trudged on dutifully, facing the brunt of the wind without a sound. I squeezed my eyes chosed so tihgtly, keeping any new sand out but trapping all existing sand in, despite the tears running down my face. I'd slipped on my sunglasses despite the darkening hour and the setting sun, but it was no use: sand had insinuated itself into eyes, ears, nose and teeth, settling between the lips and beneath the contact lenses.

I was convinced I'd never be able to open my eyes again.

To be honest, I was disappointed to be missing the storm, as much as I could hear and feel it. I wanted to see how our guide was faring, whether other camels had succumbed to the sand, or whether our tour mates traveling en calèche had been blown over, horses run off.

I managed to get the left eye open a few times, for only a second at a time, but enough to realize we'd turned around and were on our way back. I remembered Aileen, our tour director, telling us to stay on the camel so we could see "what's beyond the dunes," and I wondered whether the sandstorm was a meteorological anomaly that occurred past a certain point, til I realized that the conditions were just as bad now at our starting point, too. (Turns out sandstorms are actually not that commonplace there, so we got quite a treat on our ride.)

Still, exhilaration forced my lips open into a smile from behind my orange headdress, letting more sand into mouth. My eyes were squinted into slits as I dismounted and tried to find the change to tip our guide 2DT, and I ran to take my contacts out at the counter as tears enveloped my face.

I think the others were glad they'd opted out of the camel ride, upon hearing our story, but I was ever so much more glad I'd gone. There's nothing like a little near-blindness to make an everyday camel ride so much more memorable.

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Photo Essay: Glimpses of Arizona

It took me over five years to get to Arizona, after having moved out West.

And when I got there, it was all too brief.

We crossed the border into Arizona sometime between 7:30 and 8:30 on a Saturday morning, after having stayed up all night for the Rental Car Rally.

But we had much to accomplish while we were there: not only meet the naked owner of a local bookstore, but also get kicked out of a closed harness racing track for trespassing and hunt down some dome-dwelling ghosts.



It was after 6 p.m. when we finally got to the endpoint of our rat race, Tombstone—and although it's been a bucket list destination for me ever since I first heard the name "Doc Holliday," I'd have to wait until the morning to do any exploring.



And with only two hours for tourism before we'd have to hit the road back to California...



...we didn't get to see much.



So I tried to consider this brief visit more of a scouting mission—and it turned out to be a successful one, at that.



Unlike, say, Pioneertown or Calico, Tombstone feels like a real town—not a theme park.



And, in July, it felt like a ghost town. The summer heat is typically too hot for most tourists.



So we practically had the place to ourselves—and, without the crowds, were able to visit the Tombstone Courthouse State Park...



...a museum located inside the former Cochise County Courthouse, where you can examine original pieces of silver that were mined nearby...



...the gallows for hanging criminals...



...and, of course, the courtroom.



Besides the OK Corral, the most famous landmark of Tombstone is probably the Bird Cage Theatre...



...whose sordid history and fancy lighting fixtures have been amazingly preserved.



The Bird Cage was not only a theatre where the townsmen could catch a naughty show, but also a brothel whee  one of the women for hire known as the "Shady Ladies" would give them their own private sideshow in one of the opera boxes.



Downstairs in the basement gambling hall, amidst bullet holes and short-skirted women, the longest poker game ever to be played took place over the course of eight years, from 1881-1889. The table where it was played by such legendary figures as Doc Holliday is on display.



Of course, there's no tombstone without Wyatt Earp—and while we felt his presence throughout the town, there was no time to explore the historical sites that are devoted to him.



Instead, we had to get to Tucson for breakfast at Waffle House, where we got to meet the world's greatest greeter, Freddy.



We had to wash our rental car one more time before returning it...



...at the most beautiful car wash we'd ever seen.



And we had to return to Quartzsite, home of the nudist bookstore, to witness the site of the last camp of Hi Jolly, the country's first and most famous camel handler.



Hi Jolly is laid to rest here, with a monument to his work for the failed endeavor of the Camel Corps.



When the Civil War started, and the enemy was no longer a Native American, the Camel Brigade was abandoned and the camels were let loose in the Arizona desert around here to fend for themselves.



Thankfully, the camels were already used to the desert heat—because during the summer, it's so hot that pretty much everybody either leaves Arizona or just stays inside.



But we couldn't just drive back to LA without seeing something. Even if it was just the world's largest belt buckle.

In the end, my scouting mission was a success—because now I know how much more there is to see and do in Arizona.

I just have to find another reason to go back—and another person to share the driving with.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Doomed Domes, Casa Grande's Other Ruins
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A Mission, Aborted
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Photo Essay: Fort Tejon and the Ghost of Peter Lebec

I'm not much for Civil War reenactments, or really any other "living history"-style reenactments. I'm even surprised I went to the recreation of The Great Air Raid of 1942, but at least that was a party.



That being said, it took me a while to make my way up to Fort Tejon near Tejon Ranch at a time when it would be empty.



Clearly, I picked the right time, because this mini ghost town of barracks and mess halls and other military facilities seemed particularly ghostly.



This California state park features a looped trail around the old fort parade grounds, past the former headquarters of the 1st Dragoons and regimental band...



...and the barracks...



...where you can view the "before and after" restoration work...



...as well as some interpretive displays of historic uniforms...



...and other costumes of the time period.



Along the parade route...



...there are kitchens, messhalls, outhouses, and the Quartermaster's Office...



...before you get to Captain Gardiner's Quarters...



...whose basement once housed preserved lizard, frog, snake, and toad specimens collected for the Smithsonian.



This is actually only half of the original U.S. Army outpost of 1856, the other half having been obliterated by the 5 Freeway and Tejon Ranch.



Although the fort was only active for 10 years—mostly to "control" the various Native American tribes who were as likely to be embattled as the North and South were during the Civil War—it's been considered historically significant enough to be preserved and restored.



And, for whatever reason, to keep live chickens and roosters there...



...who were the only living souls I encountered during my visit.



Some of the structures, like the Officer's Quarters and the bakery, have been reduced down to only their foundations...



...but other adobes, like the Orderly's Quarters, have been fully restored to reflect a historically accurate portrait of the period.



Although it may seem like it was all music and merriment during Fort Tejon's heyday, apparently they treated their prisoners harshly—locking them up in poorly ventilated, dark, freezing cold jail cells. Not surprisingly, many prisoners figured out how to escape in the middle of the night.




Also well-preserved are the 400 year-old valley oak trees...



...underneath one of which lies the body of dead Peter Lebeck—who, according to lore (and his headstone), was killed by a grizzly bear. His epitaph had been carved into a tree, but now a more permanent grave marker memorializes this mysterious figure.



In addition to Peter Lebec's grave, Fort Tejon also houses the graves of six enlisted men in a small military cemetery—all of whom died sometime between 1855 and 1864.

Fort Tejon was notable not only as one of the headquarters of the First U.S. Dragoons (after it was first organized at Jefferson Barracks in Missouri) , but also as the western terminus of the first and only Camel Brigade, an unsuccessful messenger service to haul supplies from San Antonio, Texas to California via dozens of camels used as pack animals.

The experiment only lasted a few years and was abandoned when the camels just couldn't acclimate to Southern California hard labor.

Eh, who could blame them?

Besides, the fort was abandoned entirely—and for good—in 1864, which meant they weren't needed for much longer anyway.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Remembering the Civil War at Angelus Rosedale Cemetery
Photo Essay: Over the Ridges and Through the Creeks of Tejon Ranch
Photo Essay: Tejon Ranch, Through the Valley, into the Desert, and up a Mountain
Photo Essay: The Wildflower Blanket at Tejon Ranch