High above the north shore of Big Bear Lake, Amber Woodyard, a local guide, stands on one of her favourite trails. The air is fresh, clean and cool, scented by the pine forest that sweeps downhill toward the still, blue water. The view is breathtaking: in the distance, she points out the contours of Mount San Gorgonio, known locally as Old Greyback, the highest peak in Southern California. In the foreground the heavily forested hillsides look much the same as they would have done to this land’s early explorers. But the most remarkable thing about the view is not so much what we can see as what we can’t: a freeway. Take a look in any direction, and from here, it’s hard to believe that the bad-tempered, traffic-clogged arteries of Los Angeles are even on the same planet, never mind less than 100km away. I can’t hear a thing.

“The wilderness is what attracts people here,” says Woodyard, as her dog, Carly, scampers around her well-worn hiking boots. “It’s just so beautiful, and yet so close to LA. Where else in the world can you wake up by the beach and be up in the mountains in the afternoon?”

The unspoilt landscape all around us disguises the fact that humans have made their homes here among the trees for thousands of years. The first known inhabitants were the native Yuhaviatam, a Serrano word which means: ‘People of the pines’. The area got its modern name in 1845, when a man named Benjamin Wilson rounded up a posse to search for outlaws who had been raiding ranches in nearby Riverside. Their journey led them into this mountain range, which they soon realised was overrun by grizzly bears. The name Big Bear Valley was as much a warning as it was an apt description.

As Amber continues east along the trail she points out Holcomb Valley to the north. It was there, in 1860, that a prospector called William Holcomb discovered a creek filled with flakes of gold while tracking a wounded bear’s blood trail. Holcomb was known as ‘the best sharpshooter west of the Mississippi’ and had been encouraged to use his skills to hunt bears by his fellow prospectors who were in desperate need of the fresh meat. He killed so many that he earned the nickname ‘Grizzly Bill’, but it was his chance discovery of gold in the backcountry while pursuing that particular bear which sparked southern California’s largest gold rush, which lasted until 1879. Four years later, the valley was dammed and Big Bear Lake was born.

There are still remnants of the gold rush era scattered around the valley, so long as you know where to look. My home for the duration of my stay in Big Bear Lake is a secluded wooden cabin in the woods which was originally built in Holcomb Valley in the long-defunct town of Doble. It was moved closer to the lake on the back of a horse-drawn wagon in 1915 by a Swiss woman named Miss Olsen, who continued to live alone in the cabin until 1988. For the entirety of her life there she relied on an outhouse and sponge baths to wash herself, but fortunately for me since Miss Olsen’s time someone’s taken the trouble to add an indoor toilet and a vintage bathtub with a shower. As I stand under its pleasingly hot jets I marvel at Miss Olsen’s ability to get by without what we’d consider big bare necessities.

As dusk falls outside the cabin, it’s easy to imagine how those early prospectors and miners must have felt as they searched for prowling bears among the trees. Sadly, men like Grizzly Bill had hunted the California grizzly to extinction by 1922. That doesn’t mean there are no
longer bears in Big Bear, however. “The California grizzly is extinct and will never come back,” explains Bob Cisneros, the curator of Big Bear Alpine Zoo. “However, in the 1930s [the California Department of] Fish and Game decided to translocate black bears from Yosemite to try and fill that niche. We now have about 400 black bears on the mountain, and 40,000 in the state, so we’ll always have those moments when man meets animal.”

The safest way to get up close and personal with a bear is at Bob’s zoo, which is home to four black bears – Zuni, Hucklebeary, Hollybeary and Pooh Bear – as well as wolves, mountain lions and snow leopards. At an elevation of 7,000ft it is the highest zoo in the country, and one of only two alpine zoos in the United States. Even outside the gates there are plenty of opportunities to see wildlife in their natural mountainous habitat. “We have a large bald eagle population, as well as golden eagles, grey foxes, bobcats, mountain lions, ravens and Steller’s jays,” says Bob. “There are a plethora of birds here that you just won’t see in the city. Our conservation message really focuses on what’s just outside our gate. People come here because of the mountains, and the wildlife is responsible for maintaining the balance of the ecosystem. We have a responsibility as humans to understand that everything we do has a positive or negative impact on that ecosystem.”

The zoo is located a couple of miles south-east of the small city of Big Bear Lake, which has a population just over 5,000. It’s a regular stop for ambitious hikers attempting the Pacific Crest Trail, which runs all the way from the Mexican to the Canadian border, and has several great places to eat including a cheerful roadside diner named Thelma’s and Local Tropicali, which serves up excellent Hawaiian poke bowls. The place has a character all of its own, and many businesses have their own wooden bear statues stationed outside to mark their territory. Outside the Sheriff’s Office, a bear in uniform stands guard.

Ron Van den Broeke is a brewer who moved to the city from Rancho Cucamonga to help start the Big Bear Lake Brewing Company in 2014. The brewery has quickly proved a hit with townspeople and visitors alike. “People love us,” says Ron, taking a sip of his own Bearley Legal Honey Blonde Ale. “The locals have their own craft beer, and people coming up don’t have to search to find good beer. The water here is perfect for brewing. We make 590 barrels a year, and that’s all drunk right here on site. We make it just for us.”

For a man in the booze business, the attraction of Big Bear Lake is obvious. “Well, look at it!” says Ron, gesturing outside towards the clear blue skies. “It’s a beautiful day and there are a lot of good people around. People come here to have fun. In the city it’s hustling and bustling, and people go to drink to get away from work. People up here are already away from work, so everybody’s in a good mood. If you’re here in summer then you have to hike, and you have to fish.”

Taking Ron’s advice, on my last morning I follow fly fishing guide Terrence Tinucci to a little spot he knows on the Santa Ana river. We’re on the hunt for wild brown trout, and Terrence has come armed with an incredible array of lures which he handmade himself to look just like local flies and insects. “Fly-tying in itself is a very interesting artform,” he says. “We’re mimicking nature using hair, fibre, furs and feathers.”

Terrence has been fly-fishing since the age of nine, so he has 28 years worth of experience to impart. He tells me he’s studied freshwater biology and entomology, which means he knows which specific insects will be on the river at any given time of year. Once he’s strung some seasonally appropriate bugs on my line, we pull on our waders and head to the river where Terrence teaches me how to cast the line and move it delicately across the water with one hand. “Put the other behind your back,” he suggests, “Like a sophisticated English gentleman.”

The river is crisp and cool as it makes it way down from 9,000ft. The aroma of wild peppermint mingles with the smell of the blackberries that grow along its banks. The only noise is the tranquil sound of running water splashing over rocks. Once again, I feel that pull of the wilderness Amber described. The call of the wild.

“This is what it’s all about,” says Terrence. “Getting in tune with nature. When you’re here you’re not thinking about your checkbook bouncing or your bills or any of that. Everything else goes away. It’s a short escape.”

Originally published in Atlas by Etihad.