Punta Conception Baja California 10/22
As I have insisted many years there is no better way to celebrate Columbus Day than to explore your own remote niche of North America. Having a flair for such activities, I spent the past two years readying truck and gear for an ambitious two-week fish camp adventure to Punta Concepcion, Baja California starting October 12, certainly not your hackneyed run to the same ol’ place.
After having the engine rebuilt and completely overhauled with all new parts (too many to list) in March of 2012, my mechanic after this last smog check in January tuned Li’l Miracle to the canorous best it has ever hummed. Also the rebuilt transmission and clutch are strong and shifting like a butter.
I added fender flares and new splash guards to keep mud off the body, four new Rancho 5000 shocks, an extra leaf for each rear spring, a roof rack attached to the top of the fiberglass shell reinforced with 2x4 studs and a laptop server rack with a three-outlet 12v charging station that sits in the passenger seat to keep all the new electronic gadgets happy.
Monday afternoon we begin our prosaic gest with a visit to Star Ice in Chino, to where I brought all my coolers. One 25-pound bag of cubes went into the 40-quart drink hitter, two 25-pound blocks into the 100-quart food box and three 25-pound blocks stashed in the 120-quart topped with 35 pounds of dry ice we call the porta-blizzard. With this technique there is a better chance of having ice for your Coronas the next week while you are sweating in the Baja wilderness.
Once home I laded the truck with all the necessary equipment so that all I had to do is wake up in the morning and drive.
Tuesday at nine I was south on I-15 heading for Tecate. We have found it best to enter Mexico here as it is out of the way of any potential craziness of the big city crossings of Tijuana or Mexicali. You can drive through the border without being checked no matter how much of a load you have. You pass through town and onto the sleek modern toll highway east in minutes. There is no line and the many military police guards or whatever they are don’t even look.
I had to look… for somewhere to park so I could purchase a tourist visa. It is needed if you travel past any Baja border town for over 72 hours. Thing is nobody at any other point south along the highway has ever checked me and probably never will but there is still an outside chance you will be asked to show it somewhere down the line. Also from my studies I have learned if you have a need to use your Mexican auto insurance and it is ascertained you are a peccant gringo illegally in Mexico with no permit, your insurance will be void and you will go to jail if you are involved in a crash. I bought the Mexican insurance at Auto Club where I was informed I could not buy comprehensive on my vehicle because it is over 20 years old. Last time it was 18. I used to insure it for $10,000 to cover contents but no more. Now I must be really careful not to get stolen. It happened before in 1997 in front of the Hotel Catavina. I went out to the lot in the morning to head home and my truck was gone. My buddies gave me a lift and the next day I found my current truck in the Daily Breeze hence the name Li’l Miracle. That experience is a whole other megillah.
I spotted the migration office on the right where you sign up for the permit but there was no parking. I asked one of the guards where I could stop so I could buy a card. She said no parking here and pointed across the border into town. I drove around for half an hour trying to figure out where to stop. It didn’t help that two miles of the main drag Avenida Juarez were being resurfaced and nobody could cross making local traffic a Los Angeles-ized gridlock nightmare.
After being shooed away from five spots by vigilant villagers I finally found street parking four blocks away from the port of entry on the corner of Callejon Madero and Calle Rodriguez in front of someone’s house. I dismounted the GoPro from the roof of the truck, tossed it into the cab under a pile of stuff and walked with a speedy gait back to the immigration office.
A friendly officer intercepted me to whom I queried in Spanish that I needed to buy a tourist card. He pointed go around the right, cross the street at the fence and make a U-turn to the office. That is where I noticed the parking stalls. Kind of a fake out. You would think parking is on the right in front of the office but no. When you enter the border check station, aim for the farthest lane on the left, park there then cross the street. This way you don’t have the stress of your fully loaded rig exposed in the middle of town unattended. At least here we have a gaggle of guards standing around watching out.
At the office the immigration man was kind and sweet. We chatted in my limited Spanish for five minutes while he reviewed my US passport as I filled out the form. I have been exploring the language very seriously the past ten months and am able to read well, understand spoken ok but still speaking is a challenge due to my mostly erudite studies. More lucubrations are needed.
He handed back my passport and some sort of voucher paper that I walked over the nearby bank kiosk where the lady accepted my 330 pesos as admittance. I brought with me 19,000 pesos, which is something like $1,170 that I bought at my local Wells Fargo branch in Temescal Valley. You call the W.F. foreign exchange phone number, order how much you want, they take it out of your account and you pick up the pile at your bank three days later.
In the past I drove to the San Ysidro border crossing a week before the trip to buy a tourist card and afterward visit an exchange house to stock up on pesos. A stipulation of the permit is that it is not valid for re-entry. Nowadays Mexico from what I have read this year is trending toward more enforcement of their tourist policies, which is why I am following the rules strictly this time.
Once the kiosk lady was paid I walked back to the office where the man stamped my passport and vouchsafed me a tourist visa good for 180 days.
Officially homologated to be in Mexico, I hustled back to the truck and aimed for the Mexico 2 toll road. Again with the main drag torn up everyone had to drive west on Madero and look down each street to see which one was open to cross Juarez. Alas Calle Aldrete was open and several of us crossed over to alternate route east Avenida Hidalgo where eventually it merges with Juarez and the highway.
But first a stop to visit the gas mongers at the Pemex station conveniently located on the right two miles from the onramp. I filled up at San Diego’s Jamacha Junction only 35 miles away but my goal this afternoon of San Felipe will force me fill up here so I won’t have to stop. Also I filled up one of my four new steel gas cans for assurance. Mexico only allows you to import gasoline that is in your vehicle’s fuel tank. You can’t bring filled cans.
Across the plateau, down the Rumorosa grade on Highway 2D, you pass three toll booths ($9.77 total), one with Federales, and one military checkpoint before reaching Highway 5 south of Mexicali. South through the desert on Highway 5 you cross another military check at the junction with Highway 3. By the time I entered San Felipe it was already four in the afternoon and I had to hustle errands to get out of town while there was still some light.
The first thing is to get gas. At the Pemex on the right side of main drag Calzada Chetumal I filled the tank and the remaining three cans for 1,482 pesos, a mind boggling amount. The guys running the station are honest. Thing is this is the first time gasoline in Mexico costs more than in the USA. My experience is the price per gallon was always a buck or more less here than at home. This trip it is $3.22 per gallon, as opposed to my last purchase stateside of $2.88 at the Circle K. This fill-up tallied in at $92.
Second most important is to locate sustenance for the intemperate guzzling necessary to properly survive an expedition such as this. I brought with me six boxes of Corona bottles from my last visit in 2008. I have a favorite Corona Agencia located one block back from the north end of the Malecon. As I approached I saw the building is now a meat market. I worked my way back up the main drag to the Corona warehouse. I walked in saying I would like to by five boxes of Corona, por favor. The man said we won’t have any until Thursday, for strike two. He suggested I try the Modelorama at the ejido just north of town. There I got lucky as they had five boxes ready at my behest.
