Prehistoric Cave Paintings: Our Big Adventure

Mulas y Machos

The road to the Great Murals of Baja’s Sierra de San Francisco turns east off Mexico Hwy 1 a bit south of Vizcaíno. It climbs quickly from the desert (near sea level) toward the highest peak in the sierra. At different elevations there are changing climate zones so that there are even boojum trees at one point. The last few kilometres are unpaved, and the road winds ever higher to a tiny village with nearby ranchos at an elevation of more than 3500 feet. This is where our adventure began.

John gets to know his mule

Our tour group met at 11 am on Monday, March 4 at the Hostal Buenaventura, made quick introductions, signed some paperwork, and drove a short distance to the Rancho Palo Rayo, where several mules, burros, and horses stood waiting to be loaded. Saddling South, our tour company, was led by Cesareo ‘Charo’ Castro. Accompanying our group of eight gringos were three vaqueros: Miguel, Francisco (‘Nacho’), and Chema. They wrangled the animals. Charo was cook and English-speaking guide. No one in our group of eight brave souls was younger than late 50s or early 60s. Some of us were nearing or above 70.

While the vaqueros saddled the mules and horses, all our gear and food was spread out on tarps. There were tents, pads, sleeping bags, camp chairs, cooking equipment, folding tables, food for twelve people for four days, and whatever clothing and other personal items we needed to take. All this stuff was piled high on six burros and cinched down.

Chris and Don leaving Palo Rayo

This was John’s second visit to the prehistoric cave paintings, my first. Neither of us had ever ridden mules—he had walked it before. He said it was only about three or so miles from our departure point to the camp at the bottom of the canyon. What he neglected to explain to me was that it was a descent of 1600 feet down the face of sheer, crumbling cliffs.

It started out reasonably enough, swinging one’s leg over a stiff saddle, finding the correct length for the stirrups, getting one’s thighs used to sitting in a wide straddle for several hours. I quickly discovered muscles I hadn’t used for decades. We swayed and ambled across a gently sloping mesa where goats browsed and vultures circled. 

The Descent

And then we came to the edge. A bottomless canyon loomed before us. There were places on the way down where the switchbacks were so short that I could look up or down and see other riders directly overhead or below me in a vertical stack. Mules have this terrifying way of coming to the edge of a precipice, their heads stuck out into mid-air, putting their front hooves together, and gracefully pirouetting 90 or 180 degrees. It’s like being in the front car of a rollercoaster where you seem to go out into space before making the turn. Only here it was hundreds of feet down (did I mention I have severe acrophobia?) We were “reassured” that mules, more than horses, have a deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation.

A view from mid-cliff to the bottom
of the arroyo

There were two places where the trail was so steep we had to dismount (so the mules had a lower centre of gravity), and scramble down on foot. These were blessed reprieves from the discomfort of the saddle, but it was also very difficult to make one’s stiff legs work properly.

Near the final descent along a fan of earth and rock that stretched from mid-cliff to canyon floor, one of our burros snagged a pack on a branch and pulled off its load. We had to stop and wait single file on a razor’s edge for it to be retied. Riding a mule steeply downhill is a physical challenge, especially for an older person. You have to lean back and push your stirrups forward. A big enough step down could send you over the animal’s head. By the time we got to our camping spot my back and legs were in agony. After four hours, we dismounted and tried to walk off the pain. I now know why John Wayne swaggered the way he did. It was time for ibuprofen and a glass of wine.

The agony of descent

The Camp

Our campground was a flat, fenced square about the size of half a football field. Its neatly raked dirt was tended by an adjacent ranchero. It had a few mesquite trees on the edges and a small washroom building with flush toilets and a shower. A nearby stream provided water for the pack animals and habitat for many birds. There was a large palapa-covered kitchen/dining area, but Charo set up his cook stove under a big tree. As soon as the horses and mules were unsaddled and the burros unloaded, they all exuberantly took dirt baths in the centre of the campground, rolling and scratching and kicking up a lot of dust. Then they were turned loose in the arroyo. The vaqueros belled or hobbled some of them and would round them up in the morning.

We were setting up our tents in one corner, when a second tour group came down the steep embankment. There was some excitement when one of their burros bolted and scattered its packs. They claimed an area more in the centre of the campground and also took over the dining/kitchen palapa. There was another round of mule dirt baths as dinner preparations got underway. Charo fed us excellent tamales as the sun set early behind the high canyon walls, and we sat in a circle talking and getting to know each other.

