bajalera
Super Nomad
Posts: 1875
Registered: 10-15-2003
Location: Santa Maria CA
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Trip Report: La Paz-San Ignacio
The highway from La Paz to Constitucion, where we arrived around 11 a.m. on July 29, was in its normal state--road crews making repairs here and
there, and several gravelly stretches. Slow in spots, but no stops. Instead of taking the curve toward the Gulf at Insurgentes we went straight ahead
through Villa Ignacio Zaragoza--Pothole Capital of the Sur--and were stopped by some men in police uniforms [which with their white shirts llook much
cooler--lliterally--than Army uniforms].
The head man asked where we were going, and when Steve told him, he frowned and repeated, "San Ignacio?" in a tone implying that we must be lost.
[Washington State license plates sometimes have that effect down here.] Steve said we wanted to get there via the road through La Purisima, and they
waved us on. [An SUV with a middle-aged, short-haired driver, a 7-year-old girl who is half Filipina but is usually assumed to be Mexican, an old
lady, and a military sticker on the windshield hardly ever arouses the suspicion of people looking for narcotraficantes.]
After switchbacking down the long grade to La Purisima Arroyo, where soldiers had set up a temporary checkpoint at the turnoff to San Juanico, we
headed northeast. Good road--a bit jiggly but not enough to be annoying--bordered with date and fan palms. A viewpoint outside town is edged with a
low arcing row of half-buried tires painted in several bright colors--a cheerful recycling.
I had been to Purisima only once before, in the days when it had just one main street, with a bunch of guys hanging around on it and eyeing strangers
with suspicion. Gave me the feeling we had somehow wandered into a Grade B Western and were not the good guys. [When I told Mexican friends of this,
they said Well of course--that town is full of Sinarquistas.]
It now has more streets and more homes, lots of flowers, fruit trees, flame-red poinciana trees all over the place, and a neat little park with a
kiosk. No steely-eyed hombres in sight. A big restaurant and some other businesses are closed down, though, and the civic center doesn't seem to be in
use. La Purisima has the slightly tired look of a place that has probably seen more productive days.
Gerhard & Gulick say San Isidro, the next town, wasn't founded until the 1930s. It looks much older, mainly because of the substantial rock-lined
acequia [irrigation channel] that extends for miles, with water running through it at a good clip.
Very well constructed, the channel is in places 8 to 10 feet above the road bed. [On the right side of the photo, what appears to be a high stone wall
has the water channel at its top.] Brush has been cleared for several feet on either side of the acequia in some areas. The flood plain it rims is
lush and green, with date palms towering over thick stands of sugar cane.
Although there's no shortage of rocks in this region, fences made of them are rare. The preferred material for fencing is wire, with a wide array of
different types in use.
Carambuche [a Cochimi name recorded in the 1700s] is a smaller town, but the road through it has a median strip planted with pink oleander. People in
this part of the sierra make petate mats commercially, and many homes are walled with them. A fine example of the blending of two eras: a petate-mat
house with a big gas cylinder beside it, and a solar panel atop its pelm-thatched roof.
We went off onto a not-too-bad road that led to a dam, and some distance beyond it came to a great campsite--a level area between two mesas, with a
wide, shallow stream. There were many shrubs with large white flowers [couldn't find this in Norman Roberts' Baja plant guide], and gray boulders the
size of bedrooms were strewn here and there. As Steve set up camp, a trio of hummingbirds hovered over a pool on one side of the stream.
Nikki, my granddaughter, splashed around in the light of an almost-full moon, which eased up slowly from behind the far mesa. After she went to bed
Steve and I had our usual Baja-nightcapping-yapping session--which was interrupted around 12:30 when we heard something sloshing through the stream
where it crossed the trail.
Steve went to see what was up, and talked briefly with a man from Huerta Vieja who was in a hurry, because he was going to visit friends in La
Purisima--a walk of two-and-a-half hours. He knew what time it was, he said, because the tail of Scorpio [a constellation I've never been able to
find] was still visible above the horizon.
This was a perfectly splendid place to spend the night, falling asleep to the musical trickling of the stream--and thanks to some miracle, no
mosquitoes!
The next day it was back to that average Baja backroad--around one-and-a-half lanes wide, with a few rocky stretches that you take slowly if you care
about your tires, and occasional pullouts. Not much traffic although it looks like it's heavily traveled--we saw only two pickups between the camp
site and Highway One.
