Mike Humfreville
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Punta Eugenia, Part 2 - Punta Eugenia
I hope this doesn't confuse folks - I'm intermingling thoughts from my first trip ~ 1969 and a trip made several weeks ago. - Mike
Punta Eugenia, Part 2 ? Punta Eugenia
As we had gone to sleep the night before, we woke to dogs barking. They were everywhere in the town. I dressed and stood looking over the village
from our vantage point on the hillock. The twisting streets loosely defined small quadrants of houses and business. I had always appreciated how the
small villages have most of the houses attached or adjacent to the businesses the dwellers operated, providing security and proximity the ever present
and growing family. The streets are almost all small and narrow and dirt. Whenever a vehicle passed there a cloud was sure to follow. This
accounted for the fact that many owners of homes or businesses were flinging water from pans and buckets across the earth.
It had been so many years since I?d been here it was impossible for me to say what was new and what had existed with my visit in the ?60?s. I was
certain the village had a new church, near the water and at the end of what appeared to be a primary street. The villagers were friendly and quickly
offered us whatever instructions we needed. The stores of the town were filled with items unavailable anywhere else in the central desert except
Guerrero Negro. We paid our bill, gathered up and organized the dogs, piling into the rear of our vehicles. We were off for Punta Eugenia.
The road heads north from the village. It is wide and occasionally graded. I was thinking while upgraded from decades before it still followed the
approximate route it had so many years back. While the Vizcaino ? Tortugas road is certainly faster, it by-passes the parts of the malarrimo arm that
I had once shared with others. We had then passed, well into the desert, a sign for the old Rancho San Jose del Castro. So many years Castro was a
focal point for the entire area. En route to Malarrimo we?d pull off there to share a meal or a night?s sleep at that ranch. We had siphoned gas
from oil drums there. After all the miles of deep loose sand we had traveled it was always a welcome sight, San Jose del Castro.
From Bahia Tortugas to Punta Eugenia took us about an hour. It?s something over twenty kilometers. It is in good condition the entire stretch,
winding through some relatively steep then plunging hills and valleys. Several turnoffs on smaller roads to the west led to what I assumed to be tiny
fishing villages. The drive just for the sake of the drive is worth the effort. We dropped into the final washout and climbed to a small plateau. A
few village outbuildings extended toward the Pacific and several houses had been built there. We were approaching the village and everything felt
familiar without specific recollections from years passed. I looked for the old desalination plant that had existed on a small hill west of town. I
couldn?t spot it; assumed it was long gone as the government had installed it but never trained anyone to maintain it, at least that was what I?d been
told back then.
I was in the lead of our two vehicles and wasn?t certain where to go. There were certainly more buildings now then my last visit. But I kept to the
road and we soon dropped down into a small arroyo that I recognized. In fact I spotted an old building that might well have been where I had sat and
watched children playing 40 years before. We pulled to the side of the road and shut off the engines. The dust settled. We unloaded ourselves and
the dogs from the trucks. Baby Brisa had her bottle of mile in hand. She was walking now and quite secure on her feet, even on this slope that
dropped gently toward the bay that served as the village launch ramp. We must have appeared a ragged band by those who?d spent their extended days in
this hamlet by the sea. There were a number of young girls standing nearby. When we released the dogs the girls were terrified. Our friends
retrieved the dogs and told the girls that they all friendly, which they were. But they did enjoy a good bark. Baby Brisa, mom and dad walked down
to the edge of the water and sandy beach. Many pangas bobbed just off shore. A small opening in the lava that surrounded the beach formed a bay. A
group of young fishermen were pulling onto the beach, unloading their cargo. We walked down to visit. They had caught many Bonita, large sierra and
a good number of Yellowtail in the 15 ? 20 pound range.
?There are many fishes here.? One of the men said in broken English. We spoke Spanish in response, lauding their catch. They were offloading into a
sand-parked 2WD pickup but the men knew the beach and had no trouble pulling the loaded truck up to the small building, open on two sides and intended
for cleaning fish. In looking at the building I recognized the cinderblock walls and tin roof, was a reconstruction over the site where I had watched
the village, during the proper season, haul in their lobster traps by the hundreds. So long ago I had arrived at that magical moment and was
encouraged to join in with the process. Each aged wooden trap measured about three feet by two feet by 18 inches. They were all filled with lobster.
The traps were individually positioned in the old building. There were several officials who picked up individual lobsters and placed them atop a
very old measuring device. Depending of the length of the lobster, it was placed in another container with others of its size. Work had proceeded
throughout the afternoon. At one point a very large lobster was pulled from a trap. He was at least twice the size of even the biggest of all the
others. As this was unfolding a young man asked if I had a camera. I handed it to him. He asked if I would like my picture taken with the giant
lobster and waved me forward. One of the men told me to hold my hand out and put the beast in it. The boy stepped back a few feet and snapped my
camera shutter. I was honored.
On our current trip the old building was gone but the new one built exactly where I remembered the original. By now the girls that had been standing
nearby were playing lovingly with tiny Brisa, who knew very well she was the center of attention. My friend and I were asking about the village; one
of the fishermen invited us to lunch on his catch. I noticed an older man, about my age or older. He was sitting on a curb in the fishing hut.
?Have you lived here long?? I asked him.
?Fifty-five years.? He said. He had lived here when I came for my first visit. I noted how the village had grown. He agreed.
?Do you remember the desalination plant that they used to have on the hill entering town? I asked.
It?s still there, but a building now covers the equipment.
?Are there still plenty of lobster??
?Yes, but they?re not in season now. The time to trap lobster is fall and spring.? He named the months.
It was mid day. The towns and our dogs had integrated, the children were adoring Brisa and she them in return. We were obliged to decline the young
mans offer of lunch at his family home. I have taken up folks on these offers before and it is always wonderful to experience the warmth and
generosity offered to me so far into the outback. But it was getting to the point of spending another night in Bahia Tortugas or heading back to
Guerrero Negro where we wanted to do food shopping the next day.
Regretfully, we piled back into our vehicles, turned them around, did a lot of waving and were gone. But I was majorly rewarded to have met the
gentleman that had lived here most of his life. I wondered if I had met him on the ?60?s trip. We returned to Bahia Tortugas, drove through the town
one last time for this vacation, and headed back toward Viscaino. I was sad to leave after only two hours but the stability of Punta Eugenia over the
decades and the friendly folks there will remain with me forever.
Next Post: Return to Viscaino and Guerrero Negro.
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Bajaboy
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Registered: 10-9-2003
Location: Bahia Asuncion, BCS, Mexico
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Mike-
This is really cool...you do the trip report and I post the pictures. This is one of the side roads from Tortugas to Pt. Eugenia. We explored each
one looking for the perfect camping beach. While each was beautiful, we decided to camp south of Tortugas.
zac
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Bajaboy
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Location: Bahia Asuncion, BCS, Mexico
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This is what one of those beaches looked like:
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John M
Super Nomad
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Registered: 9-3-2003
Location: California High Desert
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Interesting stuff
Waiting for part III - you make these trips most interesting with your fine descriptions - really making us wish we were along on the trip.
Keep up the good writing, and thanks.
John M
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