I love Baja. It’s barren, spiny, and filled with garbage. But it has personality. I swore I wasn’t going to take many more photos of cirios on my way north, but I can’t resist, because they have so much personality. Each one is more outrageous than the last.
As I drive, I keep my speed low and roll down the window. I’m in intimate contact with the countryside—almost as if I were on a motorcycle.
Last night, I drove a little after dark, and pulled out on a side road towards the Pacific. It was very quiet and starry. I heard a coyote howl once, and could hear the dull roar of the ocean maybe a mile away. In the morning, I saw I was on a very barren coastal plain without any tall vegetation, in a shallow wash.
The famous caterpillar cactus Machaerocereus eruca* were here, the ones that fall over sideways, touch the ground and take root anew, spreading to make a large clone. A little further south, they had formed large impenetrable thickets. Here they didn’t make thickets, and seemed very old, some dead parts with their skeleton exposed, and the old skin hanging in tatters from the bones.
The "caterpillar cactus" falls over, sprouts roots, and begins a new section.
Every time I stop, I learn something new about the desert. Here I can see that it is grazed. There are quite a few wildflowers, but only where protected by the larger cactus. In other places, when you face the sun, you can see a thin, dry layer of vegetation above the ground catching the sun in a sort of silver haze. And if you look down at the ground, you can see the cryptozootic crust that you also find in places like Arches National Park. But unless you look carefully like this, it does look pretty barren.
Without the grazing, I suspect there would be many more wildflowers. Yesterday, I noticed some places where the desert had more widespread flowers. I think these areas probably haven’t been grazed yet this year.
The desert in Baja seem extremely variable on a local scale. Yesterday, some parts of the Vizcaino Desert were greener, and had more flowers. The presence or absence of taller plants, the yucca trees and the cordon cactus, varied greatly. I suspect that the soil also plays a role—some places had sand dunes, and others areas may have been too close to Scammon’s Lagoon, and may have been a bit salty. If salt continually blows in from the coast, but the main source of moisture here is only fog, then it may be hard to clear the salt from the soil. In other places, I suspect fog plays a role. It may come up the valleys from the coast, and certain low hills may catch the fog more than other places.
Today, a little south of Rosarito, I saw the southern-most cirios. Unless I passed some in the dark last night, this is the southern limit of their range along the highway. I stopped a little later where there are some green meadows in a wash just to the west of the highway, and spent over an hour looking at the cirios. Here are some of the differences from how they are at the northern edge of their range:
- Much more twisted here.
- More multiple branches, even in small ones, indicating injury.
- Shorter and fatter.
- Signs of stress and slow growth—the multiple branches and short stature.
- The elephant trees show similar signs of stress.
Here the elephant trees and cirios are bright yellow—the yellow leaves of both are being shed. It's the end of their growing season as the hot time of year begins--the equivalent of our fall colors.
I found one cirio with a cluster of small white flowers. They had an unusual smell—not at first impression a pleasant smell, but after sniffing a bit, I came to like it. Kind of acerbic, pungent—with personality, like everything else cirio.
I found several very small cirios, one about 8” high, but even this one was firmly rooted and probably at least several years old, if not more. There were no seedlings without bulbous trunks—and cirios are easy to find there because of the yellow leaves. One can also find very small elephant trees.
Despite the apparently stressful conditions here, the population of cirios seems stable. I saw one fallen, dead cirio—but there are many small ones. Where they occur, their numbers are fairly dense. But at this location, the stand of cirios had distinct limits in area.
Later, I stopped at the tiny town of Rosarito. When I saw the town on my way down, I though it a very God-forsaken, flea-bitten place. But this time, I noticed a hill overlooking a little ranch, that had a very dense stand of yellow cirios—and all of them were extremely twisted.
When I arrived in the town proper, I was greeted by a dirty but very friendly dog. Next, I noticed that cirios were scattered all through town. People living with cirios!--a new twist. So now I saw it as more of a quirky town, than a desperately poor and dirty one. These were the human cousins of cirios.
Cirios near their southern limit--short, fat, and twisted. Click on photo to enlarge.
Near the town, I see burros grazing. All you can use them for, as far as I know, is… transport. This town looks like a subsistence place indeed.
