During the low tide every January, the adventurous souls of the Eastcape pack up their motor homes, fifth wheelers, trucks, 4WD's, trailers, boats, Jeeps, tents and assorted camping gear and migrate north for a week of clamming, beachcombing, fishing and adventuring at our secret spot on Bahia Magdalena.

    This year the lowest tide, the best time for clamming,  is on the new moon, Monday January 10th. With this in mind, everyone is planning on a Thursday or Friday (the 6th or 7th) blast off.

    I'm in desperate need of this trip, having only had six days off the last ten months.  Last year's trip took it's toll on my Jeep, and since then, we've reinforced the frame, added additional shocks, installed a new Warn winch, and added two more inches of body lift.  I think I'm ready.

    My plan of attack is to make base camp with everyone at Mag Bay, then use it as a start point for various day trips to map more of the roads in the area.  However, from past experience, nothing goes as planned, and I'm looking forward with eager anticipation the detours this trip will take.

DAY 1

    Leaving home, the itinerary is to stop at the office at Leonero for a last minute check on things before stopping at Los Barriles for final supplies.  Getting to Leonero, I realize I forgot my medication, requiring a return to home - very uncharacteristic of me.  I hope this isn't an omen of things to come.

    Back on the road, as I approach La Paz, a vibration starts to develop under the chassis. It feels just like a u-joint going, but I just replaced all the joints last month, and my mechanic just inspected everything yesterday, so I decide to keep going, a decision I will soon regret.

    After gassing up in La Paz, it's the run to Mag Bay.  One of the side trips on the agenda is a trip from Las Pocitas to La Soledad, then back around to the mission at San Luis Gonzaga.  Stopping at Las Pocitas, I'm looking to see if some enterprising soul might be selling gas.  If so, this would mean I wouldn't need to carry gas on the side trip, but no luck.  The only services available are a store and tire shop.  Continuing on, I get about another 10 miles, when a huge BANG! occurs under the Jeep - the brand new u-joint has disintegrated, dropping the driveshaft on the middle of the highway.  Pulling over to retrieve the orphaned shaft, Cliff and Lester pass by in their motor coaches, as I frantically wave them down.  Cliff finally finds a spot to stop about a mile ahead.  With the Jeep equipped with a twin-stick transfer case, I'm able to disengage the rear drive train, and engage the front drive in high range.  Gimping up to where Cliff has stopped, I explain what has happened.  At this point, I decide to limp on into Constitucion to try to get it fixed, then head on to camp.  I let Cliff know my plan, telling him it may be tomorrow before I’ll get there.

    Continuing on at about 45mph, it seems like an eternity before civilization comes into view.  Stopping at the first large repair shop, I'm pleasantly surprised to find they have a replacement for the u-joint in stock, and an open service bay.  It's only a 30-minute $35 job to get me back on the road.  There's still a slight vibration, and I'm beginning to think the driveshaft might be bent, causing the first u-joint to fail.  Getting back to the turnoff to our secret camp spot, the road is badly washboarded, requiring driving really fast, or really slow - I opt for fast, and am soon at camp, arriving only 30 minutes after Cliff, who opted for really slow on the road.

    Now I know we're due for a really high tide on Monday, and I carefully cruise through the camp, looking for a high spot for my camp spot.  Some of the guys ask why I’m being so picky, and when I tell them the reason, they say I’m making them nervous. Picking the highest spot close to everyone else, I get camp quickly set up, as the sun begins to set.

     Although nearly every camp offers me dinner, I politely decline. After hauling all this food and cooking gear, I'm determined to do more of my own cooking this year.  After soup, a sandwich and conversation around the camp fire, the eventful Day 1 comes to a close.

Day 2

    Slept like a baby last night, despite the unusually chilly temperature.  My new roll-up cot was surprisingly comfortable, almost like my bed at home.  This is a far cry from the camping of my youth - sleeping in what amounts to a bed, drinking fresh-brewed coffee (with the help of my generator), ham and eggs cooked just right with a touch of fresh ground pepper - life is great!

    Last night Jerry said he found a treasure he wants to show us today, and soon a massive caravan of trucks, Jeeps, buggies and quads gets ready for the adventure.  It wouldn't be normal unless one of us had some kind of mechanical problem, and this time it's my turn, as my keys have disappeared through a hole in my pocket.  As the assembled group soon vanishes in a cloud of dust, I'm still frantically searching for my keys.  Cliff sees me desperately scanning the ground and asks what's wrong.  Telling him I've lost my keys, he starts looking too, then Jerry stops to help.  About 10 seconds later, Cliff spots the delinquent keys, saving the day.  It's just another example of why it's always better to be lucky than good.

    Quickly catching up to the group, we're soon in full-bore off-roading, as there is no road to where we're going.  After the better part of an hour, we pop out on a long stretch of deserted beach.  Looking north, I see Jerry's prize in the distance, a huge ship of about 150ft in length grounded on the beach.  Getting a closer look, the vessel, named Rosa Maria 1, looks to have been stripped and abandoned.  The guys eyes collectively light up with glee at the thought of what treasures await within, and soon a rope and plank ladder is fabricated for a boarding party to search for booty.

