M R. F U N - B A J A '9 1
"Fun tickets in my pocket, visions in my brain, my grandfather always told me if I went down I might not ever come back again..."
Well, here I am at the border, heading south, and Jimmy Buffett is blasting from the CD player. It's 2:57 pm on Thursday, October 10, 1991, and I'm reflecting on the six months of preparation for this trip. My name's Roy, but nearly everybody in the desert and Baja know me as Mr. Fun (I got that name during a trip to San Felipe - but that's another story).
It all started back in April, when I was discussing with my fishing and computer buddy, Gary, my long-dreamed-about vacation to Baja, in which we would take 2-3 weeks and drive down to Cabo, making stops at the fishing havens of Mulege, Loreto, La Paz, and the East Cape.
The primary obstacle to fulfilling this dream has always been my inability to take the necessary amount of time off from work. However, as I had recently established a computer consulting business which was doing fairly well, I realized that this may be one of the few times in our lives that we would both have the time and money at the same time to embark on such a venture.
We decided to convert our traditional Labor Day trip to San Quintin, to a full-blown Baja excursion tentatively scheduled for sometime in October.
With this in mind, I spent the next several months making the necessary preparations. As the trip would include some off-road side trips, my major concern was vehicle maintenance. Even through, my 1984 Ford Bronco 4WD has brought me home from Mexico without any problems during numerous previous trips to Baja, it has been my experience that disaster usually befalls those who venture south unprepared. Consequently, my bank account was under a continual siege during what was to become the battle of making my truck Baja-proof; when the smoke finally cleared and all the casualties were counted, my once-healthy bank account was on life-support. However, my truck now sported a new roof rack complete with off-road lights, new u-joints, new dual batteries, new brakes, a new carburetor, a complete tune-up, and a rejuvenated air-conditioning system. My spare parts kit and tool box were properly stocked, and I felt tremendously poorer but at least mechanically prepared.
I then turned my attentions towards my fishing tackle. I prefer using light tackle; I'm one of those nuts who go out and do battle with 40 pound tuna at the outer banks armed with a fresh-water bass stick and 200 yards of 8-10 pound test monofilament. As a result of this abuse, my tackle always gets lots of TLC to keep working properly. I decided to bring 10 reels, each freshly overhauled, bearing new line from 10 to 60 pounds test strength, and 6 rods, properly matched to the reels. The tackle box was garnished with new trolling feathers and terminal supplies. I felt ready for whatever the Sea of Cortez could throw at us.
About six weeks ago we had our first organizational meeting to work on such details as the exact dates of the trip, our proposed stops, and who would be going along. As a result, we decided on taking two cars, leave on October 10th, return on or about October 21st, and the crew would consist of myself, Gary, his girlfriend Anne, our friend Diana, and Diana's friend Elaina.
About a week ago things started to unravel with a domino effect. First, Elaina dropped out, then Diana. With the demise of the gringas, Anne was waffling. I knew what the outcome was going to be when Gary suggested that we abandon our plans and just fly down to the East Cape for 2-3 days of fishing.
As I guessed, this last weekend Gary told me that he and Anne were dropping out. At first I considered just canceling the trip, but then I realized that I may never have the opportunity to do this again. I think that Gary and Anne were worried that their canceling would have a detrimental effect on our friendship, however, as I realized a long time ago, there is a price to pay for everything in life, and the price I pay for doing whatever I want, whenever I want, is to often do those things solo. Jimmy puts it all in perspective as he sings "..be good and you will be lonesome, be lonesome and you will be free..".
Just last night I considered bringing my roommate Al and/or our friend Gibb. However, Al really can't afford to be gone for two weeks, and Gibb is just muy barato. I figured that bringing either or both of them would cost too much - our friendships. I could just visualize myself putting them on the bus to Tijuana after they drive me outta my mind (I did that once to a girl we took to San Felipe - but that's also another story). Oh well, it was a good idea, but I'd rather keep them as friends.
As I would be going alone, I decided to write this diary in order to try to convey the feel of the trip to those who couldn't go along - so here goes:
D A Y 1
San Diego to San Quintin October 10, 1991
"...you can shake the hand of the mango man, as he greets you at the border..."
Before I cross the border I've made stops at the Auto Club for Mexican auto insurance, Von's for trip munchies and drinking water, and at Jack-in-the-Box for one last hamburger before leaving the country.
Once I cross the border I have a surrealistic feeling that I'm not really beginning my dream Baja trip. It's just me and Jimmy blasting from the CD player. As I'm rolling down the road parallel to the border fence, a motorcycle cop pulls up next to me, and I get ready to pull out the obligatory $20 bill. To my surprise he pulls away after taking a brief glance at me - I guess I'm just getting too old to hassle. As I get to the first toll booth, I see that the toll has been raised again. The passenger car rate is now 6,000 pesos. Converting currencies is now a snap, as the standard exchange rate is 3,000 pesos to the dollar. I hand the attendant 2 bucks and banzai through the gate.