We like all our beer never chilled because if you buy them cold they will warm as you drive across the desert the next two days and the caps will warp, throwing off the fizz and the taste. He only had four hot and one cold. Luckily I was able to stack all 24 bottles of the latter into my drink cooler and top it off with ice. The other four boxes were stuffed into the load. The five cases with bottle deposit and ice cost 1,380 pesos or $83 for a prorate of $16.50 per 24 12-oz bottle case, about what you pay in the US for a Corona 12-pack.
Third was to stop by the grocery store for beer limes and corn tortillas for fish tacos at camp. Fresh limes were piled high just inside the door and tortillas were on isle five. I was hoping to find a local homemade style as opposed to the commercial variety available in the supermarkets at home. I saw they had a local brand along with Mission brand stacked there. I asked the kid stocking shelves which ones were better. He insisted the Mission were better than the local brand. I bought the limes and the Missions just to have something so I wouldn’t need to spend another hour in town searching for a better homemade style. I will have to research where in Felipe I can buy a quality local corn tortilla.
Fourth was to buy a Mexican sombrero style straw hat. I drove around both sides of the Malecon, finally finding the one I wanted in front of a taco stand. I parked, bought the hat for $8 and also satisfied item five on my list of to-dos; eat. I wolfed down six shrimp tacos and a beer at the stand then bailed.
What is sad about Felipe; it's a comparative ghost town these days. On the Malecon all the night clubs are shuddered and the fancy restaurants are gone. There aren’t many food stands left either. Tourism is at a low. This town used to be hopping all year long as recently as 2008.
Motoring south out of town it was getting dark fast. It is not a great idea to drive Baja highways at night. You never know when a giant pothole or large farm animal will appear in front of you. I kept it at 50 mph, passing Puertecitos an hour later. This is where the pavement of Highway 5 used to end. It has now been extended past Bahia Gonzaga but I had not planned to go that far today. I could have if departed home by six this morning but now I must find a side road to stop and sleep.
One of the great aspects of Baja travel is the freedom. You can drive the highway, never see another vehicle for an hour, turn off on any dirt road, go a mile and park where nobody will see you. One drawback before last year was the highway wasn’t paved and not regularly graded and it would take 13 hours to travel 70 miles. The dillema now is the new highway south of Puertecitos is fast and smooth and you can make great time but it has curbs. A lot of the side dirt roads are now cut off from easy access. Especially at night it is difficult to detect somewhere to exit.
I kept going another 45 minutes then finally noticed a sign on the right. I saw a road leading left toward the beach and turned off there. What you need to have immediately handy in your load are spare tires, gas, tools, water, a chair and a cot. The latter two are in the rooftop rack. I pulled out my step stool, untangled both out of the bungee cords, set them up and sat down. Oh yeah, the seventh thing good to have immediately accessible is your beer cooler.
The whole day I had been recording video with a GoPro mounted on the truck’s roof. The battery lasts about 45 minutes. Every so often I would stop to change it out. Attached to the charging station I mentioned earlier I always have three GoPro batteries cooking as I drive. The other thing the rack holds is my laptop, which has an SD card reader. I installed a 1-TB second drive in the computer so I could plug in the camera card and copy over the files to the hard drive at the end of each day. It took an hour each to offload both 64-gig cards.
A mile from the highway I sat there and stared at the stars for four brews before lying down on the cot by 10.
Wednesday morning at six under a rutilant sunrise I was awake and ready to go. Laying there I was thinking if they have gas at Gonzaga it will help a lot. That way I can make it to the next Pemex at Jesus Maria without having to use can gas. No big deal. Just a convenience issue. Also you hope they even have gas at J.M. As I sat up my butt ripped right through the middle of the canvas of the Coleman cot. Dam! I’ve only had this thing for five years and have used it maybe ten times. It has never been in the sun nor rain. Always folded and stored in its original zip bag. That’s a pisser as the way I travel the cot is a requisite piece of equipment for a comfortable trip.
After a few photographs of the Islas Encantadas I drove back to the highway. The sign I saw last night said Campo Delfines that-a-way. Ah yes very familiar. We have camped nerar there by the beach twice before.
At Gonzaga I saw two cars at the gas pump. I asked if they were selling today. Both said, quisas, which means maybe. They are supposed to open at eight but the man is not here yet.
Across the street at Rancho Grande I picked up a large bag of ice for the drink cooler then drove around near Alfonsinas to kill time. Back at the Pemex those two cars were gone and I took their spot at the pump. Moments later the proprietor drove up, turned on the station's power and filled me.
As I drove south the pavement ended after ten miles. This is where the bone-jarring suspension-wrecking load-smashing five-mile-per-hour dirt and rock highway starts. Not much you can do but have a few beers and enjoy the air conditioner. First thing is you notice is a big sign from the government saying, see we told you we would hook up highway 5 to highway 1. It doesn’t mention they began work south from Felipe back in 1980. Now there are only something like 25 miles remaining to pave. I didn’t keep track.
Next you notice bridge supports over the arroyos, culverts, and a workers camp complete with a restaurant and chicken coop. They’re eating tacos de pollo asada every day.
I stopped for a pee and another beer and while taking pictures noticed the cap on my rod holder managed to unscrew itself. Two fishing poles were trying to escape. I bandaged it using a roll of strap tape from my tool box. Not bad I thought, as I inspected the rest of the load and truck. I acquiesced to an inspector at the last military check who wanted to see inside the tube. My downfall was I only hand-tightened the lid instead of using a crescent wrench to cinch it.
As I went up and over the mini-pass toward Laguna Chapala the landscape changed. There were large puddles of water in and around the road like nobody had ever seen here before. All this must have just happened within the past five days. I was glad the deluge was over on my week.
By noon I was motoring south on Mexico 1. The truck is running fully on Mexican gas now. Many Americans have a preconceived notion gas here is bad or watered down. I have never had any issue. In fact I buy regular unleaded, as opposed to Mexico's other grade of super, and the truck runs the best ever. Only thing is the exhaust smells different than in California. What I am thinking is Mexican gas is a pure, unadulterated, no regulations brew that my old school 1990 Toyota loves to drink.
Past the L.A. Bay turnoff, into Punta Prieta and nearing the Pacific coast I was amazed how vernally green and blooming the cirio zone is this autumn. I was planning to take four days to drive home next week after the safari camp to photograph all this breathtaking beauty.
For now I concentrated on motorhead. I filled up as planned in Jesus Maria and soon entered the state of Baja California Sur. The military troops waived me through but the agricultural guys stopped me to check for citrus and other fruits. I told them I bought a bag of limes at the Calimex in Felipe and would they like to see. I kept the receipt in the bag just for this moment. No, he said. Thank you. Then some other dude tells me I owe 20 pesos for the inspection and handed me a receipt.