About 11:00, just north of the junction to Santa Rosalillita (a Pacific beach town), I stopped on a rise. It’s surrounded by a vast basin of totally empty desert, opening to the Pacific to the SW, where I can just barely see the water. To the south it’s more mesa behind mesa, while to the north, the distant mountains are a bit more rugged. The air is fairly clear, and all around the desert is speckled with the yellow leaves of the cirios and elephant trees. It’s a vast and shallow bowl, and I’m on a rise near the center, able to see everything. Several other cars stop for a quick snack or rearrangement of passengers. This central desert, in the park “The Valley of Cirios,” is my favorite part of Baja. There’s less traffic here, and the road is at it’s narrow worst.
In his book The Forgotten Peninsula, J.W. Krutch wonders why anyone would chose to live on a ranch in the middle of the desert, when instead they could be fishing on the coast. I certainly wonder about that also. But when you stop to think, the land (at least at one time) was probably free, and I suspect it takes relatively few skills to be a rancher here. It’s the cattle that have all the skills—since nearly everything is covered with huge spines. To be a fisherman, there’s more risk, probably more skill, and you have to start with at least a boat and a motor.
One of the reasons I don’t like to drive at night is you miss the unfolding story of the landscape. What’s fun about a Baja road trip is the way things change as you go along. Sometimes rather suddenly, and at other times, nearly imperceptibly. And always, there are things to figure out. Why are there no plants here? Is that cirio imitating Groucho Marx?
Just before Catavina, on the right you see a fabulous range of craggy, white granitic mountains.
About 4:00 pm, I pulled into Rancho Santa Ines near Catavina, at the edge of the wonderful "boulder country" of the "Valley of the Cirios" biosphere reserve. They have a large but basic RV park, a few rustic rooms, and a very rustic dining area--a kitchen with a few outdoor picnic tables. There were only two other campers in the RV park, due to the bad economy. But the area was green, with some shade trees, and a nice view of a nearby volcanic mesa towering over the area. It's well off the main highway, so there's no noise here.
I inquired about having supper there. The menu was limited to what was on hand--about three different items. They said they would be closing up by 6:00 pm, very strictly. On later inquiry, I found out it was because they had no electricity, so they wanted to finish before dark.
"No electricity?", I asked, fishing for details.
It turned out they have a generator, but they weren't running it, because there were so few tourists. This is one example of how Mexicans "make do" when times are hard. Their flexibility and ingenuity are admirable.
A bit later I returned for my meal--enchiladas of onions and cheese with a red sauce, plus some refried beans. Spicy but good!
The kitchen staff at Rancho Santa Ines.
I drove by one group of two campers and asked if they wanted to share adventures after supper. They said they did. They were a house painter, maybe in his 50s, and a man in his 60's, who had an interesting hand-made camping trailer pulled by a pickup, plus two rugged motorcycles. Every time they told me of a place they had taken their bikes to, one said to the other, is that were you fell off your bike? It seems on the rough trails or sand they were biking in, falling off was pretty common. We traded stories about good places to go and how to handle the inevitable confrontations with Mexican authorities.
Before sundown, I pulled out and headed to my own private campground among the boulders and cactus, where I had camped last year, and also on my way south this year. At sundown, I walked along the highway, being careful to step off to let any traffic pass, and continued walking into the dusk. I looked at all the crazy silhouettes against the pink western sky of the cirios near the highway--with all their wild and quirky shapes.
No two alike--the silhouettes of cactus at dusk.
Later, in my trailer, I saw some headlights outside, pulling right up to my trailer. I thought I was going to have company camping, but wondered: "Why so close?" It was the police from Catavina, the town about 6 miles away. They said they had seen me walking on the highway.
"Do you feel safe camping here? Wouldn't it be better to camp in town?"
I said: "No, I like camping here. It's very 'tranquillo' here. People can't see me from the highway. I feel safe here."
So they said "Good night" and went on their way.
Sunday, 4/4 (Day of the Earthquake)
I was sorry I didn't get up at dawn, because this was to be my last day in the desert. It was already getting hot by the time I arose.
I went back several miles to a turnoff where the fellows from last night said there was a trailhead for the cave paintings. The cave was a short climb up above a dry wash to a rocky bluff, where there was a huge boulder in a commanding position, overlooking the junction of a dry wash with the canyon with a flowing creek (the one with the quicksand, on my way south). As with many granite boulders in the area around Catavina, this one had been attacked by the gritty wind, and had been hollowed out, forming a small cave inside, with several "windows." There was an elderly Mexican guide inside talking about the paintings to about 15 Mexicans. The paintings were large, in three colors (black, yellow, and reddish brown) and all over the ceiling,
Cave paintings by ancestors of the aboriginal groups exterminated by the missionaries.