The first real stop on this journey is to be Mulege. However, as Gary has indicated that Mulege is a 17 hour drive from the border, I have left a half day early and plan to stop at San Quintin today in order to be able to make Mulege during daylight tomorrow.
Traffic is light and I make good time. The road is in good condition except for the continuing repairs being made in the Salsipuedes area. Passing through Ensenada, I notice the town seems a lot busier than during my last visit. I stop for gas at Santo Tomas, which now sells Magna Sin (87 octane unleaded). Continuing on, I plan on refueling at San Quintin. Upon arriving, however, the regular gas stop is closed. I decide to stay at the La Pinta hotel and buy gas there in the morning. A lot of people don't know that the La Pinta Hotels in Baja have their own Pemex pumps.
It's just getting dark as I get to the La Pinta. Upon checking in, I discover that the La Pinta chain is no longer the budget hotel for Baja travelers, as the rate for a single is $63.00! Who said that Mexico was a bargain? Since I'm here I go ahead and check in. The room is more than I need, with two queen beds, A/C, an ocean-view patio, and American satellite TV. At dinner in the hotel restaurant, I meet two guys from New Orleans sitting at the next table who have never been to Baja before. I get curious trying to determine their sexual orientation, so I strike up a conversation. They were trying to get to San Felipe, but missed the turn-off in Ensenada and surfaced here in San Quintin - 300 miles from their target. The one guy keeps asking me where he can find alligator boots. He keeps taking about the cholera epidemic in Central America and refuses to drink anything but bottled beer; he orders three baked potatoes for dinner, thinking that's the one food which won't make him sick. When his order arrives, he smothers the potatoes with the mexican version of sour cream - good luck! After an unremarkable dinner of carne asada, I return to my room and try to take advantage of my $63 investment by watching Cinemax on satellite TV and turning the A/C on full. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow, which I consider to be the real start of the trip. I haven't taken any photos yet, as I'm still in familiar territory.
D A Y 2
San Quintin to Mulege October 11, 1991
"...down to the Sea of Cortez..."
I get up to discover that it's rained during the night. I'm eager to get going. During breakfast at the hotel's restaurant I meet a young couple from San Diego who are on their way to Cabo San Lucas to party for the weekend. They suggest that they follow me as they've never been to Baja before. They don't have a clue! He thinks that Cabo is about 6 to 8 hours away. They both turn white when I tell them that Cabo is at least 20 hours away. While they're sitting there in a stupor I decide to get going. I never see them again.
The hotel is out of gas. I am hoping that El Rosario has gas or my trip may come to a screeching halt. On the way south I notice that our usual Labor Day destination, Honey's R.V. Park, has changed ownership. The new name is Enrique's.
Gas is no problem at El Rosario. I decided to gas at every stop in case there are any spot shortages. It's raining intermittently as I head up the hill to Catavina. The road deteriorates substantially as I approach Catavina. There are large deep potholes about 1 foot on each side of the centerline, which forces you to straddle the center of the road to get a comfortable ride. Passing is almost impossible!
After playing chicken with the north-bound traffic while dodging potholes for the last 30 miles, I try a pit stop at Catavina, where I meet some gringos returning from the south. They tell me that both the road and the weather get better ahead. Continuing on through thunder and lightning, I notice that the road does get better after passing the Bahia de los Angeles turnoff. I gas up again at Villa Jesus Maria. By the time I reach Guerrero Negro in the early afternoon the weather has cleared. I smile to myself and am overcome with a perverse sense of satisfaction when I see that the La Pinta Hotel there is closed.
After passing the 28th parallel marker and entering Baja California Sur, I decide on lunch in Guerrero Negro. As the road turns east, it looks like I'm making much better time than originally expected. I gas up at Vizcaino and continue on. I get real excited when I reach San Ignacio, as the whole valley is lined with palm trees, giving me the first suggestion of a tropical climate.
Just before reaching the grade at Volcan Las Tres Virgenes, I get my first peek of blue water - the Sea of Cortez. The grade is steep. I wonder how some of the Mexican trucks are able to climb it. I round a corner and find myself on the beach. I'm excited now!
I reach Santa Rosalia just as the ferry is pulling in. Steering with one hand, I'm trying to take pictures as I'm driving through the middle of town - loco gringo! As I get towards the south end of town, I come across two federales trying to hitch a ride south; I start to slow down and be neighborly, but reality takes over when I think about traveling with two mexican strangers carrying machine guns, and I engage the warp drive instead. Continuing on, I'm only about a half-hour away from Mulege. Pretty soon I see the turn-off for Punta Chivato. Gary has talked about this place and I'm tempted to stop, but I decide to continue on and will check out this area later.