Through the virescent Viscaino Desert, past another military check at San Ignacio, over the pass of the Volcan Tres Virgenes I made it to Santa Rosalia at dusk, where again I filled the gas tank.
You could tell this town was hit hard by whatever storms passed, as all the roads including the main highway were covered with dirt and puddles. When I turned off into the parking lot of a Corona place I almost got stuck. I had to jump out up to my ankles in mud to flip the front axle into four wheel drive. Seconds later I was in the front door asking if they had a box of beer. They did but they only had 12 coronas left along with 12 Pacifico Lights. Not sure what is going on around Baja with the Corona situation. Good thing was with the mud I been through all day my new fender flares and splash guards are performing well, keeping most of the gritty filth off the paint.
On to the next town, again I drove the highway at night like I didn’t want to. Just cruise at 50 and you will be ok, I kept reminding myself. I turned off the highway and into Mulege. The town seemed crowded with nowhere to park. I was thinking of eating tacos but really couldn’t find anywhere to stash the truck within sight of a food stand and didn’t want to take any risks.
Back on the highway south I wanted to park somewhere for the night at the southern end of Bahia Concepcion, which would ready me for the arduous four wheel drive trail to The Punta. I stopped and check my map for the mileage to the road I planned to take. In the dark I slowed at that point but could not locate any such avenue of entry.
I caught up to a semi truck and followed him at 25 or 30 for twenty minutes. It is too dangerous to pass with all the curves in this section of highway and besides as soon as you get around him you might have to brake to turn off on the perfect side road for the night's rest.
Soon I observed a sign pointing right to San Isidro. On this graded dirt road I drove for a mile and found a clearing where my truck, chair and cot set up levelly. I turned on the laptop to copy the day’s video files but for whatever reason the SD card would not recognize. I tried some tricks but couldn’t get it to read. I only have three camera cards with me. If I can’t move the files over to the hard drive my whole GoPro plan is shot. I will deal with it in the morning.
I pulled a can of stew and another of Spaghetti-Os with meatballs out of my kitchen box and feasted. With stomach semi-satisfied and four beers down I attempted to sleep on a torn cot. I somehow, with feet on frame, found the perfect balance and was out in seconds.
Thursday morning at five I could tell I wasn’t going to get much rest trying to keep my legs and feet from hitting the ground through the crack in the cot canvas. I sat in my chair and closed my eyes for an hour until the alarm clock bugs buzzed in my ear. I tried once more to read the SD cards from the GoPro but couldn’t I plugged in the SD card from my Pentax camera; same results. I clicked the micro SD back into the GoPro then plugged the camera into the laptop using the USB cable. Nothing was working. I have one empty card remaining but it wasn’t in my GoPro box and I was clueless as to its location. One of the top items on my to-do list was to record the whole wicked off-road trail to the beach camp but now all my cards are full and one is missing.
I packed up and wanted to review the custom map I made of the trail. It is basically a scanned-in enlargement of the Auto Club Baja California map showing the east shore and sub-peninsula of Concepcion Bay. I created four maps for the trip this way and kept them on the floor of the truck under the server rack in plastic protective sheets. I ransacked the whole cab and load but can’t find it! I can’t imagine how that absconded. Now I have to follow the original map from which I scanned and use 2x reading glasses to do so. The map covers 40 miles of trails and mileage points in two inches. The scan I made was 8 ½ x 11. With this and my own trenchant abilities to find my way around I was confident I will not become lost.
When obtaining Mexican auto insurance from my local Auto Club office I make it a custom to obtain a new and current AAA Baja map, which are the absolute finest of their kind. The nice lady behind the counter informed me they no longer produce those anymore. That’s a shock. You can still find them on eBay from just about any year you want, however.
At seven I was back on the highway looking for the turnoff to the abandoned trailer park at the south end of the bay. And oh what a gorgeous day it was! I pulled over on a scenic turnoff and looked out over all the unexpected viridity asking myself, I’m going to drive where?! Around the bay and out to the point. From here It looks like a long way.
I could see the trailer park but could not find the turnoff. All the trees are green and overgrown compared to the last time we were here. Along the highway I drove back and forth four times before giving up.
I did however see another access point where someone had one of those barbwire and stick gates latched to another post with rope. I went through and saw the trailer park about a quarter mile away. Once I neared the trail I was looking for I could see what the quirk was. The original access to that road is gone because unbeknownst to me, the road is gone.
Sea level rise – although not yet Noachian – has taken its toll here along with recent rains to make the old trailer park road inaccessible. Not a sapient act I went for it anyway after walking and inspecting the trail as if to force the road evince itself. When the truck hit the first patch of silt it was like grease. The kinetic energy of the vehicle in four wheel drive was disallowing a turn to the left until I let off the throttle. Panic set in as I was barely making it. Alas I passed through and found the two trails that followed closest to shore. All the mesquite, palo verde and other trees were over grown making the trek difficult. Then all of a sudden you have to stop at a water crossing that is salt up to the engine, making the decision to turn around a quick and easy one.
Gingerly I tried the second trail away from shore and same thing. Saltwater crossing over the tires and turn around. Both roads have become completely expunged.
Just then I heard a large truck about a hundred yards away on another road parallel to the one I was on. It then turned up towards the highway through another draw further south. This was a fantasticly lucky clue.
I was only gone for thirty minutes and already the incoming tide waters were flooding into the basin which I had just crossed, covering up my tire tracks I was trying to follow back to the gate. Again I had to scout another path back to the highway and alas made it out safely, slipping and sliding most of the way.
South on the highway two miles I saw an access point about where I guessed that truck would have ended up. The road led north-east over a cattle guard, past an active rancho and headed toward where the lorn road along the bay’s east shore that I was looking for should be. I got myself a beer to celebrate finding this relatively descent road and I hoped for the best. Map and binoculars told me I was on the correct path and at 4.4 miles there it was; the road leading to the trail.
From this point I can follow the mileage notes on the map to make sure I am lined up. At .7 miles I veered left at the Y that leads to San Sebastian as predicted then ended up on the east shore of the bay following the trail, a sort of Rubicon crossing. I am now in the wilderness and nobody will find me if something awful happens.
On this side of the bay there were water crossings but they weren’t as deep or silty as earlier. By the time I reached the part where you have to drive on the beach the tide dropped enough to where no tires were in the water. The course black sand was packed tight and there was no bogging down. The only hazard was the layer of driftwood you have to drive over. It could very easily poke your sidewalls. You can feel the danger, though. Nobody knows you are over here. The guys at that last rancho I passed might have an idea but so what they don't care. Nobody has driven here in a very long time as there are no tire tracks whatsoever. I break down I’m dead. An impetus of great fishing kept me going.
The scenery was quite lovely. The bay was calm with only the occasional cat's-paw atop the water. Some fish were jumping. When the road turned back away from the beach I stopped to fill the tank.
