Boots Across the Baja

4. Desert Stars

This is the fourth of a seven-part series about a December 1982 trek across the Baja—enjoy! Will post Part 5 tomorrow. Part 1 is here. —Ken

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The highway angled northward out of town, desert-flat with hardly a curve. It was only twenty miles to the pass, which took us a little off course, but nearer our destination.

Gazing out at Mexico through the dirty bus window, I thought about the great fun that lay ahead. We would be sleeping on the desert floor without a tent. We omitted them to save weight. Instead, we each brought a bivy sack, a rainproof shell that slips over a sleeping bag. We would have to find the ranch at Santa Clara, then water, as well as the hidden entrance to the canyon.

The sparse description in the old guidebook said there would be a small waterfall a quarter-mile up the canyon, with possibly a short rope on the left. It would provide confirmation we were in the right place. We would ascend the gorge to Campo Noche and look for the way up Picacho del Diablo.

Despite our heavy loads, we brought only a short rope and ice axes, but no crampons for our boots, hoping we could manage without. We planned to cross the escarpment near a peak called Botella de Azul, or Blue Bottle, then cruise down the other side of the mountains, like squealing kids on toboggans if things went well. None of it should be particularly difficult or technical, we thought, but the potential for adventure, particularly at the start of winter, was quite enticing.

I tuned out the noisy stillness of the bus ride, though there was hardly time to work up a good yawn before the driver let his foot off the throttle and rolled the coach to a stop. I was looking out a half-open window when I noticed the driver looking at us in the mirror.

“Aqui?” I asked. Were we there already?

“Si. Esto. El paso.”