Discounting for my lunch stop, I've made the 434 miles in 7 1/2 hours, partially in bad weather. Pretty good by Baja standards.
The town of Mulege reminds me of a little European village, with its narrow streets and closely packed buildings. After reaching the mouth of the Rio Santa Rosalia, I stop for pictures. After hundreds of miles of desert, this is just like an oasis. As I open the door I'm hit with such a blast of humid air that my sunglasses instantly fog up.
I decide on the Hotel Serinidad, as their advertisements seem to be aimed at the anglers. 50 rooms, on the water, A/C, pool/bar. The single rate is $40, but they offer a 10% discount for cash. After checking in, I decide I like this place and advise the desk that I'll stay for two days. Nice firm beds, and a fan in addition to the A/C. The bar has satellite TV. I ask about panga fishing, which is $90 through the hotel. The desk clerk says see what he can do. A while later a free-lancer comes to my room and agrees to take me the next day for $80. I'm excited. After a swim, a couple of drinks at the swim-up pool bar, and an outdoor patio dinner, I get my tackle ready for tomorrow.
D A Y 3
October 12, 1991
"...There's whitecaps on the water, and I'm watching for waterspouts..."
At 5:30 am there's a knock on the door. I've been up for an hour, eager with anticipation of dorado, tuna, and the other exotic fish in these waters. My skipper's name is Marcos. I think that half the men in Mexico are named Marcos!
We walk to the launch ramp, which is right next to the hotel. His boat is the standard panga - bench seats, no console. As we leave the dock I'm pleasantly surprised when he pulls out seat cushions from the storage locker. Marcos indicates that there are tuna outside. We head out to sea. I notice that there is a squall line near the mouth of Bahia de la Concepcion, but Marcos doesn't seem concerned. About 3 miles out we start to troll feathers. Within 1/2 an hour we have boated 3 small dorado - in the 10 pound range. As we continue heading outside, it seems to me that the storm is intensifying and heading in our direction.
About an hour later we hookup our first yellowfin - about 15 pounds. We boat 2 more tuna in quick succession. The wind has kicked up; thunder and lightning nearby. We start to head in, but the storm has cut us off from shore. All of a sudden, huge drops begin to pelt us. The deafening roar of thunder seems right overhead. I glance to the right - there is a waterspout not more than 1/2 mile from us.
The heavy rain has flattened the seas. We head north towards Punta Chivato to try to escape the storm. As we near Isla Santa Inez, we break into good weather. We're soak to the bone, but are excited to be out of the storm and decide to continue fishing. We start trolling small rapalas along the southern shore and are rewarded with a number of cabrilla from 3-5 pounds. We head outside with larger rapalas and within no time our reels are straining against the pull of some of the largest bonitos I've ever seen. After tiring of this we moved to the north shore and caught a number of good-sized sierra. Yum - ceviche!
We pulled back into the harbor at about noon, accompanied be the wide-eyed stares of the locals. All the other boats came in before the storm, and they thought we went down. They were real impressed when we unloaded our catch.
After taking a nap and cleaning up, I spend the afternoon at the bar. It's 95% gringos, mostly people who have flown in on private planes. I'm talking with a couple of guys from Arizona and am amused when they ask me if I've heard about the gringo fisherman who went out in the storm today and caught a slew of fish. I never let on that it was me!
Just by luck, I'm at the Serinidad on a Saturday night. Unknown to me, the hotel is famous for it's Saturday night barbecues. People show up from miles around. I gorge myself on barbecue and go to bed wondering if I'm in the middle of an Old Milwaukee beer commercial - I think the only way it could get any better is if the Swedish all-girl sky-diving team would drop in!
D A Y 4
Mulege to Loreto October 13, 1991
"...just a few friends..."
Heading south from the hotel after a breakfast of eggs with pink yolks (I almost think I'm in a foreign country), I notice a large Pemex station which is much easier to get to than the one in Mulege. I make note of this for the return trip.
After climbing over some foothills, I am rewarded with a beautiful sight - the calm clear waters of the Bahia de la Concepcion. I pass a number of gorgeous camping spots that I will want to investigate in the future. This area is a postcard maker's dream - miles of white sand beaches and crystal clear flat water. Some spots remind me of the set of Gilligan's Island - I keep looking for Ginger to come running out of the palm trees wanting to be rescued.
Turning slightly inland to cross the Concepcion peninsula, I put the pedal to the metal in anticipation of today's destination - Loreto. The town itself is situated on a broad plain protected by Isla El Carmen. After refueling upon entering the town, I consult the Auto Club guide to decide on a hotel. The best deal seems to be at the Hotel Mision de Loreto, which is located on the waterfront. As I reach the malecon, it appears that the area has had some recent improvements. Calle de la Playa has been widened to four lanes with a center divider. A new breakwater is protecting the sportfishing fleet. The hotel is located right next door to the sportfishing concession. I'm quoted a single rate of $30. The room has 2 double beds (which were pretty mushy), but the A/C works well. The amenities include a pool, restaurant and 2 bars.
