Osprey - 7-25-2011 at 10:41 AM
Chasin’ the Cool
The shores of East Cape almost parallel the nearby Laguna mountains. The mountains rise like a row of sentinels splitting the end of the peninsula.
From the sand at the shore to the talus it is a very gradual slope, then the ramals need to switchback and curve to make the climb to just under 7,000
feet.
In late July and through August the monsoonal winds push the warm wet air across the desert and crush it against this rugged battlement. From the
valleys we watch the snow white puffs turn dark and angry and wet as they choose which canyon to bless with their precious burden – this year the
rancheros have waited another whole year without rain for their pilas, crops, wells and animals.
The process has the effect of teasing and tantalizing the thirsty villagers along the shore as we watch the thunderheads gather just over the next
little hill; we can hear the thunder, sometimes see the lightning but hardly ever get so much as a whiff of the lovely rain as it begins to fall on
its way up the canyons.
More than a decade ago there were droughts like these and at that time I was the owner of an old blue open Jeep, vintage 1975. I got sick and tired
and waiting for rain that never came so I put some gas in the jeep, filled a cooler with beer, ice and pop, drove by Enrique’s house. He and his
brother Manolo needed little encouragement to chase the rain up the canyons – when we neared Highway one it was decision time. We could see the
thunderheads forming but which canyon would get the good stuff? The ramals are not all connected; some deadend and if we chose the wrong canyon we
might be too late to get the wet stuff we were after.
The brothers both pointed south toward Boca de la Sierra but I outvoted them with my power of ownership of the vehicle (and the beer) and they would
soon learn that my whole life being spent in and around The Great Basin taught me to read the wind and the rain. I chose San Dionysio canyon and it
turned out to be the best choice we might have made. Also might have made a bad madcap movie with three compadres, drowned rats in shorts and sandals
watching the road sides disappear into the depths of the canyon as we careened up and around the scattered ranchitos, Bogarding our way into deeper
trouble and fun. Timing is everything when these gulleywashers arrive in the heights – instead of searching for a safe place to sit out the rain while
wondering if this one and only canyon road would take us back down again before nightfall, we rocketed toward the road’s end, the last rancho.
Good timing for everything; we ran out of beer just about the time the rain stopped, the sky opened up to show us the way back. It was a little dicey
going back down but I took it slow in four wheel drive hugging the canyon walls to cross washed out or weakened roadbeds.
Things change, I sold the Jeep to my gardener, Enrique and his family drifted into new lifestyles while Lynda and I slid into our Golden years. I did
buy another vehicle to launch and haul my panga – a 1987 Isuzu Trooper.
After hurricane Dora teased and promised rain for several days, then broke up like a cookie without giving us one drop of rain I’ve now decided that
this coming week, while Enrique and Manolo are off work I’m gonna make another run. I’ll go by their house tomorrow and tell em when they see me in
the Trooper, hear me honkin’ my horn, see the big clouds gathering over Las Cuevas, I am bidding them once again to help me find the cool.
Natalie Ann - 7-25-2011 at 12:23 PM
I've been up in those hills (montanas?) a couple of times during the rain.... spent some good time wondering if we'd be camping a day or three until
the down route dried out.
Thank you, Jorge, for another excellent tale.
nena