The group left, so I was able to go in--and I was taking photos, a young couple from Tijuana with a tiny Mexican hairless dog came in. We talked briefly--she was interested in my camera. It turned out they spoke English well, so we spoke mostly in English. They left, and later I watched from above as they strolled up the sandy dry wash among the cactus, hand in hand, with their tiny dog scampering along behind them.
When I got down from the bluff, I walked up the wash too, since it make an easy route into the wild desert. On either side were immense cordon cactus. These are the "giant redwoods" of the cactus world. The ones here were very gnarly, and evidently very old. I noticed that the were in bloom, with white flowers about four inches in diameter. Eventually I found a boulder where I could climb up to see one of the lower flowers, close up. These cactus also have many woodpecker holes.
Flowers on a gnarly old cordon cactus--largest cactus in the world.
It was hot, so I didn't tarry too long. On my way back to the car, I inspected a deserted construction site near the highway, which had signs saying "Museum" and "For Sale." Someone had been building a very large geodesic dome with a skin of thin cement, evidently to make a roadside museum. The dome was about 3/4 covered--still unfinished. I felt sorry for whoever had begun this ambitious task, which had apparently fallen on hard times just short of completion. I even briefly wondered if someone like myself could purchase it. A concrete geodesic dome--it would be the perfect dwelling for this desert, and this was a perfect spot, except for the nearness to the highway.
A geodesic dome among the giant cactus--unfinished.
Reluctantly I said goodbye to the cirios, and headed north. I was hoping to make a visit to the abandoned onyx mine of "El Marmol," which was a bit north, if I could find the road. I stopped at a roadside rustic store selling onyx statuettes, and asked. They said the road was nearby, and was in good condition.
So I decided to try the nine-mile drive (one way) to El Marmol as my farewell to the region. This is said to be the source of perhaps the best onyx in the world, but it was closed due to changing fashion and the rise of imitation materials for counter tops. It's said that one Hollywood movie star had a bathtub made of onyx from this mine. The onyx was carted to the coast, then shipped by boat to Upper California.
The road started out well, but then I hit a long stretch of very badly wash-boarded road. It was very slow going, and besides, this part of the desert was flat and boring--with very few cactus. So eventually I got so bored that I turned around after six miles and headed back to the highway.
I was probably driving on this road when the earthquake struck 31 mi SE of Mexicali. But I was 156 mi SW of the epicenter, driving a horrendously bumpy road, so I felt nothing. Even when I drove into El Rosario that afternoon, and Ensenada that evening, there was no evidence that anything was amiss.
The trip north seemed so much faster than on the way down. As I went north, it got greener and greener. There were some patches of desert that were almost gardens, with many flowers. But nowhere was it as ablaze with as many flowers as I had seen here in 1961. Of course, the flowers depend on winter rain. But I knew they had had a big storm perhaps 8-9 weeks ago, and even a bit of recent rain. So I suspect there are fewer flowers nowadays, because the desert is grazed almost everywhere.
I reached the crest of the peninsula in late afternoon, and stared down the twisting highway. I saw my last Cirio at highway marker 72 km (measured south of San Quintin). These last cirios looked kind of thin and straggly. Their leaves were green, rather than yellow as the southern-most ones. And many were draped with Spanish moss. The air was quite chilly.
I was concerned I was going to run out of gas, since my gas warning light had come on, and there was still 72 km to go. I'd been driving through perhaps the longest stretch of "gasless" highway. But I was relieved to drive into the outskirts of El Rosario half an hour later. It turns out the highway markers were measured from the next town beyond El Rosario, so gas was less than 72 km away.
I stopped at a roadside taco joint in El Rosario--and they were very good, if a bit small. So I ordered a "stuffed potato (papas rellenas)," whatever that was. It turned out to be a hearty dish, similar to our scalloped potatoes, only with lots of spicy toppings including roast meat. So with two tacos and an order of papas rellenas under my belt, I was more than full. As I paid my bill, the owner's wife was in her office, the size of a broom closet, working on her computer. She had her digital photos up on the same program I use to work on my photos! And she was looking at a photo she had taken of a cactus in bloom. We are all so alike, despite our different cultures.
I gassed up and continued driving into the night, since I was out of the mountains. I was looking for my customary camping spot in the vineyards south of Ensenada, but missed it in the dark. So I ended up camping (with permission) at the Wal-mart store in Ensenada. It was quiet, well-lit, and I felt very safe.
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* While these cactus certainly look like caterpillars, I'm not positive they are Machaerocereus eruca, because J.W.Krutch in The Forgotten Peninsula says they occur only in the Magdalena Desert--and this was the Vizcaino Desert.
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