Sportfishing trips are quoted through the hotel for $80 + tax for 2 people. I mingle around the bar area with the hopes of hooking up a fishing partner. I luck out and connect with a group of seven guys from L.A. who do this every year. They're also parrotheads - we have a great time. One of their ringleaders is Fred, and we hit it off immediately. It seems that one of their group couldn't go fishing today because of the 2 per boat rule. So Fred instinctively invited me to be his fishing partner for tomorrow, thus allowing their whole group to go.
After dinner we hang out in the bar singing Jimmy Buffett songs - "..talking 'bout who caught what, and who sat on their butt.." - Too much fun! The walls and ceiling of the upstairs bar are covered with the business cards of previous visitors. Feeling the urge to stake out a claim, I staple one of my Mr. Fun business cards in a prominent spot on the west wall.
Everybody crashes early to get ready for tomorrow.
D A Y 5
October 14, 1991
"....got to stop wishin', got to go fishin'..."
I'm up at 4:30. This could be the day. For years I have been dreaming about getting a light-tackle sailfish, and the waters around Loreto are currently producing them in regular numbers.
I meet Fred and the others downstairs and we load up their truck with all the fishing gear. We head over to Alfredo's Sportfishing and transfer all the gear to their truck. After a cup of coffee we head across the street to load the boats. Alfredo's uses the larger pangas, with front console and center pass-through. As we leave the harbor I convince Fred that we should buy bait for $10 instead of spending the first hour of the trip making bait ourselves.
As we head out to the fishing grounds, we start rigging our gear. Once we clear the north point of Isla El Carmen, we turn southeast and begin to troll feathers. After about 30 minutes we change tactics and start slow-trolling live bait. Almost immediately my 12 pound test is being ripped out of my Penn International 12T. We are soon rewarded with the acrobatics of a jumping sailfish - my first. 55 minutes later my catch is in the boat and we start looking for more. Although we didn't hookup any more sailfish, we caught a number of nice-sized dorado.
The wind has picked up considerably, and we are headed straight into the wind chop. As we clear the north point, the seas have built up to about 6-8 feet. The next hour and a half is misery as we corkscrew our way back to the harbor, soaked to the bone and holding on for dear life.
Alfredo's has a fish filleting table behind the storefront, and they will store and freeze your catch if you like. I have contributed the sailfish to Fred and the boys, and we have decided to eat the dorado for dinner at Alfredo's restaurant. We arrange for dinner for eight people, with half the dorado prepared vera cruz style and the other half in fresh garlic and butter.
Needless to say, dinner was a smash hit, starting with the smoked sailfish dip. After soup, salad, two presentations of dorado, rice, beans, tortillas, and several pitchers of margaritas, everybody staggered back to the hotel.
We ended the evening watching the Braves-Pirates playoff game in the bar. I gave Fred my card and he promised to be in touch for their next Baja trip. We said our goodbyes and I started to get ready for my next stop - La Paz.
D A Y 6
Loreto to La Paz October 15, 1991
"...studied the language tapes and read all the books, but nothing prepared me for my very first look..."
On the way south I decide to check out Puerto Escondido, which is about 15 miles from central Loreto. As I pass the airport it's evident that Fonatur (the government's tourism agency) has targeted the Loreto area for some large scale developments. There's a new El Presidente Hotel and an 18 hole golf course under construction. The Nopalo area looks ripe for a condominium invasion.
Making the turnoff to Puerto Escondido, I head down to the waterfront, which is at the end of a 1.5 mile long paved road. It's true that this is one of the best natural harbors in the world, with a large anchorage area protected by a narrow channel. The main residential area appears to be a well-maintained R.V. park which seems to cater to gringos.
Upon returning to the highway, I am greeted by the towering Sierra de la Giganta, an impressive mountain range overlooking the Sea of Cortez. Continuing on, the road turns inland and begins a climb up to the central plateau. I stop for gas at the outskirts of Villa Insurgentes, just before the road turns south. The reality of urban life strikes me, as I'm bombarded by 14 window washers, each trying to stake a claim on my pocket change. The solution is simple - I just throw some change out the window and let them fight over it as I drive off. The next 25 kilometers are a nightmare, as there is a tremendous amount of slow-moving traffic in both directions between Villa Insurgentes and Cuidad Constitucion. I just settle in and go with the flow at about 25mph. As I enter Cuidad Constitucion, I'm greeted by the first traffic signal since Ensenada.
