Every year during the full moon in January, a big portion of the local gringo population migrates to our secret spot on Bahia Magdalena, for a few days of R&R and some of the world’s best clamming. It is truly reminiscent of the glory days 50 years ago at Pismo Beach, as even the novice clammers are filling a 5-gallon bucket in less than an hour.

        This year I’m taking the Jeep, as I plan on traveling via the arduous beach route from Todos Santos, covering some territory I haven’t been over yet. Additionally, while at Mag Bay, there’s a 2-day side trip I want to make, a recon mission from Cuidad Constitucion to Agua Verde, a fish camp on the Sea of Cortez, and the trusty Jeep is the most practical vehicle for the job.

        Every year in December, the East Cape Bad Boys go on a multi-day quad trip somewhere on the peninsula. If I can locate a back way into Agua Verde, I want to incorporate the route into this upcoming December’s trip. All the published maps show a back road, but it stops right after reaching San Jose de la Noria. My engineer buddy, Rudy Vargas, used to be a road engineer for the government, and he cut the road back in 1978. He said they reached an impassable canyon about 3 miles short of Agua Verde, and abandoned completing the road. However, in talking to some of my staff that have family in that area, it’s apparent a bypass has been recently cut. This makes a lot of sense, as a direct route from Agua Verde to Constitucion would cut over 80 miles off the trip for the fishermen to get their catch to market from the traditional route over Highway 1.

        My riding buddy and founding member of the Bad Boys, Jerry, wants to go with me on the Agua Verde trip. We make arrangements to meet at Mag Bay on the 15^th, and will plan the details there. I’ll be leaving on the 14^th, and plan on spending the night camped somewhere between Todos Santos and our secret clam beach.

Day 1 – Jan 14^th

        Trying to pack a week’s worth of food, water and camping gear into the 3’ x 3’ cargo area in the back of the Jeep is a daunting task, but somehow it all fits, and I’m on the road by 6am. Although the route is longer, I opt for the Cabo loop instead of the mountainous way through El Triunfo to get to Todos Santos.

        Traffic in San Jose is rough, and it takes me until about 10am to reach the sleepy artisan village of Todos Santos, where a refueling is in order, as there will be no further gas stations until Ciudad Constitucion. Taking the turn for the beach road north, it’s immediately rough going, so to make the ride smoother, I stop to air down the tires. It’s amazing how halving the air pressure can ease up even the toughest road. Once stopped, I notice how warm it is, and a check of the onboard thermometer indicates the outside temperature is about 91deg – not bad for the middle of January!

        Making the turn towards Santa Martha, a strange growling noise begins to emanate from under the Jeep. From past experience, I identify the sound in an instant as a wheel bearing on the verge of failure, and here I am in the middle of nowhere. This changes everything. Plotting my next move, I try for a long shot and whip out the Iridium satellite phone and call a buddy in La Paz to see if he can help me out. A cold beer later, I call again and he’s lined up a mechanic and the parts – only in Baja could this happen. Consulting my maps, I find the most direct trail back to the highway, and gingerly make my way to La Paz, keeping my fingers crossed all the way that the wheel won’t fall off. My luck holds, as I get to La Paz without incident. The mechanic is waiting, and the parts are the right ones (a miracle). In less than 30 minutes, I’m back on the road. Not willing to press my lucky streak any further, I decide to just take the highway and go directly to clam beach. Properly stocked with a bag of chicken wings from Ley’s, I merrily munch my way up the highway.

        A number of years ago, on my way to one of my San Felipe trips, I passed a broken-down Mexican car whose occupants were waving an empty water jug. I didn’t stop, as there was lots of other traffic at the time, and I fully expected someone else would help them out. Later that night, all my clothes were stolen from my truck. I’m a firm believer in karma, and have always thought my lost clothing was my cosmic punishment for not helping the stranded travelers. Not to repeat the same mistake, I don’t hesitate for a moment, when, about 30 miles north of La Paz, a lone Mexican pops out of the brush, waving an empty water bottle. Pulling off the road, I refill his water jug, and continue my trip; confident the gods of good fortune will now be smiling on me.

        The rest of the drive is uneventful, and I pull up to our designated camp spot just as the sun disappears over the outer bay.

        Jerry’s rig is there, but he’s nowhere to be found. His quad is gone, and I surmise he may have gone to Puerto San Carlos for the night (we’re not scheduled to meet until tomorrow). Quickly setting up camp in the waning light, I spend the rest of the evening sitting in my beach chair, contemplating life. It’s the middle of January at 8pm, and I’m sitting on a deserted beach in the Baja, drinking beers while wearing a t-shirt and shorts – life is indeed good. For any of you reading this while trapped in your home or office with 3 feet of snow outside – eat your hearts out!

        With a lullaby of the rising tide’s gently lapping water and the wailing of countless coyotes, my switch goes to off.

