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DIE TAN - The Story of a Boy and His Jeep
DIE TAN The Adventures of a Boy and his Jeep
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| By 2:00 Josh, John and I were on the beach and getting our gear ready for the adventure at hand. Boats were unloaded. Food was divvied up. Dry bags were stuffed. And beer bottles were emptied. By 3:30 we were on the water and searching for the shallow water wreck of a shrimp trawler we were told was in the lee of our first island. We never found the boat, but we did find hundreds of Pelicans, and several dozen blue footed boobies playing on and above the rocky alcoves we paddled past. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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| My second day in Mulege started nice and slowly with yet another gorgeous sunrise over the Sea of Cortez and I decided to explore the coast a bit and check out the beaches that I had read so much about in my Sea Kayakers Guide to Baja. Each time I rounded a corner I was struck with how beautiful the beach in front of me was. The water here is crystal clear, and the limestone sea-floor gives each Bay a rich hue of greenish blue that fades to sparkling white as the small waves lap at the shoreline. Black volcanic rocks jut out as small seamounts and islands, and deep green date palms sway in the wind to complete the picture of a perfect paradise. I had plans to go paddling here for a few days, and it was all I could do to keep myself from just ditching the Jeep around the next bend in the road and heading out immediately.
Instead I headed back into town to get some supplies together and create some semblance of a plan for the adventure ahead. Needless to say, the first stop was for ice cream.
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Posted by David Burden at
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| My destination for the day was the little coastal town of Mulege, but I wanted to take a break in San Ignacio on my way. I had been told to check out the Mision, and the lagoon system looked pretty inviting as well. Along the road I stopped a few times to wander around in the desert and check out plants, and look for birds. By the time I got to San Igancio I decided to go ahead and stay the night. I set up camp on the edge of the river, and headed into town to wander around the Mision and see what else the town had to offer. Not a lot it turns out. San Igancio is really quite nice, but really quite small as well. The whole tour takes about 15 minutes on foot, plus the time you spend at the Mision. I decided to do my part for the local economy by buying a Mexican cowboy hat and a case of beer. Then it was time to go for a paddle. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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| A quick look around revealed that I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Oh well, there's a dirt road that leads back to town, and this is the kind of thing you have to be ready to do if you're going to ride in new territory. It was just like our early days of kiting on the Eastern Shore, but with cacti and mountains instead of pine forests and crab pots.
Once again, I had only been walking for a few minutes when I was offered a ride by one of the locals. This time he was a young guy named Eduardo on a 150cc dirt bike. So there I am with no shoes on hanging onto the back of a motorcycle on a bumpy dirt road with my kite strapped to my back, and my board under my arm. Back at camp I showed Eduardo how the kite worked and gave him a couple of cold beers for his help.
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Posted by David Burden at
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| When the mountains jumped back up the dirt tracks returned to the “road” and after a couple of kilometers I was desperately searching for another dirt track. At the top of a particularly nasty climb I was surprised to look down and see an '82 Corolla sitting in the bottom of the ravine with 2 old Mexicans tinkering with it amongst a dozen of so gallon jugs of water and gasoline. I pulled over to see if they needed a hand and after a little confusion ended up pulling a climbing rope off the back of the Jeep and tying the little Corolla to the back for the ride out of the desert. We were a solid 30 miles from the highway, and these guys had basically ripped the transmission off the bottom of their little car. The Jeep stood up to the extra cruelty, and those guys rattled around behind me happily enough. There were a couple of spots that I felt bad dragging them through, but I wasn't confident that they could make it on the dirt tracks that I wanted so badly to turn onto. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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| So I loaded up and headed to Puertocitos. The road was recently paved as far as Puertocitos, but you wouldn't know how recently from driving it. My confidence built as I headed South, and the little town of Puertocitos turned out to be a charming collection of waterfront cabanas, shacks, and palapas wrapped in the deep blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. As I rounded the corner past the main beach the road changed personality quicker than my ex-girlfriend on a bad day. Rumbling pavement turned to carnage inducing rock fields with chunks missing that I guess you would call potholes if it looked like they were in a road, but this seemed more like a mule track, so maybe they were just dinosaur footprints. Needless to say, the day was to be defined by bumping, jarring, and crunching, and my speed would rarely exceed 20 mph and often feel more like 20 feet per second. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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| As I paddled up to the boat I didn't know what to expect. My Spanish still pretty much sucks, but I did have a few cold beers strapped on deck to convey my good intentions. At first the men on board looked at me a bit suspiciously, or so it seemed. They had the hardened look of working watermen everywhere, and it can be a bit off-putting. As I closed in on the boat I asked if they had any shrimp and made a move to toss a cold beer up to the guy leaning over the side. He caught the beer, opened it, and asked if I could manage to climb aboard. I tied my kayak to a line they dropped, and used all of my limited climbing skills to scale the side of the trawler and haul myself up on deck with the rest of the cerveza. I was met with the curious eyes of 6 strong men who spoke a language different from my own and who called this particular boat home. I sincerely hoped that I had understood them correctly and that I was not acting like some sort of stupid gringo pirate. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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| From Ensenada I had my first major decision to make. Did I head South toward Pacific beaches and epic surf, or did I head East toward the Sea of Cortez and world class paddling destinations. I had every intention of heading East, but everyone I spoke to warned me of the horrendous quality of the roads there. I trust my Jeep and everything, but was it really fair to subject it to the kind of torture they were talking about. One shopkeeper told me the story of a friend of hers who had hiked the entire coastline. She said that the section of road between Puertocitos and Bahia Gonzales was “impassable”. I got in the car with every intention of heading South... and then drove East. I had come here to see the Sea of Cortez. And it would be warmer than the Pacific. And if the road was really that bad I could always turn around. A few of the butterflies returned, but soon they were overwhelmed by the beauty of the mountains as the Jeep wove its way through the sharp curves, steep drops, and blind corners that define highway 3 through central Baja. The views were awe inspiring, but if you took your eyes off the road you'd end up 1000 ft below as a less inspirational part of the scenery. There were plenty of car shells rusting away down there to encourage respect for this section of road. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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| Of course I immediately got lost. I don't know how many times I had read the directions that said “ignore the signs and just turn here and here and here”. I just didn't read them at the right time. After a quick tour of the seedier parts of Tiajuana (I assume there are less seedy parts) I found the toll road south and gladly paid the 30 pesos to get on the highway. I even managed to have my first decent conversation in Spanish with the toll collector. As with every officer and gas station attendant I had seen to date he apparently thought I was crazy for driving this Jeep from Virginia and couldn't believe that I was going all the way to Cabo. For my part I tried not to offend him or insult his family or country as I stumbled though most of my Spanish vocabulary.
The road south into Baja runs along the coast for the first 100 km or so, and the scenery is immediately breathtaking. I stopped at my first opportunity and could hardly contain my excitement as I jumped over the viewpoint guardrail to check out the crashing surf below. Baja! Damn. Ba Freakin' Ja! Unbelievable.
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Posted by David Burden at
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| As we wandered through the door and took our stools at the tasting bar we met Darrel, our tour guide for the afternoon. He informed us that the free wine tasting was limited, but for $3 we could try 6 wines rather than 1. Sold! As we worked our way through the tasting menu Darrel further informed us that the NM school system had left him a little rusty in the math department, and that it would be our responsibility to let him know when the 6th bottle had been poured. Needless to say we tried everything at least twice and eroded a fair amount of the afternoon right there at the St. Claire tasting bar. Realizing that this would necessitate yet another change in plans we asked Darrel for his recommendations for camping and dinner. “Over the hill there and off the dirt road by the dairy there's a dry river bed. Follow it to the mountainside and you'll find an old platinum mine where you guys could camp if you want.” Seriously? Did he just say platinum mine? Excellent. After he told us about the Mexican butcher we stocked up on red wine and hit the road for old Mexico. |
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Posted by David Burden at
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