There are cattle ranches in this area, and most of them have at least one large catchment basin, where someone has gone to the trouble of removing
enough soil to make a spacious indentation that traps rainwater.
We had hoped to find Canipole, which on the old carretera had been an important stop--you could count on getting a reasonably priced meal there and
filling your containers with pretty good water. The rancher was a nonstop talker called Charlie [Murillo, I think, was his last name], who was usually
exchanging unkind words with his wife--she shouting back from a kitchen window.
But when we stopped at Canipole [another local Indian name] in '68, the wife had gone to live with a daughter in the States. Charlie was no longer
talking except to answer questions, and even then as briefly as possible--really sad to see the old spark extinguished. Slightly off the road, there's
now a larger house that looks to be added onto sections of the old one, at what must still be Canipole. We pulled in there, but no one was around.
Reunited with Highway One just south of Rosarito, from there it was an uneventful trip to San Ignacio, where the saint's day celebration was in
progress. The plaza was completely walled in with stands where celebrants could buy food, plastic trinkets, clothing and whatever, with enough
Tecate on hand to float an aircraft carrier.
There were dozens of ways to become separated from your pesos by playing what really aren't games of "chance" because players don't have much of one.
Good thing we'd made reservations early on, because half of Mexico seemed to have come for the annual fiesta, bringing their cars with them to this
little town that has solutions to traffic jams. Aside from us, the only other foreigners I noticed were a young couple who somehow looked more
European than American.
Several people who follow important fiestas for a living were staying where we were--one of them a Veracruzano who made whistles out of tiny lengths
of bamboo. When blown from one end they're supposed to sound like dogs, cats or other animals, and when blown from the other they make what is
unmistakably a very rude noise.
I got a couple of whistles to give to the Nomad board's foremost Bamboo Booster, but the man wouldn't tell me the secret of making the whistles.
[Sorry, JR, this could have been another employment project for those villages.]
In the evening a few mariachi bands wandered around, largely unemployed because a sophisticated imported group equipped with the usual well-endowed
amps took over. The music was of course so loud that people six inches away couldn't hear you unless you shouted, and the leader assured us that it
was going to continue until 7 or 8 the next morning. [I didn't stay awake that long.]
What stood out, on the bandstand, was the beautifully polished bell of a brass Sousaphone. Forty years ago, a bass horn [nearly always a tuba] meant
that a band was from Sinaloa, and what it provided was the "oom" common to German-style "oom-pah-pah" music. These days, all kinds of Mexican bands
have bass horn players and they've become stars of the show, taking off on solo cadenzas without any noticeable regard for what other band members are
doing in the way of rhythm or chords or keys. These instruments aren't easy to play, especially on the high notes, and the skill of the current
generation of Mexicans who have mastered them amazes me.
The last afternoon a mariachi band led the huge crowd that paraded through town, and a statue of Saint Ignatius was carried on a small platform. The
parade stopped at houses where there were old people too feeble to take part in it. [Being pretty feeble myself, I watched from a shaded and
relatively cool doorway.]
We drove up to the top of the mesa to the east, and found out why there isn't much trash in San ignacio. Trucks collect garbage in town and dump it up
there. But when you reach the edge of the mesa at the place where a concrete base once supported a flag pole, there's a great view of the palm-filled
valley and the mission church.
The trash litters several acres, but at least it's up on the mesa and out of sight--forming a midden, so archaeologists of future millenniums can try
to figure out what the hell people did with all that stuff before it got broken.
After breakfast we set out on our return, and eventually the Sea of Cortes came into view. Highway One curves left to begin its spectacular descent
down Infiernillo Grade, and at this curve the remains of the old carretera continue straight ahead instead of making the turn.
The old road now serves as an access to power lines. We traveled some distance on it for old time's sake, and Steve spotted something down below that
got his interest. So we returned to the highway, but at the base of the grade turned off into the arroyo.
From high above, at the top of the grade, the arroyo had looked sandy. But up close and personal, the road is one of those where you rock from side
to side about twice as far as you move ahead. A road I would call a challenge.
In fact, long sections of this particular road are what I would call an arroy. Can you say "pathfinder"? That is a name this son sometimes takes too
seriously when driving one.