    Soon all kinds of junk starts raining down from the broken portholes. It’s like a horde of locusts decimating a grain field.  Watching the carnage, I feel a bit like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. In the heat of the moment it all looks like treasure, but I'm sure most of the salvage will wind up in the Buenavista dump. A few notable exceptions include the ship's logbooks, the engine room controls, colorful barnacles from the hull, and the instrument panels.  Checking the logs, we find the ship was in Ensenada as recently as 1997 – how it wound up here is anybody’s guess.  As the tide drops, Jerry takes a closer look at the now-exposed props, and shrieks "Eureka" as he discovers they are solid brass.  The others quickly gather to inspect Jerry's find, and a return visit for more pillage and plunder is planned for tomorrow.

    Working our way overland back to camp with Captain Morgan in charge, the booty is proudly displayed for all to see.  The wenches have prepared a feast of salad and pasta.  The rest of the evening is spent around the campfire, discussing ways to remove the precious brass prop, and trying to figure out how to get the satellite tv working.  It looks like my planned side trip to Pocitas needs to wait, as even the mere possibility of salvaging the prop outweighs any road mapping adventure. 

DAY 3

    As usual, everything is wet from the morning dew, While waiting for Mr. Sun to dry us out, it's ham & eggs for breakfast.

    On the way out to the wreck, the tide is a bit higher today, requiring more detours to avoid the car-swallowing bogs. The pungent aroma of wild oregano envelops us as we venture overland to the beach.  Today I've brought my beach chair and umbrella, and kick back and read a book while the rest of the troupe engage in their search and destroy mission.  After scavenging all they can from inside, their attention shifts to the mother of all prizes, the 6-foot, 2000-lb solid brass propeller.  Within an hour, the huge brass nuts have given up their virginity to Howard's gentle touch with a chisel and hand sledge.  In an act of incredible sacrifice, DC works his magic with a grinder while standing in knee-deep water, with Jerry keeping his finger on the kill switch of the generator in case the grinder slips into the water.

    As the steel casing peels away from in front of the prop, DC empties his welding tanks trying to put enough heat on it, while Howard and Jerry take turns beating on it with a sledge hammer, but nothing's happening.  We try wedging my tire jack between the shaft and prop, but this works about as well as my love life - it's not happening!  We need another plan, which will require a return trip again tomorrow.

     Back at camp, we're treated to some of Trish's world-famous fresh clam chowder.  At the campfire, Howard has figured out a way to pop the prop, using some large nuts and bolts which Mike has in his well-stocked truck.  Armed with a new plan of attack, everyone passes out, looking forward to the renewed assault planned for tomorrow.

 DAY 4

    The day starts innocently enough, with a great sunrise after another comfortable night's sleep.  Today is the high tide of the month, and it looks like my careful choice of camp spot has paid off, as the advancing tide inundates every camp but mine.  Lester’s spot seems to be getting the worst of it, earning the flood the name Lake Lester. After a simple breakfast of left-over clam chowder, the boys are eager to attack the prop with their new plan.  I've agreed to forego today's adventure and drive into Constitucion for an ice run.  With the camp looking a lot like the Sri Lanka coastline after last month's tsunami, I head off to town, as the boys head out to do battle with the prop.  I’d go with them to document their efforts, but I really don’t think they have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting that prop off the shaft with the tools they brought.  Besides, we really do need ice.

    The trip to town is uneventful, except that on the way home, I'm about 10 miles from camp and all of a sudden, there's something wet splashing on my arm.  My immediate thought is the radiator has sprung a leak, but leaning over I spot gasoline sloshing out of the opening the gas cap used to occupy.  The road is so rough, the cap vibrated loose.  Scavenging around, I find an empty hot sauce bottle the same size as the filler neck, and wedging it in, merrily continue my way back to camp.

     The boys haven't returned from their prop-busting adventure, so camp is eerily quiet.  Just at sunset, the boys come charging triumphantly back to camp, with the best treasure they've ever looted - the 6-ft solid brass propeller.  I am impressed with their perseverance and ingenuity.

    An extensive celebration later, the girls have put together another sumptuous feast, for tonight we dine on salad, bbq pork loin, baked potatoes and homemade brownies for dessert.  Instead of going to sleep, I think everyone merely passed out.

 DAY 5

    Firing off my generator for some much needed coffee, it's clear that yesterday's flood caused a few defections from camp, as a number of so-called campers were scared off by the high tide.  Jerry and I get our daily workout building up the burms around camp, hoping to avoid a repeat of yesterday's catastrophe.  Breakfast is bacon, eggs scrambled with mushrooms, onions and peppers, and fruit.  Kings don't eat as well as we do on these trips.

    The great Baja flood returns, as we helplessly try to stave off the advancing waters.  Finally giving up, we watch Lake Lester refill.  At least our side of camp is a bit higher, and today stayed dry.

    Straightening up my camp, I decide to see what's in the storage bin in the Jeep.  It's now my turn to yell "Eureka", as I discover a long-forgotten spare gas cap.  Replacing the hot sauce bottle, it's going to be a good day.