Lynn, Cindy and Nani

Besides John and me, there was: Cindy and Mike from Alberta (she a kinesiologist, and he a bear biologist for the park service); Lynn and Chris (a retired couple from California); and cousins Nani (retired nurse from San Diego) and Marina (a rancher near Bozeman, Montana). As we got to know each other, we learned we shared many interests and outlooks. Marina and Cindy were avid bird watchers, Chris and Lynn talked about their concern for the environment and their progressive pasts, and Nani (who was suffering from a cold, but muscled through) is a world traveller. Mike had led many excursions in the Canadian Rockies on horseback. Chris and John had the same model of camera. Marina took many photos of birds. We were a most compatible group. There would be more time to get acquainted. John and I were exhausted and turned in early as the others sat around the campfire.

Day Two: La Pintada y Las Flechas

Charo cooks breakfast

Tuesday morning John and I were up early with the vaqueros. The mules had wandered off farther than they anticipated. They were pleased and grateful to use our binoculars to spot them way up the trail and across the arroyo. The two vaqueros from the other group soon asked if they, too, could use our binocs. The cowboys had to hike quite a ways to round up all the animals before breakfast. Charo is a good cook—I know how hard it is to cook for twelve people with only camp equipment. He made scrambled eggs with nopalitos, fried potatoes, tortillas, and pico de gallo. One of our burros had turned up missing.

It’s a little easier to ride today and we are surprisingly not sore from yesterday, though John has a couple of bruises. Today’s plan is to view the largest mural at Cueva la Pintada, plus Las Flechas (the spears) and possibly Boca la Soledad if it’s not too late. Most of the two-mile mule ride is down the rocky Arroyo de San Pablo, though parts are up a steep cliff—at a particularly vertical section we had to dismount again. We descended and left the mules tied up, saddles removed, at the bottom of the arroyo, then scrambled up on all fours to Cueva la Pintada on the other side. It is about halfway up the cliff.

The first part of the Great Mural at La Pintada

The cave opening is over 500 feet long. A wooden walkway and railing with viewing platforms has been secured on the lower lip outside the cave. The paintings are magnificent! They cover the cave ceiling and extend high above the opening. Human figures are double or triple size, some all red or all black, some half and half. They all have their arms raised and palms out. 

The middle of Pintada shot from slightly below

Mysterious headdresses have one, two, or three points (feathers?). Many different animal depictions are obvious: deer, bighorn sheep, whale, antelope, jackrabbits, coyotes, birds; in red, black, or yellow. Others are more open to interpretation: turtle, ray, puma, bat, frog? Many appear to be first outlined in white, then coloured in. A “pregnant” woman is painted over a bulge in the rock; there’s a round spiral with four hand prints; red and black figures overlap, giving a sense of depth and passage of time.

Overlapping figures: humans, deer, puma

Detail of a deer head

Humans and bighorn sheep

One of a series of coyotes

A swimmer beside a spy-hopping whale?

A frog

The exact age of these cave paintings is still uncertain. Some dating techniques put them at 7,500+ years old; others less than 2,000. Several figures have been repainted over and over. We lingered here and talked with Charo and Chema about various interpretations. Almost nothing is known about the creators. Even the Cochimie Indians, before they were wiped out, told the Jesuit missionaries in the 17th century they didn’t know who painted them. Do the images tell hunting or war stories? Are they spiritual or shamanic? Do they commemorate ancestors or leaders? How were they painted so high on the rocks? We may never know.

Nacho drinks from a river pool

We scrambled back down a steeper path to the bottom of the arroyo and had lunch near a spot where water seeped from the rock, funneled into a pipe. It was surprising to see locals drinking it without filtration. Our vaqueros often drank directly from the pools in the arroyo (Charo boiled the water for us gringos). After a rest, we scrambled up the other side of the canyon to Cueva de las Flechas, which also has a wooden viewing platform though is much smaller than La Pintada. 

Charo, Chris, and Lynn scramble 

The paintings here are similar, but there are many spears, drawn in white, piercing animals and humans with what look like arrowheads. The scene seems to depict a great conflict. Small human figures are painted upside down above the oversized humans (I imagined people being thrown off the cliffs). Is there a tribal significance to the colours of human figures? Was this a dispute over hunting territories? Charo says everyone can make up their own story, but there is a real story, of course. We just don’t know it.

