Driving to the mission at San Javier--with white knuckles

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Sunday, April 7, 2013

I got up later than expected, about 8:30.  Already it seemed too hot and sunny to go for the hike down the canyon to an oasis that I had planned, so I decided to explore the road to San Javier.

I soon found that higher up, the highway—only a few years old--had been washed out in about 10 places.  There was a hurricane last fall, with more rain than usual for such a storm.  Although it only rained for one day, it created floods down every wash in these mountains—including massive amounts of debris and boulders.

In two places it had been entirely destroyed where it crossed washes, and the gap had been temporarily repaired with a one-lane gravel ramp.  In many other places, the highway had been partly undermined and was caving away—with one of the two lanes turned into a diving board into the abyss.

Some of these cave-ins had been marked only with stones on the road.  It wasn’t dangerous if you drove slowly and paid attention,  but I think most people would find this road terrifying.

After the summit, there weren’t any more problems.  It’s an excellent example of what we can expect will happen to our infrastructure with more global warming—and the more violent storms predicted.

Once over the summit, I found myself on a plain surrounded by low peaks—and with many flowering trees.  One, possibly the palo verde, had bright yellow blossoms.  Another had a sort of fuzzy pussy-willow-like blossom.  Over the next 15 miles, the descending highway worked its way into a gradually deepening canyon.  I passed several oases—at one, the highway went through about a hundred feet of water, but it was only a few inches deep.  The water was very green. 

Every few miles, I passed a stretch of the wash where there were pools of water, put they looked too green and stagnant for my taste.  I did stop at one pool and rinsed out the shirts and pants I had been using for paddling.  Before I washed them, my quick-dry clothes were as stiff as cardboard from dried sea salt. 

There weren’t really any settlements.  Each little oasis had some palm trees, a pool of water and maybe a old-fashioned wind pump for water, and one little ranch house.  Maybe a few outbuildings.

Suddenly, an oasis town

Gradually, the road descended into a canyon.  Below the highway, I saw a big oasis with a number of pools held back by low dams.  Around the next bend, suddenly I found myself on a cobblestone street--I was in San Javier, a 250-year-old mission settlement.  There was a long cobblestone avenue, flanked by plantings, with the Mission of San Javier at the end of the street.

It was such a surprise, and such a quiet and beautiful little spot.  I parked the car and began to explore the town, although it was brutally hot—85-90 degrees.

The mission was impressively ancient, while inside it was dark, quiet and cool.  The decorations were simple but beautiful.

I can imagine how impressed the Indians must have been with such a place—the coolest they had ever been.  Powerful medicine from the Christian god.

Every holy week, people come from far and wide to make a pilgrimage to this mission.  They probably start where I camped last night, and hike up the old highway, which is a well-maintained trail now.  The hot desert, the weird plants, the rugged mountains—all followed by the dark coolness of the church—are sure to make a powerful impression.

The town is the end of the paved road, completed this far only during the last year.  A gravel road continues on to the Pacific coast.  There’s no through truck traffic, so the town was extremely sleepy and quiet.  Little more than the sounds of palm leaves rushing in the wind, and doves cooing.

During religious holidays, this town gets many visitors, but today it was quiet.  Nevertheless, a few vendors or trinkets were sitting around, waiting politely for some action.  But most of the small stores—selling little more than locally-produced sweets or fruit juices, were shuttered with just a sign advertising their wares.  Perhaps if interested you could knock on the door.  One vendor woman, who spoke good English, was working on some product for sale, while her young children played nearby.

I stopped at the fanciest restaurant in town, near the church, for lunch.  A single American couple, just finishing, recommended it.  It was cool in the shade, good place to watch the town.  The meal was simple but good: three meat burritos, with a side of refried beans and a slab of farmer’s cheese.

I looked a bit around town—noting several bath houses—then headed back.

Dip in a desert pool

I found a pool beside the road, since I was looking for a chance to enjoy a swim.  But it was very hot--and no shade.

The water was extremely green.  Though the large pool was isolated--no other water for miles probably—there were actually schools of fish about a foot long.  Two were even courting in a nest.

There was a smaller pool downstream (left, below), receiving water from the first  pool, filtered through a sand bar, so it looked a little cleaner, though there was lots of green algae in mats on the bottom.

I took off my clothes and waded in.  The water was warmish, but not all that dirty, since the green was mostly in a mat on the bottom.  But it was teeming with life—all the usual suspects for a pool in the desert.

Wasps were coming to get water for the hive.  There were spiders (without webs) spaced every foot along the shore.  In the water, were little snails, dragonfly larvae, and several kinds of water beetles.  I didn’t see any tadpoles, although last night I heard frogs singing.

The water was only a few feet deep, just enough to sit and splash some water on myself.  As I was squatting, the largest water scorpion I’ve ever seen rose up through my legs, to get a breath of air.  It had a long snorkel protruding from the rear end of its abdomen, with a bubble of air attached.  (Water scorpions are large carnivorous water beetles, built rather like a preying mantis, with special arms for capturing their prey.)  From the color of the water, I had worried that it might be putrid, but considering how much life there was, it couldn’t have been all that toxic

As soon as I drenched myself, the whole world changed.  It was no longer oppressively hot—now all was fresh and cool.  Before I had regained the shore, picking my steps between the cobbles, I was nearly dry.  But still, the freshness lingered.

I returned to the place where I had spent the last night, perhaps to stay another night, and do an early hike to the oasis.  But it was so hot—I just didn’t know what I could do except mope in the trailer till the following morning.  So I decided to continue driving north.

I like the desert, but once you’ve checked out all the weird plants, there’s often not much to do.  Unfortunately in Baja, there usually aren’t trails you can hike from here to there.  And the animal life isn’t very evident, unless you are at an oasis.

That’s why I like camping on the beach and kayaking on the Sea of Cortez.  It’s cooler, and there’s more life.  You can get out and about after dark, on foot or on the water.

Heading back along the San Javier highway towards Loreto, the view as as magnificent as before.  This being Sunday, there were a few Mexican family picnicking if there were pools of water where the highway crossed the road.

I continued through Loreto, headeding north towards Bahia Conceptiion and Mulege.  This stretch of highway, from Loreto to Mulege, is perhaps the most senic in all of Baja, or else it ties with the desert around Cativina, and around San Lorenzo.

I didn’t get much exercise today or yesterday, unless pressing a shutter release or turning a steering wheel count.  If they do, then I got lots of exercise.