Once I clear the town, traffic eases substantially, and I'm able to resume warp speed. I stop again for fuel at El Cien, so named as it sits on the 100 kilometer marker. It appears that El Cien's sole purpose is to provide a gas stop between Cuidad Constitucion and La Paz. As the kilometer markers click away, I'm getting eager for a view of La Paz. Just before I drop down to the coastal plain on a steep grade, I get my first look at my prize for today, La Paz!
Before reaching La Paz, I turn left on the paved road headed north to San Juan de la Costa. My friend Gary has asked me to check out the area as a possible retirement site. After proceeding for about 10 miles on a deteriorating paved road which lies on a bluff above the beach, I get frustrated and do a 180 back towards La Paz. I still have no idea what lies further on that road - oh well, maybe next time.
As I approach town, I am trying to decide between my two hotel choices, the Hotel los Arcos, which caters to tourists, and the Hotel Perla, which seems to be a more traditional local hotel, both of which are located on the malecon. After driving by both, I decide on the Hotel Perla. I drive around the hotel three times looking for a parking space, which is impossible to find during mid-afternoon. Getting pissed off, I decide to drive out to Pichilingue to check out the area's famed beaches, and will try the hotel later.
The drive to Pichilingue is marred only by passing the huge Pemex refinery on the peninsula overlooking the town. The smell from the refinery is all the proof necessary to place this facility on the Greenpeace hit list. The ferry station is located just before I pass Playa Pichilingue. I continue on the recently paved road all the way to the tip of the peninsula at Playa Tecolote, passing a number of inlets covered with mangrove.
Upon returning to the hotel, I find parking right out in front. I check in for $32. My truck won't fit in their parking garage, so they have me park in a fenced in area used for the hotel's vehicles. The air-conditioned room has two queen beds (nice and firm) and Mexican TV from the mainland. I have dinner at the attached La Terrazza restaurant/bar, and retire looking forward to moving on to Rancho Leonero tomorrow, where at last there will be people I know.
D A Y 7
La Paz to Rancho Leonero October 16, 1991
"...expatriated American, feeling so all alone..."
I haven't been to Rancho Leonero since 1987, and I'm looking forward to fishing with it's owner, John. I had a great time then, and I'm hoping for a repeat experience. At least I'll be somewhere where I'll know somebody.
Heading down Highway 1, I soon pass the turn-off to Todos Santos and start climbing into the foothills. As I reach the summit it's hard to tell the small town of El Triunfo is located deep in Baja, as the scenery is so green and lush. I continue down the narrow mountain road and know I'm getting close when I pass San Bartolo. After crossing a wide arroyo, I turn a corner and wham! - the East Cape lies dead ahead. I gas up at Los Barriles and hope I can remember the dirt road turn-off to Rancho Leonero.
No problema - there's a sign up ahead for the turn-off. Four miles later I pull into the ranch. I jump from my truck and head for the office, anticipating a familiar face. The manager's name is Kelly, and I'm crestfallen when she says that John is back in San Diego, and wouldn't be returning for another week. Apparently, he's been delayed by some paperwork that needs signing. I go ahead and check in, figuring I'll just make the best of an unfortunate situation and try to make some new friends with the other guests.
Rancho Leonero is a small hotel, with only 11 rooms. October is usually booked by large corporate groups, and I'm waiting for the next group of about 20-25 who are supposed to check in this afternoon. It's not until dinnertime that I find out that they're not arriving for two more days and that in the meantime, I'm the only guest in the hotel. I begin to think that it's a big conspiracy. I have dinner in front of the bar's satellite TV, watching game 6 of the Braves-Pirates playoffs.
D A Y 8
October 17, 1991
"...talking 'bout who caught what, and who sat on their butt..."
As I arrive in the dining room for morning coffee, the area is littered with at least a dozen hotel employees waiting for something to do. I figure that I might as well go fishing today, as the weather is perfect, and once the new group arrives, all the boats will have been chartered. The captain seems grateful when I agree to go fishing, as he now has some work for his crew.
I have breakfast while the staff get a boat ready. Rancho Leonero advertises that they have the fastest boats in the fleet, and they're not kidding! - center console Four Winns with 225hp Evinrude outboards. My captain's name is Martin and he is serious about fishing. We begin be heading straight out towards blue marlin territory trolling standard large tuna feathers on the inside teaser lines, and large zuker's on the main trolling lines.
