Since Pre-Hispanic times the indigenous peoples of the Cape Region have been restricted in eastwest travel by the majestic Cape Sierras mountain range which forms the backbone of the Baja Peninsula. There have traditionally been only three regularly used footpaths traversing this seemingly impenetrable mass of crumbling rock. Cañon San Bernardino and Cañon San Pablo are two trails that are still frequented by locals and visiting hikers, and can be easily crossed in one day. Crossing the Sierra La Laguna, however, is a different matter...
Although well-marked from its western base, the Sierra La Laguna trail is steep and hot. It takes most hikers six to seven hours to reach the crest. The trail markings to the east are faint or nonexistent, and local wisdom has it that outsiders need five to six days to make the eastern crossing.
In 1991, I found myself looking for a new hiking challenge. After studying topo maps of the area, I became convinced that a person in good physical condition could make the dreaded eastern crossing in a single day. Soon after, I made the mistake of publicly voicing this belief, thus locking myself into a self-imposed dare that hangs over my head to this day. In the intervening years, I've made several forays into this hellacious maze, probing, reconnoitering and actually crossing on several occasions. The elusive one-day crossing still eludes me, but not for long!
Most
visitors to the rocky terminus of the Baja Peninsula will find the low mountains
skirting the Pacific as dry, dusty hills crisscrossed with foot trails, dead-end
roads and small solitary ranches. However, as you travel northwest, this range
of mountains steadily rises toward the sky in sharp pinnacles that hide seldom
seen beauty and danger, even by lifelong residents of the area.
In early 1999, I planned to traverse the Sierra La Laguna range at its highest point, accompanied by my good friend Rene Rivero. This was to be a final training exercise before our departure to climb the 23,000-foot Cerro Aconcagua in the Argentine Andes. The first day we planned to start south of Todos Santos, climbing about 5,000 feet to the La Laguna meadow where we would spend the night. We would depart the following morning and work our way down the eastern side of the mountain range, emerging at Rancho San Dionisio near the village of Santiago. In our 40-pound packs was enough food for two days and our MSR water filter guaranteed a supply of purified water from any stream.
Early on a Tuesday morning, my wife Mary dropped us off near Rancho Piedritas with instructions to pick us up late the following afternoon at Rancho San Dionisio. For six hours we climbed steadily upward on the difficult, but well-marked trail that terminates on the mountain crest at La Laguna meadow. At 5,800 feet, this meadow had once been a lake rich with fish, but in 1871 torrential rains filled it to overflowing. The ensuing floodwaters caused the lake to empty eastward, creating the grass-covered meadow that today is ringed by Golden Oaks (quercus chrysolepsis), Black Oaks (quercus devia), Madroño (arbutus peninsularis) and Mexican Piñones (pinus cenbroides var. lagunae). For many years, the meadow was used for growing potatoes to feed the booming silver mining town of El Triunfo. Today, a small stream wanders through the middle of the meadow, emptying into Cañon La Laguna to the east and eventually into Cañon San Dionisio. Our first evening was perfect--dining under a clear, starry sky with a good campfire, barbecued steaks and a bottle of wine. We shared our wine with the resident forester who assured us that although there was no trail to the east, a passage was possible if we followed his rather vague directions ("always go right"). Unknowingly, he was heading us into four foodless days of exhausting bushwhacking, punctuated by perilous crossings up and down crumbling cliff sides as we sought to find our way out of the rocky, spiny brush-filled trap.
Departing
early the next morning we crossed the ice-rimmed stream, making good time
for the first few hours, sometimes on a faint trail and other times moving
through thorny, but sparse, brush. Occasionally, we could see our ultimate
destination, the white sands of Arroyo San Dionisio, eight to 10 miles away
and far below. At mid-day we estimated that we would arrive at Rancho San
Dionisio in four to five hours and find Mary waiting for us. But soon we found
it impossible to continue our easterly progress on the ridge, every route
blocked by impassable cliffs. Moving to the south we descended deeper and
deeper through heavy brush. The exhausting work of bushwhacking and the searing
sun finally drove us into the bottom of Cañon El Potrerito in search of water.
Filling our water bottles from a stream deep in the canyon, we decided that
the only way out was to climb up the opposite ridge, camp for the night and
try to proceed down that to the valley the following morning. We spent the
last hours of the day in the dark, struggling 1,000 feet upward through brush
and loose rock until we found a level spot to camp. Sitting around a foodless
fire, we presented a strange sight, looking like survivors of a wildcat fight,
with torn shirts and arms and legs crisscrossed with bloody scratches.
As the sun rose Thursday morning we could see that our progress on this ridge would also be stopped by cliffs, so we retraced our steps back down into Cañon El Potrerito. Filling our water bottles again, we climbed to our previous day¹s position and continued to probe easterly without success. Late in the afternoon, we dropped into a small canyon to the north in an unsuccessful attempt to find water. As the sun disappeared in the west, we made a dry camp and went to bed. After a fitful night's sleep dreaming of popsicles and cold beer, we got going early the next morning. Twenty waterless hours later we located a small trickle of water in a shady nook. Scooping out a tiny basin and allowing the mud to settle we were able to filter six liters and continue our search for more water and a way out. Our liquid quest took us a thousand feet deep into the next canyon to the north, Cañon La Laguna, filled with abundant water and beautiful scenery, but also full of danger.