Day 2 – January 15^th

        I’m rudely awakened before dawn by a steady drip-drip-drip of the morning’s damp air condensing on my tent and leaking through the mesh windows. I forgot to put up the rain-fly over the tent last night, and am now paying the price, as my sleeping bag is soaked. Nothing I can do about it now, so I suffer in quiet silence, awaiting the warmth of the morning sun to dry everything out.

        The morning quickly goes from sweatshirt to t-shirt, and after a breakfast of Bailey’s-laced coffee, eggs & Spam, there’s not much left to do but enjoy the calm before the storm, as I’m expecting a large group to arrive later today. I’m awaiting Jerry, and find he left a note, saying he was camping at Rancho Bueno last night, investigating a way to get on the long sand spit marking the south end of Mag Bay.

        Two of the boldest coyotes I’ve ever seen march right into my camp as if I’m invisible, and lay down no more than 50 feet from me. It’s amazing how adaptable these creatures are to a human presence. To be honest, I’m a bit offended that they are utterly fearless of me, and screaming at them to leave produces only two blank stares back at me. After awhile they must be bored, as they slowly get up and saunter back into the brush.

        By mid-morning I receive new visitors, a couple of machine gun toting soldiers from the nearby military camp, on their morning rounds. They ask the perfunctory questions about drugs and guns, and hang around; I think they’re hoping for a handout. Once they realize nothing’s forthcoming, they amble on down the beach, and I’m secure knowing they’re responsible for my safety and well-being.

        Warmed-up chicken wings are the midday fare, and before long the camp becomes a beehive of activity, as the motorhome crowd arrives. However, the entertainment has just begun, as Cliff promptly crushes the tailgate on his truck when the 5^th-wheeler slips off the mount. Soon the tent campers arrive, and I watch with amusement as it takes six people to figure out how to set up the humongous tent they brought. I love traveling with this group; in their company, I’m never at a loss for things to write about. Sometime in the middle of all this, Jerry has returned. We have a quick pow-wow and decide to try to get to Agua Verde tomorrow.

Day 3 – January 16^th

        Jerry and I are both up before dawn, eager with anticipation of our new adventure. Lots of coffee later, I begin to pack, discarding anything not needed, as space for 2 of us will be at a premium. A spectacular pink & purple sunrise is taken as a good omen for our venture, and with the disappointed glares of the others that can’t make our journey of discovery; we’re on the road.

        Driving east on the paved road to Ley Federal Aguas Numero Cinco, the pavement ends as we pass through the small farming village. Stopping to air down the tires, our adventure really begins here. Following our maps, our path leads us into a vast expanse of remote ranchos. The road is well-graded and we travel rapidly towards our goal. I can’t find words that properly express the sheer magnitude of the terrain we’re covering. Continuing on, we discover a series of man-made dams across the arroyo.

        While climbing up the foothills towards San Jose de la Noria, we pass a D-9 dozer, clearing the roads from debris from last week’s rains in the area. Our timing is remarkable, as we cross paths just as they’re completing the cleanup.

        Arriving in San Jose de la Noria, we discover the largest rural school I’ve ever seen, with room for at least 200 students. Stopping to talk to a rancher, I inquire if the road continues down to Agua Verde, and our spirits soar as he replies with a resounding "Si, Senor". Following his directions, we soon find ourselves on a narrow rock-strewn path, climbing into the heavens. We get a sneak peek of what’s ahead, as a patch of the Sea of Cortez comes into view between the peaks. Continuing on, as we round a corner, a spectacular panoramic vista comes into view.

        Now for the fun part. When Rudy Vargas told me about cutting the road in 1978, he said the Agua Verde connection was abandoned, as they couldn’t find a way down the sheer cliffs to the canyon floor, 2,000 feet below. I can now confirm from experience, that a road now exists, if you want to call it a road. With countless switchbacks and double switchbacks, I don’t think a full-length SUV could make the turns. I’m in compound low, and still need to ride the brake to stay at a safe speed. Rounding the left-hand turns, I can almost feel Jerry stiffening as his side of the Jeep is on the edge of the sheer drop. After what seems an eternity, we finally reach the bottom. We figure we’ve dropped 2,000 feet in about 2 miles, a 20% downgrade. Do not attempt this road unless you’ve taken your blood-pressure medication.

        Following the arroyo, we intersect the existing graded road to Agua Verde just about a mile from the village. Continuing on in, we find ourselves at our planned destination at 2:45pm. It’s just to early to call it quits, so we decide to follow the old road out to the highway, and will spend the night in Loreto – much better than camping.

        Turning around to head north, we stop at the San Jose de la Noria road for a photo, and continue north to check out the miles of deserted beaches ahead of us. We soon reach a military checkpoint, and inquire how long the new road has been in service – "two months" is the reply. We speculate we might be among the first gringos to cross this way.

        Climbing the track out to Highway 1, this side also has some interesting grades. Stopping at the top to enjoy the view and take a photo, we put the pedal to the metal and pull into Loreto just before dark.