Rabbit

The late afternoon was hot as we walked back to where our mules were tied up. We had been in the sun for hours and most of us were exhausted from climbing, plus it was at least an hour ride back to camp. Charo said it was a 45 minute hike up and back to Boca la Soledad in the canyon adjoining this one. 

Birds and a spear

Miguel unsaddles a mule

Only Mike and Cindy elected to make the steep climb. Miguel went with them. The rest of us headed back after Nacho and Chema saddled our mules. We were surprised that Mike, Cindy, and Miguel got back to camp only a few minutes after us. Cindy reported that it was definitely a steep climb, but it took them only 20 minutes. The paintings at Soledad were some of the same, but others were more geometric or abstract with checkboard patterns. There was an octopus painting I’m sorry I missed. Charo made chicken mole, rice, and sautéed vegetables for dinner.

Day Three: Boca San Julio

Lynn and Cindy

Wednesday morning the vaqueros from both groups in camp came looking for our binoculars when John and I got up before just before dawn. We had a long chat with Charo as he made breakfast. He talked about the tour business, Loreto, his family, and his love of fishing. 

When the others got up, we had time for birding and a leisurely pancake breakfast as the mules were corralled and prepped. The missing burro was found. Some of the mules have names—Chris’s big black one is Diamonte. Mine is Primavera, though I just gently call her “Girl” and pat her neck when she makes it through a particularly tight spot. Females are “mulas,” males are “machos.” 

Today we would visit two cuevas about a kilometre beyond where we were yesterday—Boca San Julio and Cueva los Músicos—but the route was a ridge trail high up on the canyon wall. For me, this was the scariest ride of the trip. Once we left the river rocks of the arroyo, our track split off and climbed steeply. The trail was 12 inches wide right on the edge of the precipice. It followed the contours of the rock face, and in the creases eroded by run-off, threatened to slide away altogether. 

Good girl

All I could do was stay focused on my mule’s ears and avoid looking down into the chasm. Once we were a distance past Las Flechas and La Pintada (which we could see below us), we carefully dismounted on the side of the mule closest to the hill and found a safe place to stand. The mules were left in place, tied to cactuses, and we hiked down to the bottom. It was a steep trail, but much of it was in a deep crevice so there were handholds and you could skooch on your butt, being careful to avoid various thorns (we had surprisingly few impalings during the trip).

Dismounting on the cliff's edge

It was past noon and quite warm. Charo promised, after a “short” hike, we would drop our lunch bags and climb up to San Julio, then return, eat, and take a break. The arroyo had palm trees and languid green pools of water. There were bigger rocks and boulders to navigate, but a shorter cliff to scale. Despite water breaks, both John and I were feeling dehydrated.

San Julio is a smaller cave with no viewing platform. There are deer, rabbits, and coyotes depicted, and fewer humans. Some of the figures are only white outlines, unfinished. It was compelling, but felt a bit anticlimactic after the arduous ride and the glory of Pintada yesterday. Again, after lunch, it was only Mike and Cindy who had the energy to hike up to Cueva los Músicos. They went on ahead with one of the vaqueros, and rendezvoused with the rest of us at the spot where we had to climb up the cliff to the mules. They said they saw petroglyphs, too, and a live rattlesnake.

Top L-R: Chema, Cindy, Don. Middle: Nacho, Charo, Mike, Nani, Marina, Miguel, Lynn, and Chris. Front: John

The spot where we all met up was marked by a massive rock formation called Cacariso. It was here, on the flat slabs of stone in the riverbed that we took a group photo. We were almost out of water. I wasn’t looking forward to the harrowing, vertiginous ride back. From our conversation on the way back, we learned that Chema plays guitar and accordion in a band, and the ranchero who tends the camp often has cold beer for sale. 

We made plans, as we clip-clopped back along the knife-edge cliff, to have a party on our return. Cindy, who made a real effort during the whole trip to converse in Spanish, now entreated Chema to sing us some songs after dinner. It was dusky when we got back to camp. Chris sprang for a case of beer delivered in a wheelbarrow. Charo made a fine meal of machacas with tortillas, rajas con crema, and beans. 