In the afternoon a breeze kicked up but not enough to cause whitecaps. I passed an abandoned fish camp then the road turned inland through another wire and stick gate. All the mileage marks on the map matched my odometer.
I was jotting down my own mileage notes on paper after passing each equivocal landmark to log every proximate step so as to not become addlepated on the way out next week. Barbwire Gate, across big wash, barbwire fence no gate, drive on beach, off beach, barbwire no gate, at the last dry wash turn right. The whole time my paint job was being polished by overgrown mesquite trees. Last time I was here I remembered this area to be a rather sere desert. This labile sub-peninsula is now a efflorescent forest with lizards, butterflies, birds and all kinds of bugs. I am not sure how nascent all this burgeon could be. Following recent radar weather maps I have only seen two big rain events in this part of Baja since summer.
At this last dry wash I stopped, got out and sleuthed. I could find no way to go straight or turn left and concluded this is where the trail decussates to the right into the wash I am looking for that crosses to the next wash that flows west to the Sea of Cortez and my fish hole. If it is not then I would have to park, sleep, then resume reconnaissance tomorrow because dark is soon.
Two miles in I found the trail that leads over the hump to the next wash. I remembered this short section to be rough over boulders but it was the most mellifluous part of the whole trip. Amazing what the brain stores. The only trick was to keep the vehicle in first gear low in order to creep over slowly.
Another two sinuous miles down the next wash I had to backtrack twice to find wide enough openings betwixt trees. As I encroached the sea came into view and to my delectation I was overcome by frisson that I found my spot! This was quite the utmost orgulously laudable accomplishment now exhilarating me. The last time I was here was October 1995. That year and 1994, two itinerant trips, we sampled many remote costal Baja camps and at this spot I had the best Baja shore fishing nonpareil ever, catching divers varieties of six-pound crevalle jacks, gulf corvinas, leopard groupers; a mélange of species. Ever since I’ve had a yen to return.
There was an old rusty refrigerator in the bushes just before where the wash met the beach. One ponders its provenience. Did it get all the way out here via truck? Boat? Seems like a long effort just to dump your old fridge. It must have served some purpose at one time, maybe holding ice and fish for a few days before the local pescaderos could deliver their catch to market.
I drove back up the wash a bit locate the perfect milieu to set up my Lucullan camp in a flat spot occlusion behind some trees so it would be recondite from the water. This troglodyte doesn’t have xenophobia that someone would see him from a boat, hunt him down and rob and rape him. It is the panga fish guys. They are a bonhomie bunch and just want to talk and hang out and drink your beer and trade more beer for fish they caught. No shindigs for me. I just want to be left alone to sit with a beer, fish, skin dive, hike and sleep for a few days.
By the time I unloaded, set up the Ez-up canopy with 2 side walls, a commodious Columbia Bugaboo dome tent, table and everything else, I was knackered. All I ate for the day was three quarters of a Johnsonville summer sausage and four cheese sticks. Nonetheless I was out all night not sleeping on the ripped cot but atop very comfortable Eureka Dualis air mattress.
Friday logy respite I didn’t bother getting up until ten only because that is when the sun began to bake me while lying in the tent. Even though it is October the air is still hot and there isn’t much wind. The whole top of the tent is screen which keeps you cool at night with the slight breeze but burns you in the morning.
Just then something was banging on the rocks to the right. I heard the noise of small waves splashing holes in the cliff but this was different. I grabbed my binoculars and threaded myself crabwise through the bush toward the beach trying to keep myself inconspicuous behind rocks and trees. The commercial panga fishermen were working the beach with a net and also skin diving. I hope they aren’t decimating my future fish count.
For today all I wanted to do was convalesce, footle, enjoy the view and sip the demulcent Corona nepenthe to forget the dangers in which I have just installed myself. I have nine more days at my disposal to do stuff. In the shade of the canopy it was still hot. Problem was with a white top and two blue sides the airflow was minimal and the darker panels seemed to attract more heat. When I bought the thing Ez-up said you can get it in several colors. I chose white to reflect heat. They didn’t say up front that no matter what color top you get, they only sell blue sides. You find that out aftermarket. Nonetheless it was easy to set up (like the name) and safeguarded me from direct sunlight just fine.
I was still haunted by the fact my GoPro cards were full. After a while of contemplating I figured something out. You have to be some kind of boffin to operate a GoPro and its accessories. I have software on my laptop called Camera Suite. This is what I use to live preview the camera with the PC over Wi-Fi. I remembered there is an offload function to move the files off the camera to the hard drive. I set it up and away it went. Problem was it took hours for one 3gb video file and I had like 15 per card. That means I had to use the USB cable to keep the GoPro powered the whole time.
An hour later I checked, the files were offloading. Two hours the same. Three hours past, the camera shut down and the program had an error message. I picked up the camera and it was blazing hot and not even in the sun. After it cooled somewhat I powered everything back on and dangled the camera out the car door so the sporadic breeze could hit it. Problem solved. The rest of the day the files offloaded onto the hard drive successfully.
In the afternoon I decided I needed some fish tacos. I rigged my 20-pouind outfit with a three ounce Krocodile – the lure I inveigled them with last time here – and cast out. Hmmm, nothing on the first cast. That’s odd. Nothing on the second or third either. I cast to the edge of the reef at the small point to the left and finally on the tenth lure laucnh landed a four taco leopard grouper. So far definitely not as great fishing as I remembered. I put the fish in an old plastic crate I found in the bushes with a rock for ballast and let the lap waves keep it wet and fresh.
I rigged my 15-pound spinning rod with a Berkeley saltwater swimbait and had a couple hits but they didn’t stick. Problem with plastics in the Sea of Cortez is all the fish have big teeth and only take chunks out of the lures. I wanted a yellowtail to cruise by and swallow the whole thing but the toothy guys disallowed that wish.
Back casting the Krocodile I could really put it out there a long way but I didn’t crank in fast enough and snagged it on a rock for a loss. I tied another to the 20 pound and heaved it a long way. Cranking in faster I had a hit and hookup. Not much of an ebullient fight and no wonder. It was a paltry scorpionfish. Oh no. This is bad. All the way out here and only one leopard and a stinking scorpion. In the next hour until dusk to my consternation I caught only three more scorpions and two small triggerfish. Very underwhelming, this lackadaisical bite is so far not worth the risk and effort getting here. The roseate view of this place I’ve had in my pretend mind the past twenty years has grayed.
Back at the hermitage I cleaned the leopard for two beautiful filets. I took those viscera and the disparaged nimiety of whole scorpions and dumped the offal in a pile on the beach to cajole the gulls and vultures to pick at them so I could later for entertainment observe their antics. Another plan for the GoPro was to set it up on a tripod next to the stink pile to get close-up video of the birds pecking their way to heaven. Scorpionfish taste ok but there is only one taco per each and you risk a week-long heinous burn and itch if you accidentally stick yourself with their venomous dorsal spines while filleting.
