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area was truly America's last frontier. Until the late '30s, 

 they were almost completely cut off. There wasn't even a 

 decent connecting highway. It was really the last hurrah 

 of Western migration and exploitation of resources. 

 They had to whack down forests to get enough sunshine 

 to settle and survive, and they think anyone from the 

 outside doesn't understand their hardships. There's a 

 real us-versus-them mentality." 



The area's isolation has also hampered attempts to re- 

 i vive the economy by attracting new nontimber business- 

 es. By the coastal highway, half of it frenetic two-lane, the 

 nearest big cities of San Francisco and Ponlnnd arc eight 

 hours away. The route east, through the (loasi Ranj^r to 

 California's Central \alley. switches back 150 limes in 50 

 miles. The only connecting railroad is subject to fre- 

 quent washouts, and airline service is limited to 16 

 flights a day. 



A few small mail-order businesses have been estab- 

 lished, mostly employing pan-time workers at minimum 

 wage. The Bayshore Shopping .Mall recently opened, pro- 

 vidijig more than 300 jobs. (But this gain was offset some- 

 what as .Main Street stores closed their doors, unable to 

 compete Vith the ihall.) Worse, shopping-mall employ- 

 ees, too, are mostly low-paid part-timers. For a while, a 

 growth industry was the cultivation of marijuana, before 

 government raids burned off the fields. 



"Go here . . . you'll see the real biggies " 



The most notable bright spot in the dismal economic pic- 

 ture is the "super slammer" at Crescent City. Opened in 

 1989, the maximum-securitv Pelican Bav Prison houses 

 3,800 of California's most troublesome prisoners. Pelican 

 Bay brought 1,170 high-paying jobs and a $48 million an- 

 nual payroll to the Crescent City area. Although only a 

 few of the $40,000 corrections officers* positions were 

 filled by the locals. Crescent City picked up almost six 

 additional service jobs for every ten prison employees. 



Most of all, locals resent their image as rednecks who 

 want to chop down ever> last tree and turn it into book- 

 ends. Loggers say they love the outdoors, and spend 

 iCvery possible minute among the trees fishing, hunting 

 •and camping; indeed, they say they know the forests bet- 

 ter than anyone. When I told one logger that I was pay- 

 I ing my first visit to the redwoods, he whipped out a map. 

 "Go here, to Howland Hill Road," he said. "It's unpaved. 