Chema entertained us

Vaqueros from the other group
joined us around the campfire

It was our last night. We sat around the campfire with all the vaqueros, telling stories. Someone rounded up a guitar and Chema played some cowboy songs. I think we all had a tender spot in our hearts for these hard-working men. They each own their own mules, burros, and horses and get paid a fee per animal. They rotate job assignments during the tourist season from a larger group of local wranglers. They can run up and down the rocky cliffs as deftly as mountain goats and coax reluctant mulas or machos to pick up the pace. They are infinitely kind, careful, and patient with novice riders, and I believe they genuinely cherish the cultural heritage of this special place.

Woman figure at La Rata

Day Four: the Ride Back

Charo’s plan for the morning is to get up early and have coffee while the vaqueros round up the animals. As our riding mules are being saddled, we will break down the camp and pile all our gear on tarps, then have breakfast. Chema will ride with us to one last cave just off the trail going back. Charo, Nacho, and Miguel will load the burros and meet us at the junction. If all goes well, we should be back to Rancho Palo Rayo around noon.

Headed back

The last cave we visited was La Rata. Most of the human figures are women—they are painted with breasts under their armpits, still with arms raised and palms out. More than the others, this cave seems like a great place to hang out—maybe it was a women’s retreat. It had a spectacular view of Arroyo San Pablo. 

Mike found a flat piece of stone on which he drew a mula to imitate the style of the murals, in pigments from tan and red pebbles. We got back on our mules and caught up with the vaqueros and the burros. It took less than three hours to get back. It was easier on my back going uphill, but no less nerve-racking. The mules knew they were heading home. Primavera speed-walked.

Mula and me, exhausted.

We unpacked, tipped our guides, exchanged addresses, and said our goodbyes. The other gringos in our group all planned to have dinner in San Ignacio. John and I headed north to Guerro Negro. Mike (the experienced trail rider) said it was probably the most challenging ride he had ever been on. Everyone agreed it was a remarkable experience, the adventure of a lifetime.

Part 4: Cabo to Asunción

La Paz to Cabo Pulmo 

Red Tail, kestrel at la Ventana

Even at the slower pace of desert life, our six weeks in La Paz seemed to fly by. We explored the bahías, the montañas, the playas, and took in the local culture of Baja California Sur's capital city. Then on martes, Jan. 15, 2019, we packed the car again with all our camping gear, loaded the kayaks on top, filled our propane tank and water containers, and headed south to the cape, cabo, the end of the peninsula. We stopped one last time in El Triunfo for breakfast and to buy veggies from our favourite street-side farmer. Our next destination was the parque marino nacional at Cabo Pulmo.

Above Cabo Pulmo

The paved road to the park ends outside of La Ribera well before you get to the settlement of Cabo Pulmo. My first impression was "beach ghetto"--a compact grid of one-roomed, palapa-roofed cottages, a couple of al fresco restaurants, and a dozen snorkel shops along a rutted dirt road looking out toward the confluence of the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean. A walled walkway between casitas leads to the beach where a row of boats pulled up ready to take divers and snorkelers out to the reef.

We were there for three nights and the whole time it was too windy to kayak or even snorkel.

On the way to the beach

So we hiked the rocky bluffs and tall puntas. And we saw our first whales. Humpbacks. They were fairly far offshore, but easily identified as they put on a great display of breaching and flipper waving. We had a couple of decent lunches at a nearby restaurant and met the young gay owner, Enrique, who serenaded us on his guitar and showed off his bright mural paintings. 



Kisses from the Saints
From Cabo Pulmo we drove a little north and west to Santiago, replenished our supplies, then took one of our more memorable side trips to Cañon de San Dionisio in the Sierra la Lagunas. We set up our tent on another of the rare flowing streams in the desert in the shade of a gigantic Palmer fig tree.

Under the spreading Palmer fig...

 

We had only just settled in when a healthy-looking young dog came bounding up the cañon. He had a facial expression I can only describe as euphoric—it said, “Here you are, the humans I have waited my whole life for.” He immediately adopted us even though we tried hard to get him to leave, using our rudimentary Spanish to command him to “go” or “vete a casa.” We did our best to ignore him, but he sat on our feet, turned belly up for scratching, and waited patiently for scraps as we cooked. He slept next to us for three nights. Once with John and once with me, as we were standing, he bounded, leapt up, and seemed to kiss us right on the lips. And so I named him Smoochie. 