I breaded the fish, fired up the stove and coated the fry pan with olive oil. Meanwhile I checked on the GoPro offload. Still going with two files left on the 1st card. At least it is working. I started the truck and let it run for five minutes to make sure the battery was ok.
I brought with me in my food cooler your basic shredded Mexican cheese, lettuce and homemade pico de gallo salsa. The way I cooked the tacos is you heat the oil under medium flame, put the cornmeal-breaded fish filets in the pan until one side is golden brown, then flip them over and put a fry pan screen on top. On the screen go moistened tortillas with a lid over them to keep the heat on. Once the other side is golden crunchy, you put the filet inside the warm soft tortilla, cover with cheese which will melt, shredded lettuce and the pico de gallo. The taste was perfect. I could tell the Mission tortillas from Felipe weren’t as good as the same brand from back home but I still sucked down all four in five minutes and wished I had 15 more.
Field Test
You know how while camping you carry all your victuals in your ice chest and inevitably no matter which container or bag you use to store them in, ice water will permeate and soak your cheese? I tested containers this year and have found the Snapware brand the most utile. Once I determined the past two months by using them every day they were as advertised air tight, I shopped the Corelle store at the Elsinore Outlets and bought the 38-piece box for $30. None of the five containers leaked the whole four-day rough ride out here and they were submerged the whole time. One had two pounds of cheese, one had four pounds of salsa, another a head of lettuce and also one with kimchi and another with jerky. If only I can catch enough fish to use all this stuff.
By now all the ice in the drink cooler had melted and the beer was only slightly less than hot. I checked the food box, there was still two chunks left of the blocks purchased Monday. I drained the hitter then poured the cold water from the food unit into it and also restocked it with fresh inventory. Ten minutes later I cracked open a Corona that was actually cool to the touch.
A check of the offload and the first micro SD is finally empty. I put the card in the camera with a fresh battery, unplugged everything and started the engine. All is well with the electronics for now.
Once the sun is down it is time to relax with some brews and listen to AM radio. I caught the last two innings of the Royals at Blue Jays then settled in with KNX for local L.A. news and heard all about the flooding in the Tehachapis and Antelope Valley. Skies here on the beach were partly cloudy all day but non-threatening.
Saturday morning I was out fishing at nine o’clock to meet up with high tide at ten. I set up my 25-pound Daiwa 50H outfit with a blue prism Tady jig and was casting that out surprisingly far. I walked up and down the beach, casting to boiler rocks and the reef at the point to the left. It took a while but I managed to catch another three-taco leopard now stored in the crate. A few casts later I snagged and lost that lure.
I switched back over to the 20-lb unit and three-ounce Krocodile in mackerel pattern. I was cranking it in fast enough I thought but no. I snagged that one too. Lucky me I was able to free it but once I lifted the lure out of the water I saw one of the prongs of the treble hook bent out and the point was dull. No issue as I have my Leatherman tool handy. I bent the hook back with the pliers and re-sharpened the point with the file.
A few casts later I hooked up this time something I never caught before and didn’t know what it was, as my Gulf of California Fishwatcher’s Guide book didn’t make it with me on this trip. Comely in appearance, I called it a clown bass due to its goofy looking fard face with clown-like markings. The fish was at least two tacos so into the crate it went.
Onto the 25-pound rig I retied using some other lures of which I don’t know the names because they are not stamped into the metal. They look flashy, swim well and weigh a lot for long casts. Only thing I caught on it were two more lousy scorpions.
Back to the Krocodile which again snagged and lost. I tied on yet another and after 30 casts caught a sizable triggerfish. Boring! Nonetheless I stacked its three tacos into the crate. Triggers are actually one of the best tasting around.
In the afternoon I walked back to camp, cleaned the fish then sat down with a brew and relaxed somewhat with tunes. I have a JVC Kaboom with an iPod port that I set atop the portablizzard inside the camper shell powered by a long cord tapped into the cigarette lighter in the cab. The thing sounds great.
I configured the computer and GoPro to offload the other full micro SD card and let that process a while. Funny thing; I found the missing third card in another bag where it shouldn’t have been. Too late to video the off road portion of the trip, though. I at least have another opportunity to record the trail on the wild ride out next week.
The clown bass and leopard filets I lightly salted and let cure for two hours in a zip bag. I started some charcoal and laid the briquets as a single layer on one side of my Weber Portable Grill and waited until they were white and about half way burnt out. I walked over to a nearby mesquite tree and broke off two small dead branches and laid them over the coals. I placed the cured filets on the other side of the grill away from the coals and wood. I waited until the wood flamed then put the top of the barbecue on, opening the vent above the filets. The smoke had a wonderful aroma and an hour later I ended up with some of the best kippers I ever ate.
I breaded the trigger and fried it hot and fast until golden crunchy on both sides. I then added to the fry pan four eggs, topped that with shredded cheese and on top of that spooned in the homemade salsa. I watched until the bottom of the eggs and cheese were just past golden brown, then slid the whole miscible mass onto a plate. It was the best tasting huevos rancheros con pescado anyone has ever voraciously sucked down in five minutes in the world. This gustatory delight ingurgitated so fast I didn’t even have time to photograph it.
Special thanks to my old pal Craig. We had a function at his house last week from which he donated to this trip the leftover fresh salsa mix of diced tomatoes, cilantro and green onions. The next day I fried yellow chilies, smashed those to a pulp, and added more fresh vine-ripened peeled and chopped tomatoes to make this week’s pico de gallo. It was the best ever!
The Kaboom was conking out and I knew the issue. I tried to start the truck but it didn’t even click. Trying to run the laptop, GoPro and boom box all at once drained it.
My last trip to the Sierra in July I brought my spare battery with me because after the truck sits at the trailhead all week you never know in what shape one being used will be especially now that both are right at three years old. I wanted to start the truck, remove the battery then install the spare while the engine is running so It would charge during the ride home. Well, I never got around to it and a week after I returned from that trip, the truck would not start and neither battery would hold a charge. Wow that was close, right?
So three weeks ago I took both batteries in and bought two new ones. The man asked what vehicle they are for, I told him, he says did you know this is the wrong battery for your truck? If you buy the correct one you will have more cranking power. I said, SOLD! Gimme 2! Today all I had to do was remove the battery and put in the other new one and like nothing the truck started. While the engine was running I installed the dying one back in. You could hear immediately the engine idle lower as the alternator worked harder. I keep the spare in a boat battery box, inside of which I store all the proper wrenches and new terminals to connect it.
I let the engine run for twenty minutes and also slid 10 D-cells into the boom box to keep it off the grid. The GoPro to PC offload was restarted and life was back to good.