        Cruising through the town, looking for someplace nice to stay, we stop first at a small motel on the waterfront. We’re just about to pop for the $40 each room rent, when I discover they are out of water. They’re quickly also out of $80 from us, as we hightail it out of there, eventually winding up at the Salvatierra Hotel, across from the gas station. $22 each later, we’re enjoying hot showers in anticipation of a nice dinner.

        When we pulled out of camp this morning, the guys tried to get our goat, describing how they were going to have BBQ ribs for dinner, while we were going to dine on Vienna sausage from a can. How the tables can turn, as now we are freshly hot showered, in clean clothes, and about to have dinner at the El Nido steakhouse. To get even with the others, we had a waiter take our photo, just as we’re about to enjoy a dozen of their famous clams au gratin followed by a great steak.

        After dinner we plan our strategy for tomorrow, and decide to stretch out our trip for an extra day. Instead of heading back to clam beach, we are going overland again, through San Javier, and will spend the night in Puerto San Carlos. After an action-packed day, we both decide to turn in.

Day 4 – January 17^th

        Jerry wants to check his email, and the Internet café opens at 8, giving us time for breakfast first. Cruising down the malecon, we spot an open restaurant, and are soon dining on ham & cheese omelets, downed with the now-routine Bailey’s-laced coffee.

        While Jerry visits the Internet café, I restock the cooler, and we’re back on the road by 9am. Mission San Javier is one of the oldest missions in the California’s, completed in 1699, and still in use today. Neither of us has been there before, and we’re eager to continue our discovery trail. The road starts climbing the sierras, and soon looks a lot like yesterday’s grueling hill climbs. Upon reaching the top, the terrain flattens out, and we soon reach San Javier.

        Moving on, our next goal is to try to find a trail leading us back to Highway 1. Our maps show us two possible connecting trails, but upon arriving at their locations, we find no passable roads. I guess my desire to go from Agua Verde to Loreto by quad remains nothing more than a pipe dream (for now). With no other options, we continue down the main road, and intersect with Highway 53, just north of Ignacio Zaragoza.

        Turning off at the road to Lopez Mateo, we proceed westward about 3 miles before turning south on a series of dirt roads leading to the paved road to Puerto San Carlos, the principal port on Bahia Magdalena. Arriving in town about 4pm, Jerry gives me the nickel tour before we start searching for a hotel for the night.

        It’s back to the hotel, and dreams of what could have been.

Day 5 – January 18^th

        I’m up before dawn, and wind up having to wake Jerry up. It’s a cold, foggy morning, and everything’s wet. We find a place for breakfast, and manage to dodge most of the morning dew dripping onto our table. A stop for some ice, and we’re on our way back to clam beach. The going is treacherous, as a thick, wet fog envelops us on the road. My wipers are having a hard time keeping the windshield clear. The fog is so thick, we need to rely on the GPS to find our turn. Heading south towards camp, we finally break out of the fog, and enjoy the ride as a beautiful day develops in front of us.

        As we approach camp, we speculate on the reception we’ll get. We were supposed to be back yesterday, and don’t know if they’ll be happy to see us safe, or mad that we made them worry. I tell Jerry that no matter what we think, our reception will not be like anything we could anticipate, and I was right. Pulling into camp, our triumphant return is nearly ignored. Jerry and I just shrug our shoulders and go with the flow. While we were gone, lots of clams were taken, and a couple of successful fishing expeditions were mounted. The motorhome group invites us over for dinner, and we decide to go on a short quad ride. Patrica loans me her quad (Thanks again), and we head north, looking for a way to get around the estero to the main beach.

        After an interminable ride, a way to the main beach is found, but it’s now getting late. The decision is made to return tomorrow to investigate the area more thoroughly. Back at camp, we enjoy a clam chowder appetizer before heading over to Les & Kathy’s for our annual chicken parmesana dinner, accompanied by another great sunset.

Day 6 – January 19^th

        Time to go home. The words I hate to hear or think of. But this morning there’s still time for more fun first. The bags of fish fillets appear, and a glorious beer-battered fish fry breakfast takes shape. While the feast preparations continue, the annual ritual of towing Howard’s rig out provides more entertainment, as everyone chants "Howard, get a 4WD!" Jerry displays a previously unknown camp chef skill. Soon the sizzle of battered fish hitting hot oil attracts everyone’s attention, and three servings later, I manage to say "No more", and stagger over to my camp spot to begin packing.

        The incoming tide has invaded camp, and it takes some quick shovel work to keep the campsites dry. While the tent rescue project continues, I complete packing, and am soon ready to return to reality.

        At some point there’s nothing left to do but go, and I’m there. Making my goodbyes, it’s off to the highway. Stopping to air up the tires, I notice one of the mufflers is loose. Breaking out the toolkit, I tighten everything up. Considering the places I’ve been this trip, it’s pretty amazing this has been the only mechanical problem.

        The rest of the trip home is routine. The GPS trip odometer reads 902 miles as I pull into my driveway late afternoon.

        I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed living it.

Roy "Sr Divertido – Magellan" Baldwin

January 19, 2003

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