A hike with Smooch

Smoochie was our constant companion. He followed us on hikes and sat with us as we watched big lizards on the rocks in the river. He claimed our camp as his territory to defend. On the third day in the late afternoon five biologists pulled up next to our campsite in a truck. They were from the university in Ensenada doing field work, we learned, on Chagas disease, also called the “kissing bug disease.” It’s a parasite that takes years to express in humans, and can be deadly. It is carried by a particular beetle (the kissing bug). There have been human cases from La Paz to Cabo. Mice, bats, and possibly other mammals can be carriers. The biologists had not seen any beetles this time of year, but were trapping mice (in baited boxes) and bats (in a net set up across the stream) to test for the parasite. 

Lizard in Cañon de San Dionisio

As we talked with them, a neighbouring farmer walked by with his three dogs, and Smoochie went crazy. A vicious fight ensued, the two smaller, more tenacious canines against Smooch, who seemed to be losing. We stood by helplessly. The farmer finally grabbed a big stick and forced the dogs apart. Smoochie was pretty beat up, his pride crushed. He slept in our camp that night, but away from the tent, licking his wounds. The field biologists returned in the morning. They caught several mice to test, but no bats. While Smooch was distracted by the lead scientist who seemed to take a liking to him, we packed up and left, worried the dog might follow us. I left him a little snack, even though he was clearly well fed by someone. The memory of Smoochie haunts us a month later. By the way, as far as we know there is no connection between the kissing bug and doggie kisses. 

John is still talking about going back to rescue Smoochie

Escaping the Big City to San Cosme
Neither John nor I had been to Cabo San Lucas, the decadent resort town at the tip of Baja. After all these years we decided to finally go see it. We had booked a hotel room for two nights, but experienced total culture shock—swarming American tourists, aggressive tour guides twenty feet apart, everyone speaking English, malls and bars and big hotels, almost as many Señor Frogs as Starbucks back home. You would hardly know it was Mexico. One night was all we could stand. It was the night of the blood moon. We walked with dozens of other couples to Land’s End beach and waited on a rock for the lunar eclipse. But we got bored and left early. I'm sure it was lovely. We saw lots of pictures later.

The view of the Sea of Cortez above San Cosme

The next day we drove north again (with brief stop overs) and on to San Cosme to camp for several days. San Cosme is the first beach as you plunge down the Sierra la Giganta mountains toward Agua Verde, the fishing village chronicled by John Steinbeck. The one-lane, rugged road is edged into sheer cliffs. It snakes around every crease and crevice in the rock face and careens from mountain crest to sea level in less than 3 kilometres. From the top, the view of the sea is breathtaking.

One other camper was lodging on the beach—another Enrique, a 68-year-old baker who was taking a few days off to do some fishing. He had a pierced ear and longish grey hair tied in a ponytail. He was super friendly. He told us he refused to learn or speak English, but patiently communicated with us in Spanish, teaching us a few new words and expressions. Enrique was alone in his pickup/camper and seemed anxious to gab as we set up our tent under the large palapa. For the next several days it was very windy and almost cold. Enrique said he was freezing, so he moved his truck to a more protected area off the beach.

Green heron at the Loreto marina

We were disappointed we couldn’t kayak because of the wind, but we took some interesting hikes. We ID’d a bald eagle (very unusual) near a brackish lagoon, and stumbled on a young sea turtle we thought was dead on its back above the high tide line. John flipped it over and discovered it was alive, so we helped it into the water and it briskly swam away. By the fourth day of wind we decided to check into the hotel at Tripui. We tried to hike up Cañon Ligui again, at stream level this time, but couldn’t make it over the first waterfall—wading through waist-high water but the rocks were just too steep to climb. However, we ran into a fellow photographer, Jim from Telegraph Cove (Vancouver Island), and chatted for a while about hikes and birds.