The ice in the food cooler was down to about two pounds. I did the cold water shuffle into the hitter and added the remaining slivers. I cracked open for the first time the portablizzard but the results weren’t too good. The three 25-pound blocks were down to a total of 15 pounds. Seems like last time I opened it after 6 days all the blocks were whole with only a small amount of water at the bottom of the chest. Inspecting the Igloo 120-quart marine closely, I could see the lid doesn’t seal very well even though I had it strapped shut with tape. My assessment is this box was a waste of $50. Nonetheless, two remaining blocks went into the food cooler and the other into the drink hitter.
At dusk I fished until dark using all of the aforementioned lures and caught three more scorpions and two teeny triggerfish. I tossed them into the now flyblown vulture pile so that tomorrow I can be entertained by big birds. I knew I was going to fish on a week that had good high tides in the morning but not desirable solunar conditions. Still I didn’t expect the bite to be this bad.
Sunday I awoke and slipped into my every day habiliment of long-sleeve white T-shirt, swim trunks and rotten fomite sneakers. I have been wearing and drenching with beer sweat the same shirt since Tuesday. I can handle the accumulation of BO stink within the fabric. What prompted me to change into a fresh shirt today was the sinus clearing cloud of noisome ammonia vapor emanating from the cotton.
I contemplated stuffing my backpack with gallons of water, some freeze-dried food, fish gear, sleeping pad and tent and hike over to the main point to the north for the night. I could fish the evening and the early morning then hike back in the afternoon. It’s only a mile away.
I huffed to the top of the bluff to scout the route. I saw past the old mine that indeed the point looks like a good fishing area but the logistics were not favorable. One thing it is hot and there is no zephyr to cool you down. Second and the main resistor is that the rocks are slippery. Even with my usual breakwall boots I couldn’t take two steps when I tried to amble along the shoreline at low tide yesterday. You can only walk on the sandy beach. Every rock up to the base of the cliff is so slimy you can’t even stand and that is with no load on your back. I saw I could definitely hike to the point from here in about an hour but once you scamper down to the water there would be no way to be able to remain upright and fish.
Sauntering back the lido I concluded a kayak would work well here. My truck is already loaded to the max, all items germane, no trumpery whatsoever. However I could bungee a boat atop the load in the roof rack. It would get scratched driving through the trees but that is only cosmetic. I checked into the kayak fishing thing a few years ago by watching a DVD for beginners. It looked like work.
In the afternoon I fished low tide, casting a Krocodile over to the edge of the reef of the point to the left. About ten casts into it I hooked something then saw bigger fish torpedo toward me spraying bait into the air. The dorsal fin that broke the water’s surface indicated it was a bonito. I hurried up and reeled in the clown bass I hooked, unpinned it from the hook into the crate, then cast the Kroc out to where I calculated the bonie swam. Several casts up and down the beach resulted in another scorpion.
Back at camp I cleaned the clown and fried it with the eggs, cheese and salsa. Excellent!
I walked out for some evening lure tosses. Right away I hooked something but there wasn’t a fight. At first it looked like a barracuda but once I hoised it out I saw it was some other long skinny silvery fish; a machete. Not sure how esculent this large minnow might be. I tossed it back in frustration and didn’t even bother with a photo.
Monday I was up and casting all of the aforementioned lures before first light. I never had a bite for hours, the exiguousness of potential filets for the evening’s feast extremely disappointing. The desirable fish are persnickety this week or are just not around. The only fun thing that happened is a rotten turtle shell washed up on the beach. I snagged it with my gaff and hauled it over to the vulture pit. I turned it upside down and saw there were still pounds of guts attached. I kept fishing for a while but with no bites I walked back to camp to ready the video recorder.
I attached the GoPro to a small flexible tripod and turned on the Wi-Fi connection to the Removu gadget that is used as a viewfinder and also serves to monitor and control the camera. I set it so the lens was next to the turtle shell, the shot framed perfectly as seen through the viewer. I turned it on, walked back to my chair in the canopy and waited. The whole trip a battery has lasted 45 minutes but I could not control the camera nor check the battery level or any other stats because the Wi-Fi signal cut out about half way back.
Soon the gulls landed then the buzzards circled. After fifteen minutes all were gathered around and ready to feast. After twenty minutes there were five esurient vultures trying to usurp each other over the carcass, asserting their hegemony over the gulls, and I was excited to finally have some unique wildlife video recorded from the trip.
An hour later I walked out to retrieve the camera and as predicted the GoPro was powered off. I reviewed the video file after the hour it took to offload and found the dam thing shut down after 15 minutes and it only recorded two gulls haranguing each other with incessant squawking. There was only one vulture in the picture at a distance. My only thought was this time since the Wi-Fi was turned on and that burned out the battery sooner. I practiced with the GoPro earlier in the year so I would be ready for this trip. Obviously I need more.
In the afternoon I went skin diving with a mask that has a GoPro mount on top. I put ten pounds of lead in the dive belt pouches but once I swam out it felt like I could use ten more. I haven’t done this in a while and was kind of rusty as I struggled to go deep. Fifty yards off the beach first thing you notice is nothing. Not one fish. The water is clear enough to see far ahead.
I circled over to the rock reef of the point. There I found scores of fish but nothing too exciting. I saw one two-taco leopard swim off, another clown bass, some gulf opaleye that were pretty good size, a lot of and parrotfish, zebraperch Cortez chubs and various wrasses. I took many shots at fatties with my Hawaiian sling spear but was just basically raping them as nothing stuck to the barbed prongs. Finally I shot an opaleye in the face, which stuck, but as I tried to install it into the game bag attached to my belt, it managed to get away. Then I was questioning, all this way down here to glom a freaking opaleye and a bag load of scorpionfish? This is tantamount to fishing inside Marina Del Rey. I should have taken a tuna boat out of San Diego a few times on my days off. That bite is sizzling right now.
I swam farther away and turned parallel to the beach more than a hundred yards out. I zigzagged back to shore looking all around but witnessed nary one game fish.
After the sun was off the water in the evening I was out fishing again, same techniques described throughout this report and only caught one more scorpion.
Back at camp I had no fish so I cooked a pot of Tamaki rice and mixed that into today’s huevos rancheros as filler.
I kicked back with some tunes the rest of the night, lantern on. Entomologists would have a proverbial field day, as this area is teeming with so many different types of moths and flies in the light for brown study, most I have never seen before. Big ones, teeny ones, even a small transparent damselfly. I saw some kind of mouse earlier in the week and thought it was back tonight. As I stared I noticed it didn’t have a tail. I walked over to check and saw it was a toad. I never thought I would see one of those anywhere near here. It was of the red spotted variety.
Tuesday capitulate, it was time to bail out of a week that seemed ephemeral. If fishing was good I would stay. I looked out toward the beach and saw twenty vultures feasting on the turtle shell. Murphy’s law predicted this. You try to video birds close up and things don’t happen how you want. No camera by them and the whole local flock is partying at this execrable buffet.