After about 2 hours, Martin gets a radio report of a large school of tuna off Punta Colorado and off we go, passing every boat in the Buena Vista fleet on the way. We spot the crashing boil of tuna and troll right through the middle of them - nothing. We continue this for a half hour and are coming up zero. In fishing, when one thing doesn't work, you try something else. We moved out in front of the fish and began to yo-yo jigs about 100 feet down. Instantly, both rods went bendo - tuna. Martin boats his 20 lb. fish fairly quickly on his 40 lb. test line, and it is apparent that I have a much larger fish trying to break my 15 lb. test line. After about 15 minutes we get color - a yellowfin in the 50 lb. range! I work it to almost within gaff range, but the fish sees the boat and effortlessly swims to the depths, carrying nearly 100 yards of my line with him. We follow this routine 4 more times before I manage to get the fish within gaffing range. Martin drops the fish into the storage bin and we continue on. We start working our way back to the Rancho.
I have a great dinner of barbecued chicken and tuna (I wonder where that came from?) in front of the TV, watching game 7 of the playoffs.
D A Y 9
Rancho Leonero to Cabo San Lucas loop
October 18, 1991
"...changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes, nothing remains quite the same..."
I decide for this to be my tourista day, and after breakfast (more pink-yolked eggs) I head on down Highway 1 towards Cabo. Pretty soon I pass the marker indicating that I've just crossed the Tropic of Cancer.
As I pass the turn-off for the airport at San Jose del Cabo, it's obvious that there's an explosion of growth in process. Grading has started for 4 more lanes of highway from the airport towards town. As I pass through San Jose del Cabo nothing seems familiar from my 1983 trip there. Dodging construction vehicles I continue towards land's end. I'm amazed at the transformation going on at Los Cabos - it's evident that the area is caught in the grasp of that dreaded disease - real estate development.
Entering Cabo San Lucas, I discover why there's no longer a ferry to Puerto Vallarta, a huge pink monstrosity of a hotel has engulfed half the wharf! Shaking my head in disbelief, I continue out to land's end for a couple of pictures. On the way back I have a hard time locating any of the old landmarks in town. Disgusted, I hurry north and look forward to returning to the ranch via the dirt road along the beach through Los Frailes.
The last time I had been on the Los Frailes road was in 1983, right after it was built. Today's trail bears little resemblance to the nice road from back then. Every water crossing is washed out, and I have to traverse some of the ravines in 4wd - low range! The only thing that keeps me going is the apparently-fresh tracks I'm following. After 3 hours and 30 miles of an off-roader's dream I arrive at Los Frailes to find the desolate pristine beach I'd remembered blighted by a hotel and restaurant on the beach. As I reach the beach, it dawns on me that I'm really stupid for having taken this route solo, as should I have a breakdown, it could be weeks before I'm ever found. Oh well, I'll take being lucky over being good any day.
Stopping at the restaurant for a rest and a cold one, the proprietor was amazed that I had come from the south. Apparently the road had been deemed unpassable by the locals for the last two weeks, ever since the last storm. Smug with having gotten through, I post my business card on the wall and ask about road conditions to the north. Apparently a new paved road is coming in to Cabo Pulmo from La Rivera, and I'm instructed to take the left fork about 5 miles past Cabo Pulmo to catch the new road.
Passing Cabo Pulmo I wonder how much longer the area will retain the charm of its isolation, considering the new road coming in. Turning inland after finding the indicated fork in the road, I head up an arroyo and soon find myself at a freshly graded road, which I follow for a few miles until it turns to pavement.
Heading back to the rancho, I'm having mixed emotions about what I've seen today. I'm struck by the devastation which is being wrought on such a pristine area, and yet I'm glad that I've been able to experience the beauty of Los Cabos before the condo salesmen, Japanese tourists, and lawyers descend on the area and devour it like a storm of locusts.
Arriving back at Rancho Leonero, I find myself secretly hoping that a big hurricane would hit the cape and take out a few thousand condos and send the wanna-be's crying back home.
There's plenty of baked tuna steaks for dinner.
D A Y 10
Rancho Leonero to La Paz via Punta Arena
October 19, 1991
"...wonder why we ever go home..."
I get up debating what to do - try to stay for a couple more days, or begin the trek north. As there seems to be some doubt as to whether or not there will be room for me at Rancho Leonero when the big group arrives later today, I take it as an omen that it's time to go. As La Paz would be my destination, and it was such a short trip, I figured on taking a side trip on the way to either Todos Santos or to Punta Arena de la Ventana.
Kelly and her husband Ralph indicated that they weren't too impressed with the Todos Santos area. This tipped the scales in favor of Punta Arena and the Hotel Las Arenas (I really didn't want to go back through Los Cabos anyway). As we will find out later, this was probably my single bad decision of the trip. My maps showed a dirt road along the beach from Punta Pescadero to Punta Arena, but Ralph expressed his doubts that it was passable, so I decided to just take the pavement there.