San Javier is one of the oldest missions

Boulder climbing

For the next week it was an AirB&B in Loreto, just off the malecon at the bustling marina. Our second story nest was roomy and had a kitchen, but the palapa roof let in all the street noise. Neighbour dogs fought late into the night. Youth rocked out in their cars on the strip. Fishers banged their boat trailers down our road at 5 a.m. The palm-leaf eaves provided a perfect haven for a host of chirpy birds. But we got used to it. While in Loreto we: saw Jim from Telegraph Cove two more times while bird watching; took a day trip to San Javier mission in the mountains and hiked to near the top of the ridge where there was a statue commemorating a famous goat-herding dog (see the video: elcolordelamemoria.com/leyendas/san-javier-una-vida-en-oasis); kayaked north from our favourite Picazón launch site; and bouldered up a steep mountain canyon south of town.

Memorial Tour

Back to Isla Danzante

Domingo, Feb. 3, the start of our fourth month, we set up camp on a beach near Ligui across from Isla Danzante, a spot that is nearly sacred to us. Danzante is the site of our first Baja adventure and is loaded with Sonoran Desert plant and animal life. It's also well situated for watching blue and fin whales. We immediately hopped in our kayaks and circled some small islands near shore. I think we are happiest when we are kayaking. 

Sunrise the next day was glorious. Local photographers even came out to capture it. We had our longest kayak to date: across to Danzante, down to its southern tip; over to one of three distinctive candeleras; across to the beach where we first stayed 20+ years ago; on to “Lori’s beach” where we camped long ago with Greg and Lori for her fiftieth birthday; finally back to our camp. We stopped on Danzante and climbed to the saddle in the ridge above the main beach. On the water we saw turtles, dolphins, flying rays, blue-footed boobies, a sea lion, and many tropical fish. During a rest stop on Lori’s beach a kayaker in an inflatable pulled up. He was from France and had worked for a time in Vancouver, but spoke little English. He was out looking for blue whales, as were we, tho they hadn’t arrived here yet. Our paddle that day was seven nautical miles of bliss. 

Sunrise from the hill above our camp near Ligui

And then it rained. Lightly at first during the night, barely reaching ground. But by 7 a.m. our tent, which was not designed for rain, was saturated. We hastily packed up and went back to Loreto to dry out. While there, we ran into Trudy, whose tour company will take us up into Sierra San Francisco on mules to see the ancient rock paintings in March. We also met a woman at our hotel who went to Evergreen State College (my alma mater). She, too, had her car broken into in La Paz. We discovered we’d be going to Laguna San Ignacio about the same time and might see her again.

On the beach in Bahía Concepción

The weather conspired against us for the next two weeks. We said a melancholy goodbye to Loreto over a breakfast of street tacos. We drove to the north end of Bahía Concepción, Playa los Naranjos, where we booked a funky plywood cabin that whistled in the wind and had electricity for only a couple of hours each evening. One day we dined in the gringo enclave of Santispac and another in palm oasis of Mulege with its narrow streets and weathered buildings. One of the most intense bird feeding frenzies I have witnessed was on the spit near the faro in Mulege. Back at the beach in Concepción we watched Heersmann gulls, pelicans, and dolphins. The wind blew strong and we bundled up in the mornings. 

Bikers roll in for lunch at Armando's Cafe in Santispac

We met our neighbours in nearby cabins and got invited to a cocktail party at Carol and Mike’s. They, Dan, Elise, John, Jeff and his wife were old hippies who had been wintering here in the same cabins together for years. There was pot to smoke and a loud, animated discussion about local history, including the colourful old, rifle-toting crank, Armando, who owned the camp.

Juvenile Heersmann gull

Dan was a wine aficionado who retired from a tour guide business in Sonoma. John and Elise were from Colorado. Jeff was becoming a permanent resident of Mexico. I learned Carol was a fellow Jazzerciser and we hit it off—we agreed that none of the husbands could do the moves we do. It was a fun evening and we marvelled at the sunset against the Sierra los Gavilanes, the backbone of the long peninsula that forms the bahía. 

On the Ocean Side
Domingo, Feb. 10, we left the Sea of Cortez and headed to San Ignacio, halfway to the Pacific across Baja. On the way we checked out the campground near the dormant volcanoes of Tres Virgenes that we almost stayed at on our way down. There was a huge amount of trash strewn around the entrance, but farther back it was a decent site. Ancient elephant trees grow out of the high mounds of volcanic pumice. We will have to stay here sometime.