In two hours I had everything rolled up and packed away and off I went by ten thirty, GoPro mounted and ready to record. On the way out I followed the mileage notes I took on the way in.
I attempted to follow my tire tracks from last week. In two places where they were not noticeable I had to get out and scout the proper path then backtrack twice.
Once over the hump to the dry wash that flowed west, I made it to where I had to drive on the beach earlier than expected, as the clepsydra of the tide wasn’t out far enough for comfort. Still with two tires on the driftwood and two in shallow water there wasn’t any issue slowly creeping past.
I heard one chunk of wood get stuck in the undercarriage and rubbing on the rear drive shaft. I stopped to investigate and saw it was wedged between the body and the catalytic converter and was already starting to smolder! Yikes! I tossed it into the water of the bay for safe keeping. Good news was; if I caught fire at least it is daylight and someone across the bay would see my distress smoke signal.
As I followed the trail paralleling the beach fifteen feet away, I encountered a barrier of deep gouges that I could not pass. I had to perseverate a half mile then drive on the beach, where I encountered my tire tracks from earlier. At one point I had to get out and spend ten minutes dragging a heavy cardon cactus skeleton out of my way. Otherwise I would have to put all four wheels into the bay to get around it.
Two hours later where the trail is away from the beach and bumpy I heard something clamant in the front suspension matrix. Crap. The top mounting nut of one of the new shocks I installed in May vibrated off and the whole thing got crushed between the mounts. It can just stay there. No need to spend two hours removing it. This will not encumber the rest of the trip other than having to listen to the rattle the next three or four days home.
Past that, the rest of the 35-mile trek back to the highway guided by my mileage notes was uneventful. I did find that someone days ago had followed my tire tracks to one of the saltwater crossings, as my tread was overruled by what looked like a basic passenger tire pattern which would not be able to tract through mud very well.
After a meritorious return to the cattle guard at the highway I shut off the engine, gave the whole load the once-over and flipped the front hubs back into free. Despite the mediocre fishing I was quite pleased Li’l Miracle performed so well. I sat down, depressed the clutch pedal and turned the key and nothing. She wouldn’t start. It’s not a big thing as I pressed the clutch bypass switch, it started and away we go. What happens is the bracket that holds the clutch and brake pedals stresses and cracks after a number of miles. We are on the third bracket and usually once the clutch switch stops working you have a few weeks before the pedal is rendered useless.
I wish. I could tell as I entered the highway it was incipient the bracket was not allowing the tranny to shift very well but not yet a critical issue. I drove about twenty minutes to a viewpoint so I could wash the mud off the windshield and headlights and also pull two bottles of water out of the drink cooler. As I got going I could tell the clutch pedal was worsening. Shifting between the gears of my freshly rebuilt transmission I was aghast how this pratfall was crunching and grinding, producing a fazed mind fraught with stress.
The best policy was to keep it in fourth gear at 50 or 55 mph. An hour later at the Pemex south of Mulege it was shot. I couldn’t shift into 1st gear unless I stopped the engine, shifted, then pushed in the pedal and used the clutch start bypass switch to fire it up. After filling the tank and three empty cans and dumping ice into the drink cooler, away I went.
From first to second I had to rev the engine and be patient for the lever to engage. It was just as bad from second to third with the same technique. Forth seemed easier but not much, as the whole world heard the gnashing and clashing with each flick of the stick.
Again I kept it in fourth gear and cruised at 50. In the dark through the next town Santa Rosalia I had to concentrate on coming to complete stops at each of the several signs so as to not attract the attention of the cops. At each I pushed the pedal and braked while in second gear. The clutch was still engaged, although not all the way, and the engine almost stalled each time.
I remember last time this happened I was able to garner a lot more miles out of the bracket before I replaced it by hooking a turnbuckle to the side of the body under the dash to hold the unit steady but I knew I didn’t bring one with me. As I drove west over the hills near Volcan Tres Virgenes I tried to come up with something in my mind that would serve this same purpose.
The top of the pass was cold and windy and rain poured. Also I counted scores of cattle on the side of the highway ready to cross. Danger lurked around every corner. In the flat zone before San Ignacio I searched for a side road to rest for the night. The pickings were slim.
After I passed through the military check at Ignacio I pulled over into the light of a Pemex station. I used an end wrench to extend the clutch plunger three turns but it wasn’t enough to mitigate the issue. Same crunch and grind results as I took off.
Not far west of town I saw a sign that read, aeropuerto right, which was a paved road of almost a mile leading up to a very large, flat, level, inscrutable vacant lot of a supposed runway with junk strewn all about. Perfect! I un-bungeed my chair and cot from the roof rack and slid out the drink cooler. Whew! Relax!
At ten o’clock and four beers in I still had no plan to hold the bracket steady. I strung several bungee cords around the cot so I wouldn’t fall through. What was rare; I had to zip up my jacket and cocoon myself inside my sleeping bag it was so cold. Not enough to cause chilblain but something I haven’t had to bother with yet this trip nor any other of our past excursions to Baja.
Wednesday I awoke at six with a brilliant idea. I have zip ties in my toolbox. I will use several of those as a nostrum to hold the bracket steady in order to gain more clutch pedal. As soon as there was some daylight and by holding my headlight in my teeth upside down under the dashboard, I was able to zip it tight to the side of the body with seven ties. I packed up and off I went, the pedal was working much better.
Problem was as soon as I entered the next town of Viscaino I could hear the zip ties pop one at a time as I clutched and braked through the town's stop signs. Well Bullwinkle, that trick didn’t work and what roweled me even more was the motorcycle cop in front of me the whole time. To come to a complete stop I had to shut the engine off, shift to first gear then restart with the bypass switch.
At the end of town there was an auto mechanic shop. I was tempted to stumble in to see if they had something to help me. I kept going, though, wanting to give it one last attempt to resolve the issue myself.
A mile out of town under duress I made a U-turn and stopped on a wide turnout. I pulled out my toolbox and rifled through. I found a strand of clothes hangar and tried to wrap that around the bracket and body three times then twist it together with pliers. That didn’t do a dang thing for me.
I did however in my toolbox come up with an old tent stake, you know, the cheapies that come with your new tent that bend to uselessness after one light blow of a hammer? One end was already hooked. All I had to do was bend around the other end with pliers so it would wrap around the pedal stop adjuster bolt of the bracket. It took me an hour but I did it! The tent stake is holding the bracket so that more clutch power is had… for now anyway. The hole in the body I stuck the hook end through doesn’t have much metal and the gadget will probably rip out soon.
It wasn’t perfect nor even that good but I definitely could shift a little better. I filled up in Jesus Maria, which will be the last time I will need to buy gas. The rest of the trip fuel will come from cans.
Passing the endemic cirio zone toward Punta Prieta the hills were so freaking beautiful I was extremely upset the bracket thing discomfited a two-day stop to explore and photograph the back trails. The sunshine on the hills was resplendent green all directions I gazed, wildflowers blooming, light diffusing clouds in the sky. I don’t even want to talk about it.