    Some of the troupe went fishing today, and as soon as they return and clean their catch, we load up for a road trip to the south end of the bay to look for whale bones at low tide.  Mike & Donna and I are in the Jeeps, while the rest are on the quads.  It’s quite evident the area has had a lot of recent rain, as the desert is as green as I’ve ever seen it. Dodging endless mud holes, I start feeling better about not making the planned mapping side trips, as I’m convinced many of the roads I wanted to take are probably under water right now.  Talking with some of the locals, it appears Constitucion had 8 inches of rain in one day last week. Moving on, we reach a spot we call Rum Bottle Junction, as we placed an empty rum bottle there a number of years ago as a marker - the remnants of the bottle are still hanging from the barbed-wire fence. After about an hour, we arrive at Puerto Viejo, an abandoned fish camp, fronting on a northwesterly facing shallow beach, an excellent depository for old whale bones. 

    Today, the pickings are slim, but it was a great way to spend the afternoon, considering we could be in New England, under 3 feet of snow and ice - I love Baja!  Cruising back to camp, Jerry displays his culinary skills as he is the master of the barbeque, and puts out some of the best chicken I’ve ever eaten.

    Turning in early, I’m stuffed with a great meal, sailing with Captain Morgan on the beach in Mexico, reading Jimmy Buffett’s new book when someone puts one of his CD’s in the stereo.  As “We are the People Our Parents Warned Us About” lingers in the air, I challenge anyone to tell me how life could be any better than this!

DAY 6

    The day starts with an ominous dark sky on the western horizon.  The wild bunch is planning a boat trip to some distant shore, but being in a little boat on a big ocean when the weather is iffy is not my cup of tea.  Apparently Jerry feels the same, and we decide to pass on the voyage of the damned to do some inland exploring in the Jeep.  The first raindrops fall as we wave goodbye to the others, with us both wondering if we’ll ever see them again.

    On the trail, our prime directive is to locate another access into the north beach area.  Our maps indicate a logical spot to search, but getting there is tough, as we need to traverse a section of road used in the recent Baja 1000 race. The road is in bad condition, with endless miles of deep whoop-de-do’s.  Finally getting to the search area, it soon becomes evident we were wrong, there’s no way to get to the beach in anything bigger than a quad.  Continuing on, we do find a new road which cuts about 8 miles off the run to San Carlos, which is a good prize for the day.  Besides, the weather has cleared, the scenery is gorgeous, and we could have been with the others, getting wet and seasick.  Turning inland, we’re looking for a shortcut home, but come across more flooded roads.  Given the choice of getting stuck on a muddy shortcut or retracing our way through the whoop-de-do’s, it’s a no-brainer; I want to sleep in my tent tonight.  Turning around, we pass a Mexican 2WD mini-truck who says he can get through, and we wish him well.

    Turning a corner on the way home, Jerry remarks “Look at the coyote in the road up ahead.”  It’s the tallest, skinniest coyote I’ve ever seen.  Getting closer, it’s a deer.  Jerry and I do our best imitation of Laurel & Hardy trying to get the camera out of the case, because we know the others won’t believe us without photographic proof.  Just as the camera appears, the deer disappears into the brush.  We decide we’re not even going to tell the others, as they’ll just laugh at us.  Rounding another corner, now there’s two more deer in the road. In all my years here, I've never seen even one deer before.  I manage to get a photo of one of them before they scamper off.  After a couple of hours of getting our kidneys tossed about, we reach the intersection with the shortcut road.  Gazing down, there are no fresh tracks, meaning the Mexican truck we crossed paths with earlier didn't get through.  Pleased with ourselves at our wise decision to go around, Jerry and I turn our thoughts to the fate of the others, wondering how miserable their day must have been, and consume the remainder of the trip discussing how we will divvy up all the rigs if the wild bunch went down at sea.

    Arriving at camp, Jerry and I let out a collective sigh of relief when we see they made it back ok from their boat ride to hell.  We really were afraid for them, and listening to the story of their harrowing experience, we were very happy to have gone on the Jeep trip instead.  Imagine overloaded tin boats on the open ocean in foul weather - their guardian angels were working overtime today.

    Burritos and a campfire later, it’s lights out, as tomorrow brings the trip home.

 DAY 7

    Last night was the coldest I’ve ever had in Baja.  It got down to about 40 degrees.  With extra coffee to loosen the joints, I get to packing everything for the ride home.  Making my good-bye's and pulling out of camp, I half-jokingly tell the others to wave at me as they pass by tomorrow in case I break down.

    Airing up the tires as I get to the highway, I’m nervous about the u-joint holding up on the way home, and I’m hoping this is the end of the story.

EPILOGUE

    The trip home was uneventful – Thanks Jeep for another great trip and getting me home safely.  Overall, this trip exceeded my wildest expectations. We had lots of adventure, found some new roads, plundered a ship, ate great food, damaged our livers, killed some brain cells, and shared great company.  I can hardly wait for the next venture into the unknown.

January 13, 2005

Roy Baldwin - Sr. Divertido – Magellan

Go Everywhere – Do Everything!

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