Retracing my route back towards La Paz, I take the highway 286 turn-off to San Jose de los Planes. The ad for Hotel Las Arenas in the auto club guide says go through los Planes and turn left. When I get there I discover that the "turn left" meant another 12 miles of dirt road to get to the hotel. I say to myself - "OK I've done this before", and banzai out to the point. I'm in a hurry as nature is calling. Once I arrive, to the detriment of my normally calm demeanor, I discover the hotel has been closed for some time. I'm so pissed off I drop my pants and leave a message for the management in the middle of the hotel driveway. Having left a piece of more than my mind there, I headed back to La Paz.
I figured to try the Hotel Los Arcos this time, but when I got there they quoted a single rate of $55 - adios and back to Hotel Perla. I had dinner at La Terraza and drank pina coladas while watching game 1 of the world series there. I hear German being spoken at the table next to me so I shock the young couple by introducing myself to them. They indicate that they're vacationing from Vienna so I ask if they might know my friends Thomas and Sylvia Gruber who live there. Their faces light up and they got all excited, Sylvia and Thomas were their friends also. We had a couple of drinks together and I asked them to pass along my greetings to the Gruber's. I remember that Thomas has always wanted to go billfishing in Mexico, so I pass along a suggestion that Thomas get in touch with me if he wants to try it next year - you never know!
D A Y 11
La Paz to Punta Chivato October 20, 1991
"...if the phone doesn't ring, it's me..."
I gas up as I leave La Paz. Heading north I climb up to the central plateau and stop again at El Cien. As I get closer towards Cuidad Constitucion, I can see the low clouds shrouding the west coast of Baja. The window wash boys at Villa Insurgentes remember me and are quick to do a good job. However, it's Sunday and it seems everybody in town is in line to buy gas. I get impatient after about 20 minutes and pull out of line and continue on, figuring that I'll wait 'til Loreto to gas up.
I take advantage of the afternoon light to get some good pictures along the way, and continue uneventfully towards Loreto. I pop open a soda - all of a sudden the truck looses ignition and coasts to a stop. My spirits sink as it feels exactly like the time the electronics module failed, and I figure it to be at least a 2 hour job to replace - fortunately I carry a spare and tools. However, to my good fortune I discover that while opening the soda with the opener on my keyring, I accidently had switched off the ignition. Just before rolling to a complete stop, I switch it back on and return to full impulse power.
The gas stop in Loreto is worse than Villa Insurgentes. After waiting a half hour I top off and continue north around Bahia Concepcion. I decide to check out the Punta Chivato area and spend the night there. Refueling at the gas stop outside Mulege that I noticed on the way down, I make a couple more photo stops before reaching the Punta Chivato turn-off. The dirt road is well graded - I'm doing a comfortable 40mph on it.
The Hotel Punta Chivato and I get off to a bad start, and then it goes downhill. First, I'm quoted at single rate of $55 + 15% tax for a waterfront room, or $45 + tax for a non-view room. I take the cheaper room. The bed is mushy and the A/C doesn't work that great - oh well. I head over to the office with thoughts of calling home on their phone, but when they quote me a rate of $20 for 3 minutes, I say forget it and head on over to the restaurant for dinner. The waiters flatly refuse to serve me until all the larger groups have been taken care of, as they are only thinking of the tips they will get. I am patient and don't get too upset, as I know what goes around comes around, and my revenge will come when people read about my experience there.
I finally get served and find myself in the familiar situation of dining while watching the world series - this time game 2.
D A Y 12
Punta Chivato to Bahia de Los Angeles
October 21, 1991
"...take another road to a higher place, disappear without a trace..."
At breakfast, it seems that the staff is trying to make up for lost ground, as the waiters are almost falling over each other trying to make sure that I'm satisfied. As I check out, I compare my stay here with my earlier stop at the Hotel Serinidad down the road. In a nutshell, I'd say that Hotel Punta Chivato offers more atmosphere, while Hotel Serinidad is a better value. For solo travelers there's no choice - go to the Serinidad.
Heading back down the dirt road towards the highway, I decide on taking a north fork in the dirt road which looks like it will cut several miles from the route - big mistake! The next thing I know I'm on another billy goat trail. After about a half hour of rock climbing and tree dodging I finally emerge at the road. I consult with engineering and decide that it's ok to engage the warp drive.
Passing through Santa Rosalia again, I soon turn inland and head up the grade towards Vulcan de Las Tres Virgenes, a large mountain mass punctuated with three volcanoes. During my gas stop at San Ignacio, I have an animated conversation with a local boy. He's admiring my truck, and has to show me the exotic stereo system he has installed in his old junk-heap truck.
As I'm continuing my northward-bound journey, I am faced with an important decision - what's my destination? There are three basic choices: (a) continue straight through to San Quintin, (b) cut over to Bahia de los Angeles, or (c) take the dirt cut-off at Nueva Chapala and try to go past Bahia Gonzaga and make Laguna Percibu, just south of San Felipe. My adventurous side is leaning towards the last choice, but I elect to wait until I get gas at the Bahia de los Angeles turn-off to make my final decision.