Before I knew it I was already at the Mex 5 turnoff to San Felipe at Laguna Chapala. All the mud puddles that were on the road last week were now bone dry and the larger swamps on the sides of the road were about half as full. This stretch of the ungraded old new road was slow going per usual. First gear and 8 mph for a couple hours. I saw a big dust cloud coming toward me from the north caused by the celerity of some gringo loco in brand new F-250 going 60mph. He'll pay for it someday.
Back on the pavement north past Cocos Corner I again stopped by Rancho Grande near Alfonsinas for another bag of ice. I could tell my tent stake trick wasn’t working as well as earlier but that’s all I got for now.
The plan for today was to find my old pal Gary’s house we used to hang out at in the ‘70s and ‘80s, take some pics then camp on the access road leading in from the old road. I had the map of the area scanned in large with mileage points but of course it was in the same plastic protector as the other map I lost last week on the second day. Again I had to use glasses and my brain calculator to add up 15 mileages on the AAA map then watch the odometer. At 4pm I was at the house nosing around. Back in the old days there were only three round brick casitas but now it’s like San Francisco around here. They built as many houses as they could in whatever beachfront space was available as far as you can see.
A mile up the access road past two dead dogs and a croaked vaquita, I found a lovely level spot to finish up my last eight brews and watch the sun set. I worked on my tent stake some more by shortening up the bend around the stop bolt. It took an hour to attach but it gave me slightly more clutch power.
I filled the gas tank using two cans with two remaining for tomorrow. Dinner was a can of Progresso soup mixed with a can of corn. Instead of sleeping on the ripped cot for the night I cleared some space in the back of the truck and used my air mattress.
Thursday morning at six I packed up and got going. Shifting sucked but too bad for me. All I could do is psych up for the next stop signs and use my usual aplomb to deliver this rig home. Through San Felipe the early morning traffic was non-existent. I never stalled nor had to kill the engine at any of the many stop signs. At the Highway 3 military check I killed the engine so as to come to a complete stop. The soldier looked at me funny and said you don’t have to stop it’s ok you can go. I fired it up and tore out of there.
At the toll booths along highway 2D west I had to kill the engine at each one because there were cars and trucks ahead of me and I couldn’t get my vehicle out of gear due to the clutch not disengaging all the way. At the bottom of the Rumorosa grade, where there are several large pullouts, I used one to pee and also fill the tank using the last two cans.
Coming into Tecate I had to kill the engine and restart at each stop sign to be sure I came to a complete halt so as to not attract the attention of any policia. At the first sign that pointed to the border crossing I truned right and followed that street out of the main part of town to one last traffic stop before the checkpoint.
I stopped and had to turn off the engine to wait a minute because there were many cars and trucks on my left turning toward the crossing without a stop. As soon as all was clear I started up and took off nice and slow, around 30 mph. I noticed some dude on a motorcycle behind me and couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t pass me in any of the other three lanes. Then he caught up with me.
Jesus, the cops! I pulled over and he says he saw me stop back there but I went over the painted limit line. He added, he realizes the street is dirty and you cannot see it very well but still you should know. If you want you can pay the fine at the station, then it will cost 1,700 pesos and we have to report it to the DMV or else you can give me 1,000 pesos ($62) and I will clear it for you because your are such a nice guy, he blandished. Quickly I pulled out two 500s out of my wallet and handed them to him. No no no, wait. He looked behind him and saw cars coming. He didn’t want anyone to see me hand over the cash. He had me fold the shinplasters into my passport then purloin the booklet over to him. All this a quarter mile from the border. Almost made it.
I don’t get too upset about paying la mordida because I know this is the way business is done down here. I shook his hand and said thanks and away I went. No point in repugning these guys.
At the border crossing I only had to wait twenty minutes to reach the guard booth. She asked me if I had any fruits, vegetables or meat. I said I only have some homemade beef jerky and that I threw out all my other leftover food yesterday at a Pemex station. I already know not to bring anything back contraband or not. No beer food nothing. Just empty bottles. Nonetheless I was directed to secondary inspection, a first for me.
They had me remove enough stuff from the truck bed so they could see all I had. I bounced out two spare tires, lifted four gas cans, two tool boxes, two coolers and the step stool. In the coolers they saw all my Snapware were empty and the drink hitter only contained bottles of water. They had enough of me after twenty minutes and they let me go but not before handing me a paper listing all the stuff you can’t bring back from Mexico even after I already mentioned to the inspector I know not to bring anything back.
Home free. Woo hoo! A half hour later at the Jamacha Junction strip mall I aimed across the parking lot for the Circle K gas station. Once I fill up there I can make the last 100 miles home without stopping. As I crawled slowly through the lot I didn’t exactly stop all the way at one of the signs and when I turned right bam! there was an ambulance with lights flashing in my lane. I slammed on the brakes, the engine died. Before I could put it in reverse and restart, the ambulance cranked it right and went around me. Good thing a cop didn’t see that.
After gas I stopped and restarted five times before entering the 94 freeway fighting my way through thick noon red light traffic along Campo Road, all this while using the battery that had died Saturday. Smart of me to carry two brand new batteries; stupid of me to not replace the pedal bracket when I know the thing breaks periodically.
On the freeway I cruised nice and easy in fourth gear, having to carefully downshift four times to climb grades. If I revved the engine just right third gear was had without grinding.
Two hours later through my neighborhood I started from each stop in second gear, stressing my new clutch each time due to the load of equipment in the back and atop the roof.
To back the unit into the garage I killed the engine, shifted into reverse, flipped the transfer case into four-low, started back up and guided her in. I had to stop to unload the roof rack before I could with clutch pedal depressed all the way to the floor, slip the truck slowly and snugly into its regular storage bin. I could feel the stress melt from my body and drain out my tippy toes as I was no longer about to become hapless.
I put on my Mexican hat, backed out the car into the driveway and proceeded to unload and wash all the coolers and fishing gear for the next four hours. A welcoming committee of neighbors stopped by with verbal accolades, amazed I made it back relatively unscathed from a solo road trip to Mexico of which they admonished to me, without fustigating, their concerns beforehand. I always remind everyone Baja is safe if you take the small town route through Tecate. It is the mainland in which one must practice their trepidation. I have been indoctrinated by the best of Baja trainers and have many years experience.
After consuming a large Italian sandwich from the local Vons I relaxed at my desk to review service records. The first pedal bracket lasted 170,000 miles. The second 123,000 miles. The one that broke this trip 121,000 . I rue the fact that I have the wherewithal but did not obviate and replace that unit as part of my two-year preparation for this journey to thwart these kinds of failures. Since I only drive the truck 2,000 miles per year nowadays, the new bracket to be installed will perdure far past my tenure on earth.
*****
Caught a 2-8 brown trout from my secret lake in the High Sierra 7/26