Rugged mountain land seldom seen by humans is ground zero in a dispute over a Riverside university's campaign to sell the property and the claims of a man who calls the same wilderness his home. "This is not right. This is like Hitler invading Poland," said Randy Testman, who has lived for 20 years in a remote cabin on the land high in the San Bernardino Mountains. Now, he may be forced to leave.
Also at stake is the possible demise of a comfort stop for hundreds of adventurers on the Pacific Crest Trail, which runs from Mexico to Canada and passes over Testman's rustic doorstep.
Testman, 45, is resisting La Sierra University's plan to kick him off the square-mile tract that the school bought from the federal government 33 years ago.
In dispute are 640 acres of eye-popping scenery, six miles east of San Gorgonio Mountain, one of Southern California's highest peaks, and 25 miles northwest of Palm Springs. The site is so remote -- four miles from the nearest dirt road -- that reaching it takes either hours of brutal hiking or a helicopter hop.
The small liberal-arts university, an arm of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, wants to cash in on a recent real estate boom in the area, where virgin land is selling to conservancy groups. Asking price for the parcel: $350,000.
"Mr. Testman doesn't own the property, and he has no legal claim to it. We've checked that out thoroughly," said Greg Gerard, vice president of university advancement.
Neither side is caving in.
"The bean counters and the lawyers have gotten into it. They're willing to destroy all this," said Testman at his mile-high retreat, which he shares with friend Brad Cadman of Redlands, their three dogs -- and occasional mountain lions and black bears.
University officials insist Testman, a former theology student at their school, must go. "He has developed the property without our knowledge for his own purposes," Gerard said.
Testman imagines a Goliath-vs.-David struggle. Portraying himself as a victim of bureaucracy, he hopes to preserve what he calls his Mission Creek wilderness hostel.
It's a land of extremes. Temperatures at 5,880 feet above sea level range from minus-17 degrees in winter to 95 degrees in summer. A light coating of snow dusts the ground by early November and can pile up to 5 feet deep. Rare flora and fauna abound. Biologists believe one Sierra juniper tree on the plot is at least 2,000 years old. In addition to bighorn sheep and golden eagles, the tract shelters unusual species of snakes and lizards.
The former La Sierra College bought the land from the federal government in 1965 for $1,550 to set up a biological research station for students and staff. Yet, while the geography contains all of California's biotic environments except low desert, the outpost never got off the ground. For years, few students and teachers went there.
One who did was Lennard Jorgensen, vice president for student life. "I think what's up there is very unique," he said. Jorgensen and a group of university officials flew in by helicopter two summers ago to look things over and to decide the land's future.
La Sierra University President Lawrence Geraty was unaware his campus even owned the land until last year, when uniformed U.S. Forest Service rangers told him a squatter -- Testman -- was growing marijuana on it. A search by federal agents in a military Blackhawk helicopter uncovered no such evidence. Geraty later toured the land and camped overnight, meeting Testman for the first time.
In a campus bulletin, Geraty called the land "a little bit of heaven on earth." Encouraging visitors, he told his staff: "I guarantee you will experience nature in a way you never imagined you could in Southern California. I can hardly wait to spread the news."
Geraty was impressed by Testman's wilderness settlement. "At 8:25 a.m., as happens every Sunday morning, Randy's dad, a retired Air Force pilot in Redlands, circled overhead (by helicopter) and then dropped the Sunday edition of The Riverside Press-Enterprise along with some fresh doughnuts!" Geraty wrote to his staff in July 1997.
But by last spring, the school had decided to unload the land. "It's an asset we have not found especially useful," Gerard said.
Testman was shocked. "This has really caught me off guard," he said. "If they continue to challenge me, I'll fight them."
Although he has nothing in writing, Testman contends the university abandoned the land to him in 1981, a few years after he first received permission to be there.
But Gerard said, "There's no evidence of that. Certainly, that was not our understanding."
Testman vowed to take his fight to federal court. "I control the use of the land, although I'm not the owner," he said. "Whether a court would agree with me remains to be seen. . . . But I believe the best way is not law but reasonableness and compromise. La Sierra University seems intent to have me removed for some reason. I don't know why."
Testman at least wants to be reimbursed for the $100,000 he estimates he has poured into his home in 20 years. A carpenter and helicopter pilot, he lives largely off the proceeds of a six-figure settlement from a helicopter crash that nearly killed him in 1991, he said.
University officials say a compromise might resolve the situation, but nothing has been worked out.
"We've never taken the position that Randy's just out of luck," said Gerard. "It's a bizarre thing for someone to do, to construct such an elaborate setup on property they don't own."
No hermit or loner, Testman has hosted thousands of Pacific Crest Trail hikers since 1978. They've signed his guest books, enjoyed his overnight accommodations, eaten his pizza and even soaked in his wood-fired hot tub while paying small fees to Testman.
"Your kindness and generosity simply changes things for others," wrote hiker Jennifer Pittman of Santa Cruz last summer in a logbook entry typical of the 200 to 300 left with Testman each year.
Robert Ballou, executive director of the 3,000-member Pacific Crest Trail Association in Sacramento, said Testman's camp is vital.
"It's pretty unique and in a pretty important place because there's not a whole lot out there for hikers," Ballou said.
The 1998 Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail guidebook calls Testman's wilderness haunt "a delightful detour" with free camping, filtered water and solar showers for tired walkers.
But university officials said Testman never sought permission to invest in a cabin -- replete with satellite TV -- toilets, a pond, a hydroelectric system and a water-purification plant. . The only green light given to him in 20 years was to cut firewood and to camp, they said. But there's nothing in writing.
Lawyers have told Testman to expect 60 days' notice to vacate his isolated home if the university finds a buyer.
Gerard thinks conservationists may want it. "We've been led to believe various groups are buying up land around there," he said.
David Myers, executive director of The Wildlands Conservancy in Oak Glen, said his nonprofit agency has bought 15 square miles in the San Gorgonio Wilderness since 1995 to protect the land from development.
Myers said his group is interested in the disputed tract, but the friction between Testman and the university is chilling a potential sale.
"They're also asking much more than market value," Myers said. Nearby plots of the same size have sold for $125,000 to $150,000, he said.
Jim Davis, associate wildlife biologist with the California Department of Fish and Game, said his agency may want the land to add to several other parcels purchased nearby in the past five years.
Chris Rohalt, acting branch chief of the U.S. Bureau of Land Management's Palm Springs field office, said any sale of the plot is subject to review by U.S. Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt because the government still controls the subsurface rights.
For now, Gerard said he would not characterize relations with Testman as adversarial.
"I've been there and seen what he's done there, and it's remarkable," Gerard said. "We are interested in further discussion, but that requires an openness on the part of everybody involved."
Published 11/22/1998