A Simple Trip
to Town

Solitude has its price. With us, living out in the middle of El Carrizalito, like we do, that price can be simply getting out. Low-tide-only pass dictates strategizing in advance. We don't go out often, not if we can help it. Normally, several days before a departure, we observe the A.M. tide line; ask others, if we encounter them, about the windows allowing us to cross. Too, we consult tide charts that friends give us, these not being 100% accurate for that coastal area. Maybe like a third of our outing's we're able to, bright and early, just jump into pickup and drive over to San Cosme...and then up and out.

This past season our trips just didn't want to fall neatly in synchronicity with sea's daily phenomenon, at least not for the first three er four times. What's required when tide is not cooperating, is the prestationing of our vehicle at San Cosme, right in front of Aljeo's busy place. All heavy, cumbersome things get loaded on that day before, water containers, coolers, propane cylinders, the laundry, gas containers, the garbage, etc. And, of course, this pickup stationing requires a good two mile walk back to camp, the choice of terrain, the obstacles, being optional.

Naturally, we arise quite early. It's just getting light enough to see what lays in front of us when, after the laxative of stiff coffee, we head out in opposite directions...to dig out our morning holes. Ah...the peace and morning quite as the east brightens and starts to flood the vast expanse of deeply sculpted mountains that lay just to the west...and stretch out of sight in northwesterly direction. Whew! Reds, pinks, yellows then begin to paint the reds, grays and yellow-greens in all that up-thrust rock. This all ecenuated by multitudinous, deep and mysterious shadows. The birds are usually singing. The cardinals, for sure. Sounds off the sea, perhaps waves, gulls, a few minutes walk away. The braying of a jackass may rip the calm fabric as it reverberates, echoes off a multiplicity of monumental surfaces.

I'm a real stickler then about doing some sort stretch-out and warm-up routine. Marcia can be prickly at this early hour, impatient with me, what she perceives as my procrastinations. But I have to do this! At my present age, 62, it makes poor sense not to loosen up, especially this past season with that damn sciatic nerve always threatening to take over my day.
Fine details, that's what Marcia throws her rush of energies into; that and trying to hurry me along. An over-the-shoulder, small pack, stuffed full, and a carrying sack in about same condition, these seem to get checked by her numerous times before I'm finally suited up and set for take off. She'll check her lists over one last time before declaring us ready for departure.

"Do the dogs have enough food and water for a minimum of three days? Cats, too? Make sure the 1000 watt generator is stashed inside, and other lightweight, essential things, too!"

"Yes, dear."

It's my job to lock the door.

All the pets know we're up to something. The dogs get anxious, excited...until we give the word that they're to stay. Their ears drop, ya can feel 'em express what a "bummer" this is. Cats don't listen worth a damn. Our's will follow if we let them, so it's best to device strageties that fake 'em out, catch 'em distracted. One of us usually tries to make it past the gate and somewhat out of sight while the other is practicing the subterfuge. Then a dash can be made. "You dogs, Stay!" Last one out hitches the simple four strand barbwire gate.

Quickly we vanish from sight, us swallowed by extensive vegetation, old man cactus, low assorted bushes and then mesquite and una de gato trees. Really, what we live within there is regrowth "una de gato" forest. It's regrowing from being chopped down and burned for steam ship fuel. Long time ago.

I've got the pack, Marcia the bag. Even in the not-yet-full light, because we know the trail well, at a fast-march pace we move through cool morning air that still hold smells quite well, musky odors where a coyote or badger has recently crossed, fresh horse shit. On dewy or just rained on desert, the aromatic essences of the combinations of flowers and herbs, this we always find quite intoxicating. We've been lucky enough to attempt an exit on a number of these. I'm in lead so I feel it my job to indicate signs in the surface soil as to what's been going on in the area. Human foot prints, perhaps, us prognosticating as to who's, when and why they've been laid down there; those of livestock and numerous wild creatures, too. Wide bodied snake trails always draw a comment. After cutting cross country for maybe 15 minutes, winding where the criss-cross of trails lead us, we connect with the rancho road. Two lanes now, instead of just one to chose from, more surface to read sign upon. Them god damn goats have again invaded the area. Alejo's herd. Shortly after this we make the chain that's stretched and locked across the rancho entrance gateway. Too bad we've had to resort to that....