Osprey on a 6 foot high perch at the laguna

The lush greenness we had encountered in November now was fading, turning to yellow and grey. though a few things were still blooming, including a gauntlet of purple grape soda lupine for miles along the road's edges. I had never explored the town of San Ignacio before. We toured the mission, museo, and picturesque square. The next day we drove out to Laguna San Ignacio on the ocean to look for whales—a huge change in topography and plant life. Over one hill it abruptly went from mostly cardons and palms to only Joshua trees, then changed again to barren salt flats. After miles of washboard roads, we walked along the windblown beach and finally spotted greys in this secluded bay that serves as one of the main whale nurseries. We looked unsuccessfully for red knots and John photographed ospreys on their low perches (there are no cliffs or telephone poles here).

The old mission in San Ignacio

Back in the town of San Ignacio we went to dinner at Rancho Grande and ran into the woman we had met in Loreto. She joined up with her daughter and daughter’s partner from California as they headed out to the laguna to camp at Kuyima where we had just been. The two younger women were lesbians and recounted the tale from just hours earlier of being hassled at the army checkpoint on the highway. We talked about dealing with the army and the drive ahead of them. They bought us beers.  

Tomorrow, martes, Feb. 12, begins the last leg of our adventure starting with three weeks on the ocean at Bahía Asunción.

Part 3: Science, Culture, and Nature

Casita en El Centenario 

We are near the top of a hill with a sweeping view of the sea and the city of La Paz about 10K to the east. Our little casita in El Centenario shares a scenic patio/balcony with the main house of the Vancouverites who own it, Paul and Leanne. They live here in the winter. There is a tall, narrow screen between us, and on their side they have a solar-heated swimming pool which we can use if we like, but haven't.

We have a large bedroom and bathroom with a washer, a good-sized marble-countertop kitchen with tall stools, and a small living room. The dining table is on the patio. There's a spiral staircase to the lounge-chair roof. It's all very new, tastefully decorated and landscaped. About three blocks west of us the desert is undeveloped and unfenced. A series of trails and arroyos make for interesting nature hikes with lots of birds and desert flora.

Un cernícalo y wren en nuestra primera caminata

El Centenario is a mostly residential suburb maybe seven blocks wide for 3K along paved Mexico Hwy 1 going north. On either side of the four lane highway are restaurants, taco stands, motels, mini-supers, farmacias, and tortillerias. Modest houses of Mexicano residents occupy the lower portion of town. The rest of the burb seems to be mostly Canadian gringos in fancier homes especially up on the hills. With one exception, the town is all dirt roads. The roads in higher class areas get much more care and maintenance. We are still searching for the best route home to avoid washboards and ruts.

It took at least a week to recover from the break-in of our car. Each day we made ourselves go out for a hike or kayak and we did a lot of shopping. Having to share one computer was driving us crazy--our organizational and maintenance styles differ, shall we say. So we decided to buy John a low-cost replacement to use for the rest of the trip, primarily to process photos.

Maridos sobre los acantilados de Playa Balandra 

We've hiked the desert trails behind our casita and the cliffs above Balandra, a popular tourist beach. We've eaten 'almejas naturales' on the beach at Tecolote. One day we drove to almost the end of the Mogote peninsula, and walked on the northside beaches. On the way back we took the rough shoreline road which came to a "T" at a large federal marine science facility called CIBNOR.

One of our most interesting early experiences here was spending a day at Rancho Cacachilas. It's a demonstration site for low-impact, sustainable agriculture, located in the Cacachilas Mountains. In addition to farm chores, employees of the rancho give guided tours and classes for other local farmers and ranchers.

Florent Jacques Francois Gomis

Our guide was Florent Gomis, a recent MS grad in sustainable agriculture at CIBNOR, originally from France. He explained their approach to holistic management. Stops on the tour took us to three sites on the mountain side separated by several kilometres. The first was large gardens, where they grow vegetables for local restaurants and experiment with high protein plants that require little water, for both human and animal consumption.

Second stop was the tourism aspect of the farms--cabins, campsites, and kitchens for visitors. All the facilities use composting toilets, and other water conservation methods. The rancho maintains mountain trails for biking and mule rides (they also run a bicycle shop in El Sargento).

Mamá cabra

Third stop was where they raise various animals: chickens, mules, horses, cattle, pigs, and goats. They have a good-sized goat cheese facility and the cheeses are excellent. While we were there baby goats were being born. Florent explained that one of their focuses is to change livestock practice in the area from free-range to planned grazing. At the end of the tour they served us an excellent lunch featuring their products.