When I get to the gas stop, I meet a couple from L.A. on their way home who have just had their windshield taken out by a buzzard hovering near a road kill. They just wanna go home. I meet another couple towing a boat to Bahia de los Angeles, and am discussing my plight with them. He indicated that he comes down here all the time, and that recently he was on the Bahia Gonzaga road, and that it took him 9 hours to get through. Oh well - scratch that option! After just sitting on the road for about 10 minutes, I put the truck in gear and head north, but my heart's not really into it. After a couple of miles I turn around and head down to Bahia de los Angeles, passing the buzzard victims with their sunglasses plastered against their faces by the wind.
The town itself is just about the private domain of the Diaz family. Their private generating station provide electric power for the whole town - but only from 7am through 10pm. Papa Diaz died in 1987, and Mama moved to Ensenada, so it appears that son Sammy is the new patriarch.
My first stop is the Villa Vitta Motel. They give me a choice of rooms for either $35 or $50. After inspecting them both I decide on neither and figure I'll just get a room with the Diaz's, like we usually do when we travel here on our motorcycles. I meet up with two guys named John and Jim who travel through Baja all the time. Jim's going fishing solo tomorrow, so I ask if he wants to share a panga. He says great, and we arrange to meet for dinner at the Diaz's restaurant.
Heading on over to the Diaz's place, I enter the office and just as I start to ask for a room, there's an explosion out back. Billowing black smoke is rising from the local llantera - tire shop. It seems that their welder started a fire. Everyone grabs fire extinguishers and rush towards the acrid fumes. By the time I get there, the good stuff is already over. After rubbernecking for a while, I head back to the Diaz's, and get a room on the beach for $22.
The tostadas at dinner are great, and Jim is entertaining us with stories of his 1972 trip to La Paz, which was before the road was paved. He said it took 2 1/2 weeks to get there from the border. After dinner, I get my tackle ready for tomorrow's yellowtail fishing.
D A Y 13
Bahia de Los Angeles to San Diego
October 22, 1991
"...I had to cruise on back home..."
I'm up most of the night, getting regular visits from my old friend, Montezuma. After an endless series of bathroom stops, I think I've stress-tested the plumbing beyond it's design limitations. The last thing I want to do now is go fishing. I take this as an omen that Baja is getting tired of me, and I've worn out my welcome, kind of like when your in-laws come to visit and you think they've moved in! As the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show's Doctor Peabody once said - "Frizzle Frazzle Frozzle Fromme, time for this one to come home!".
About 6:30 John and Jim show up. I let Jim know I'm not going and why, and they tell me they have a supply of the prescription medication, Lomotil. While John goes back to their room to get the medicine, I get the truck loaded for a banzai trip home. Taking the Lomotil gives me an immediate psychological boost. We say our goodbyes and I'm on the road by 7:00.
There's been a marked change in the weather. It sprinkles on me as I reach the main road. The sky is threatening, and I expect more rain as I turn north and head for Catavina. The rain never materializes, but it remains solid overcast all the way home. After a few miles I pass a couple of bicycle riders heading south - I wave as we pass, thinking those guys are nuts!
The Lomotil has done it's job, and I'm feeling pretty good as I reach Catavina. I refuel both me and the truck at the La Pinta Hotel there. Continuing on, the road seems worse than on the way down, but the traffic is light and I make good time.
I gas up again at El Rosario, as I assume San Quintin's Pemex station is still out of commission. Rolling through San Quintin, I almost stop at Lorenzo's Tackle Shop, looking for bargains, but the lure of home is getting stronger and I increase speed to warp 9.
The gas stop at Santo Tomas is closed, so I continue to Ensenada for my last drink of Magna Sin before reaching home. I hit the border about 3:00. I had planned on taking a picture at the border, but there's no wait, and I breeze straight through. I pull into my driveway at 3:37pm.
E P I L O G U E
"...ain't it funny how it all turns out, I guess we are the people our parents warned us about..."
I've always believed that almost everything that happens to you in life is a matter of attitude. That's why they call me Mr. Fun. Two weeks alone in Baja, and look at the results - major fishing action, new friends made, and new places visited. No real problems of any kind, especially mechanical. This is a nice change from the horror stories which often accompany Baja trips. As I said earlier, I'd rather be lucky than good any day.
I have a great feeling of accomplishment. I don't think there are many other people who could spend two weeks alone in Baja and have nearly as much fun as I did.
I haven't even unpacked yet, and already the plans for the sequel are in the works. It's cast could include Gary, the gringas, Al, Gibb, Fred, or even my Austrian friend Thomas. It might even be a rework of the original script and be another solo venture, or it could include a whole new cast of characters - we'll see. In any event, get ready for BAJA 92 - coming soon everywhere!
October 25, 1991