At
several points, Cañon La Laguna can be entered with some difficulty from the
ridges above by climbing down steep, crumbling rock walls choked with heavy
brush and vines that often force you onto all fours in order to make any headway.
Relatively easy down-climbing is suddenly punctuated by heart-stopping mini
avalanches as entire sections of earth detach from rock walls, leaving you
clinging perilously to roots and vines anchored in the rock. Upon reaching
the narrow canyon floor, we found ourselves hemmed in by sheer rock cliffs,
not difficult to climb under normal circumstances, but very risky when carrying
a heavy pack without safety ropes. The canyon floor is a jumble of beautiful,
house-sized, white granodiorite boulders--each polished by millenniums of
rushing water to a smooth surface. This robs you of handholds and makes safe
climbing over or around impossible. Between the boulder blockades lie deep
clear pools of water bordered by sandy beaches, maidenhair ferns, towering
palms and aspen-like trees (Huerivo populus brandegeei var. glabra). Occasionally,
the boulder-strewn canyon bottom gives way to a waterfall, never more than
20 or 30 feet high, but always high enough to make forward progress futile.
The only way we could move safely down the canyon was to boulder-hop laterally.
We searched for breaks in the surrounding cliffs that allowed us to climb
up a few hundred feet and move forward on the cliff face, always through thick
brush before being stopped by another set of sheer rocks. We then descended
to the canyon floor again and repeated the sequence. Experienced backpackers
can usually travel cross-country over normal terrain at an average of 1.5
to two miles per hour. Our progress was about 600 feet per hour! Despite our
slow progress and lack of food, neither Rene nor myself were particularly
concerned. We knew where we were, we could see where we had to go and we were
in very good spirits. We were actually having fun! Our only concern was that
Mary and our friends were probably becoming alarmed and would launch a search
and that someone might be injured looking for us in this hazardous terrain.
Each morning Rene would look up at the sky and say, "By 8 o'clock tonight we¹ll be having a cold beer at Pancho¹s." Doggedly we continued our snail's pace down the canyon, always surrounded by the untapped beauty of this wild paradise. Our days were hardly boring. Rene practically stepped on a sleeping wild boar, who flashed his large white tusks, snorted and crashed off through the brush. We saw signs of deer, foxes, coyotes, bobcats, and once fought off an attack by hundreds of ferociously territorial hummingbirds.
Just before sunset on Saturday, the drone of a Cessna flying lazily back and forth across the canyon ended our solitary days ‹ the rescue effort had begun. Hastily building a fire, we set off our camera flash bulbs and waved a red jacket, but the tree-filled canyon was too deep for them to see our signals. That night we camped in a cozy, low-ceiling cave and made the decision that the next morning we would climb to the nearest visible ridge and wait for someone to come get us. But during the night I awoke thinking, "No way am I going to sit and wait for someone to come get us. We¹re getting out of here under our own power." I sat up suddenly and forgetting the low ceiling, cracked my head. After the bells stopped ringing, I got out my flashlight and began to study the topo map...we were walking out tomorrow come hell or high water!
Sunday morning, the thought of the search party's efforts and the risks taken on our behalf spurred us to move faster, but several painful falls convinced us to return to a more cautious pace. The Cessna returned, followed by an ultra-light plane that circled directly above us, but still none were able to see the fire we built or the reflection cast from the top of an aluminum pot. Later, as a large military helicopter passed over without spotting us i wondered, "What is all of this costing me?" Early in the afternoon we finally found a trail at the junction of Cañon La Laguna and Cañon San Dionisio. It was like being on a superhighway; we were really moving and were going have that cold beer at Pancho's after all! At 4:00pm we heard a noise behind us and discovered we were being trailed by a Red Cross search team led by local ranchero Catarino Rosas. They had crossed our tracks earlier and had been tracking us ever since. Their first comment was, "Buenos tardes, are you Pancho?" Ironically, we met the search party only minutes from out final destination, Rancho San Dionisio. We were on track but four days late.
This experience brought us an appreciation of the awesome and untouched beauty of the deep canyons of the Sierra La Laguna and reinforced the care and respect that even experienced outdoorsmen must show when entering such a wild and untouchable area. The presence of a trial is no guarantee and can, in fact, lure you into places that you are unable to extricate yourself. We were very impressed by the rapid and professional reaction of the Red Cross, the local fire department, Military Pentathalon and many civilian volunteers who were quickly mobilized. It is reassuring to know that an emergency there is a system supported by people with strong hearts, ready to hel out. In April 2000, Rene and I will forge another attempt to find the elusive eastern crossing of the Sierra La Laguna.