Desert Daydreams:  Hiking in the Baja Peninsula
By Diane Selkirk, Freelance Writer

My hiking plans are often based on no more than a casual comment or undefined rumor. One night I heard an off hand mention of an abandoned 17th century Jesuit mission located up a dry river gully on the Baja Peninsula. Missions are common on the Baja; the Peninsula owes its permanent colonization to the establishment of 31 Jesuit, Dominican and Franciscan missions but most are now crumbling ruins.

The idea of hiking to a forgotten ruin caught my imagination and the plan was set. Over the next few weeks I searched our charts and guidebooks for more information. I knew roughly where on the coast to look, but I had no luck finding any reference to a mission in the area.   Aside from not knowing exactly where it was, I also didn’t know the name. Eventually, I found an old chart with a lone notation: "Los Dolores". In the absence of other options, I decided this was it.

We anchored along the open stretch of coast that I had declared was near the start of the "trail". Leaving the boat, I set a quick pace as I searched for the dry riverbed we would follow to the mission in the mountains. “It’s hot. Slow down.” Came my husband Evan’s call from
behind me. Slowing, I began to notice the land around me. I can identify the chola plants and saguaro cactus, but for the others I have my own simplistic names; fuzzy yellow, speckled spiny, or the common white stick plant. Marking our trail with rock cairns, we wandered on through the winding, interweaving riverbeds of purple and red rocks. Eventually a canyon wall loomed ahead and there was no sign of a mission. Evan gave me a sip of his water and after lecturing me about drinking mine all at once he reluctantly agreed to keep going for ten more minutes. As we rounded another bend I happened to look up from the river gully. “That’s a nice old stone wall.” I mused.

My Mission! I scrambled up and over the long unmortared wall into huge empty gardens. At the end of the field was a jungle oasis, a riot of green against the drab surroundings. Acres of ancient tilled mounds were still clearly distinguishable in this slow changing landscape. Wandering towards the green we passed ruined outbuildings and an adobe oven. Two campesinos were shoveling out a ditch. In this isolated setting, it was easy to pretend they were the 200-year-old ghosts of mission workers. I asked them where the main buildings were. "Go left at the bananas and up," was my guessed interpretation of their Spanish. Up beyond the first clumping of green I saw a second stand, perched higher on the cliffside, almost out of view.

We continued through the fields, stopping to explore a large man-made cavern cut into the cliff side. I examined the hand chisel marks and we tried to guess what this 12 meter deep room had been used for. “Produce storage? Or maybe it was some kind of archaic prison!” Past the mango trees we entered the jungle. Banana and lime trees were covered with fruit. An artesian well bubbled, providing a soothing sound effect as it fed the humid greenery. We stopped to fill our water bottles. Turning left at the bananas brought us into a tree of thorns. We tried to get through the undergrowth and start upwards, but easy desert meandering left us unprepared for this impenetrable little jungle. The mission was hidden from view and was beyond our reach. It was too late in the day to keep climbing. We needed to travel further to find a safe anchorage before nightfall. Disappointed, I gathered sumptuous mangoes, ripe bananas and fragrant limes to take home.

Buoyed by my near success in locating the mission I decided it was time to pursue another Baja myth. I’d heard whispers of a lovely cool swimming hole, high in the hills above the anchorage of Puerto Escondido. For days I visualized myself doing the backstroke in a crystal clear, fresh water oasis. Evan pointed out it was midsummer and hadn’t rained in two years. Despite his arguments, I couldn’t be dissuaded.

Undeterred by Evan’s pessimism we set off early, following directions I’d pieced together from stories and suppositions. As we were making our way across the open desert, heading towards a steep arroyo, a young Mexican boy named Armando stopped us. Sitting high on a glistening chestnut stallion he told us “No Passé” that boulders blocked the way we were going. Armando sat tall, with an adult strength and arrogance.  Around his head he wore a red bandana that matched the red bridle on his horse. Everything about him seemed commanding, even the intricately carved wooden saddle was majestic. Armando offered to lead us to another arroyo, with an even better swimming hole, on a different part of his family's ranchero. I walked beside him while he guided us, listening as he quietly sang Spanish ballads to encourage his horse.

Entranced by this near daydream of an encounter my imagination grew inventive. With each step our destination became more magical, the water became icy, the foliage dense and mystical. But after three hours, my water was gone and there was no swimming hole in sight. Then the land began to steepen and we needed to concentrate on the climb. After a while we skirted a rock wall and lush green came into view. Carefully making my way over the slip rock I looked down as Armando solemnly pointed at the swimming hole. "I'll bet it’s beautiful when there is water in it." Came Evan’s weary voice from behind me.

After the swimming hole adventure Evan lost faith in my hikes. I think he was reluctant even before then – from the perspective of someone from British Columbia it might seem that Baja California doesn’t offer ideal hiking conditions. High temperatures, no water, limited shade, and spiked plants are all deterrents. However, it is the contrast to hiking in British Columbia that makes the Baja appeal to me. The arid lands offer a subtle beauty that is easily overlooked. Here, magnificence is found in the details of shape, texture, color, and shadow. The silhouette of cactus backlit by the sun, the intensity of color in a desert flower, an unexpected change in landscape when topping a ridge, they all draw me in. The heat exhausts me, but not before I am subdued by the beauty.

When I sighted the opening to a cave from our spot at anchor my imagination immediately conjured up a mystery. Once, an unknown, unremembered people called the Anasazi lived here. Before disappearing from history they built rock shelters, carved petroglyphs, and painted fantastic murals inside caves. Caves, just like the one I discovered!  Evan refused to climb and share in the discovery. "But what about the cave paintings we’re sure to find?" I implored.

Alone, I carefully made my way up through the rubble and rock, pausing
to admire tiny lavender colored flowers with a faint spicy aroma. A Frigate Bird flew closely past as I drank deeply of my water. I continued to climb. Soon, I saw the cave didn't cut as deeply into the cliff as I imagined it would. Scrambling up the last bit I started to doubt that anyone would bother to use this cave for anything. Compared to the other caves I have climbed up to this one was uninviting and the climb was difficult. I entered the shallow depression and made a quick search for ancient artwork. Despite many overheard stories about the numerous cave paintings in this region I have yet to discover any. Of course there are guidebooks that would show me where to find them but I’d like to believe I will find them on my own.

 Resting on the ledge I enjoyed the breathtaking view of my boat floating serenely on the turquoise waters. Unexpectedly I noticed a dark area in the clear water. By squinting it looked faintly like a sunken boat. A lost Spanish Galleon? Excited, I scurried back down my rough trail with images of diving on an uncharted wreck filling my head. Perhaps I could convince Evan to swim – even if he has given up on my hikes.

** All photos by Diane Selkirk

Back to Index

©2004 Live Life Travel. All rights reserved.
Terms of Use | Privacy Statement | Articles Listed by Country
design by: EPOIA Interactive Studios, LLC