Daniela y Don están en el CIB

Florent's connection to CIBNOR (Centro de Investigaciones Biologicas del Noroeste) was the second time it came up, so when we got home, John called to see what he could learn. He talked to Daniela Nunez who also told him about an event downtown the next evening. We attended this talk about an interdsiciplinary project between CIB and artists and sculptors from Spain. Sounded interesting, but it was all in Spanish, of course, so we understood little. Their printed brochure said the intent of the project is to build public appreciation for both art and science. A few days later Daniela (on her day off) gave us the tour of the biology and marine science labs. She is a communications specialist, who does radio and video programs on the importance of science and the work of CIB, part of a network of four or five biology labs across Mexico. We also met Daniela's director who is overseeing the art project. It was great to go inside this sophisticated facility and they were excited to show it off to us.

Fragatas magníficens se posan
en un árbol en Ensenada de Aripes

Other fun outings over the next few days included kayaking in Ensenada de Aripes, the inner cove of La Paz;

Un colibrí en el arroyo debajo de la presa

Hiking at Presa de la Buena Mujer, a dam in the mountains;

Don está dentro de la presa en un túnel oscuro 

Los cardones son gruesos en el camino
a El Saltito y Ensenada El Coyote

Relaxing at El Saltito, a secluded beach across the main peninsula;

'Black-necked stilts' y 'black-bellied whistling ducks'
en la planta de tratamiento de aguas negras

And bird watching near a marsh at the waste water treatment plant on the edge of town. As we were leaving, we ran into a group of birders (including a UABCS university professor) who invited us to join them in the Xmas bird count around Todos Santos the next week.

On December 20, we spent about four hours with Susan Mittelstadt, the organizer of the annual bird count, in the environs of El Pescadero. It was a hot, sunny day and I pooped out pretty fast, but the three of us counted 35 different species and saw at least one endemic bird, the gray thrasher, which obligingly posed for us. The group we were a part of logged 105 species that day from shoreline to mountains.

Hay 'gray thrasher' en El Pescadero

Our next big adventure took us to Mogote again. The seas on the north side of the peninsula are often white-capped and the winds unpredictable, but this day the breeze was from the south, the water calm, and we launched on the long sandy beach. In no time we saw their large fins breaking the surface and slowly undulating through the water. Whale sharks! The largest non-mammalian species on the planet. They eat plankton, so we were in no danger of being bitten, but it is still pretty freaky to watch an animal twice as long as your 17-foot boat pass under you with it's huge mouth wide open.

La Paz tiene muchos murales y grafiti

Throughout our stay in La Paz we explored the town. We ate at the three top restaurants (Sorstis, NIM, and Las Tres Virgenes), several informal places like McFishers and J&R Costilleria, and many popular fish taco stands. Nearly every time we went downtown we parked and walked the length of the malecon and beyond. We spent an afternoon in the fairly new natural history museo. We shopped at the mercado centro for fresh fish, and strolled through rows of street vendor booths. We had margaritas at upstairs bars looking out to the sea.

We also learned the shops in El Centenario: the Frutería where a wonderful older woman sold us avocadoes and figs and papayas; El Faro the little store with whatever you need plus homemade tamales and Oaxaca mole; and Agua Purificada where for a dollar we bought 5 gallons of drinking water every few days.

El Triunfo

One Sunday we drove south to El Triunfo, an old mining town and point of interest. There is a new museo on local history and industry which we toured.

Paella para treinta personas

We had an amazing paella dinner, and later a local farmer sold us a three dollar bag of vegetables that lasted us for three weeks.

A few other adventures are worth noting:

La playa en Punta Arena

A drive to the boat launch at Ensenada de los Muertos for lunch and a walk on the beach at Punta Arena;

Una gran roca en el cañón

Hiking a long canyon off the road toward San Evaristo;

Playa remota en Pichilingue

A hike and later a kayak outing from Pichilingue to a beach accessible only by foot or water, and an off shore lighthouse rock inhabited by excitable sea lions;

A challenging week-long Spanish language class--three hours each day (can you tell I'm practicing?).

El amanecer de nuestra casita

We leave La Paz tomorrow. Our six weeks here were bookended by two massive rain storms. Our last load of laundry couldn't be hung outside to dry, so its on a line strung between the rooms of our casita.