Especially, we examine for fresh tire tracks here. Usually there's evidence that there's been some who've come that far, but then, encountering chain, just turned around. We've a quite legible sign posted there explaining situation. To get in they have to abide by simple rules and get the key from the Resturanate San Cosme. Sometimes we find fence wires have been tampered with. The on-going fight. We know with whom we're dealing...lined up against.

This walk's too energizing to make one want to dwell on trifles. I'm, and I'm pretty sure Marcia is, really into this form of morning exercise by now. Loosened and on an energy burn, I feel myself wanting to chew up tire grooves in front of me. I generally pull further ahead of Marcia as this way twists and turns and then ascends a moderately steep, winding upgrade. This I take as hard as I can, the object being to wind myself where this tops out. We're still in shadows because of low, lone mountain between us and sea.

I wait here for Marcia, who's not far behind. She's been pushing it, too. "Whew! Woowe!" we're both likely to exclaim. Our custom is to look back from there at that incredible and usually stupendously lit up chain of mountains that shoulder right there next to us...and seem to run on into infinity. The joy of just being there, being able to witness "just" that....

A breaking stride is needed to negotiate down side then, this road running lower and along tree-lined, small arroyo bottom. A much used animal trail then Y's to the left, a short cut that recrosses the road shortly, cutting out an elbow, we take that. We stay with this past road then...it turning into well worn route of high-tide pass. Where this winds up from arroyo to low mesa, we break into full morning sunshine. Sweat shirt usually gets removed at this point, if they haven' t already been.

This high-tide way snakes around and gently plays with you for short while, before it turns to good place to sprain an ankle, er break a leg, as it twists and switch-backs it way up over an obvious, distant, saddle. This is a climb that demands yer full attention and is guaranteed to get the heart and lungs fully working. Again I can't hold myself at Marcia's pace. I give it all I've got until the summit, it still bathed in small patch of shade caused by rocky peak of another different, small, cone-shaped mountain. I shed that pack. I'll usually relieve my bladder there as I wait for lady Marcia.

There's a stone fence here. Ancient. A gateway for things to move through. It's the historic boundary of El Carrizalito. The view, before it was tarnished by recent despoliation, we'd always been thrilled by. It pains us some, now, to look down upon another's unconsciousness. Saul.... The wait for Marcia's not that long. Time is taken so she can off-load and wind-out there, also.

That trail down towards San Cosme then, with the view down the long beach of same name, the mirror-like live tidal lagoon way down there below, if you closely watch your footing, is a piece of cake. Quickly we descend to level of Agua Verde road, then down Alejo's steep-side drive, right into their cluster of constructions, this bumping us into barking dogs and at times a considerable assemblage of humanity. But then sometimes almost nothing till we're atop Guadalupe's kitchen. The smell of roasting coffee beans, a wood fire; that of tortillas on a hot griddle, sometimes this we're warmly welcomed with.

The exercise has been thoroughly invigorating, usually. After dumping our loads at pickup, we go back to chat a while with those we've just hollered morning greetings at. I'm mostly all cranked up and don't pull away easy from such conversation. News. Gossip and rumor at some points, sometimes, flies rampant. If there's a shopping list, essentials, needing to be filled, almost always Guadalupe presents it along with the cash. Eight-thirty A.M., that's our target time for pulling out and up from there.

Twenty-three Ks up the Agua Verde road takes one to Baja Rt. 1; if our luck still hangs together, that's objective then. Once that's made, north or south turns bring us to further adventures...we can always count on that.

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com