After about half an hour I heard a small pop, a loud hiss and then an even louder SH*T! from Steve, who had just been inflicted with the very first
flat he's ever had in all his years of Baja off-roading. A sharp, mean-spirited little rock had reached out and slashed the sidewall of a front tire
[and is now sitting on his desk with a commemorative notation on it, never again to slash a tire].
The off-highway trip was worthwhile [particularly for me: I didn't have to put on the spare] because there were interesting things some distance up
the arroyo--large concrete platforms, wide steps not seeming to lead anywhere in particular, and a shrine draped with shiny gold lame panels, which
was tucked away into a hillside cave. Gerhard and Gulick identify this place a Lucifer, once the site of a village serving a manganese mine, but
despite this explanation it seems to retain a rather mystic aura.
At Santa Rosalia, it's good to see that somebody is finally doing something with the old Boleo buildings and equipment that rim the waterfront, though
it's pretty hard to tell just what they have in mind. Curious about what the Hotel El Industrial--which looks like a rehabilitated building--was
like, we spent the night there. It has aircon, hot water and TV[that we never turned on], but at 390 pesos seemed a bit overpriced [really cramped
space, no water glasses, few towels].
We stopped at El Coyote, where we had camped for three weeks in 1964--and where, for lack of anything better to do, I had climbed to the top of the
highest peak overlooking El Coyote Grade [not that any of my kids have ever believed I made it that far]. On returning to camp I had collapsed on a
rock to rest, and looking around, noticed that the natural arrangement of boulders gave the place the look of a little amphitheater. I scrambled down
to its center, where there's a large flattish rock with two well-worn grinding places on it--one black, one red. I like to think this is where an
Indian shaman performed a ritual before an audience of fellow nomads--grinding the colors used in the rock paintings of the caves beyond the grade,
and infusing them with good karma.
South of here, Highway One still has a few detours down into arroyos where bridges have been washed out, but there are no problems worth fretting
about.
If you're destined to be a prison guard, it seems to me the state prison south of Loreto would be an ideal place to serve your time. The men in the
watch-towers have such a wonderful view--the varied blue/green shades of the Sea of Cortes and Isla San Marcos to the east, with the browns of the
Sierra de la Giganta to the west.
Steve says forget it--those towers probably have no air-con and the poor guys in them can't see that wonderful view because there's sweat in their
eyes.
And on second thought, he's probably right. So let me revise that: The ideal way to view Baja California Sur's distinctive landscape, at this time of
year, is through the windows of an air-conditioned vehicle.
And have a great trip!
bajalera
[Edited on 8-9-2004 by bajalera]
P.S. As David K was nice enough to point out, the prison is south of Santa Rosalia, not Mulege. I got lost in Baja again!
[Edited on 8-11-2004 by bajalera]
\"Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest never happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects.\" -
Mark Twain
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Packoderm
Super Nomad
Posts: 2116
Registered: 11-7-2002
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Thank you for such a nice report!
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PabloS
Nomad
Posts: 187
Registered: 4-8-2003
Location: North central AZ
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Thanks for the great report! I thought the painted tires were a cool way to recycle.
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tim40
Senior Nomad
Posts: 574
Registered: 3-29-2004
Location: Manhattan Beach
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Mood: There yet?
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We have wanted to make it to Saints Day Celebtrations in San Ignacio. Would you recommend it?
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Mike Humfreville
Super Nomad
Posts: 1148
Registered: 8-26-2003
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Thanks, Bajalera and Steve
for taking us along with you. In my personal view a trip report isn't about where to turn left or right but where your experience took you, along a
road sure, but more, what your heart told you and how the colors and edges of the desert and ocean and stream worked and the night sky. You got it
all and I was jumping from Baja Almanac pages pinpointing your travels. I have never actually heard that your route was the original route but I have
always thought that to be so. Any thoughts? Why did you and Steve chose that path?
Absolutely a great report, one that made me want to be there.
Mas palabras por favor que tocar el corazon!
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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 65175
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
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Mood: Have Baja Fever
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Much thanks Lera!!! I love trip reports. Takes me to Baja mentally when I am not there physically.
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bajalera
Super Nomad
Posts: 1875
Registered: 10-15-2003
Location: Santa Maria CA
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Thanks for the kind words, Pack, and the great recycling picture, PabloS. I had four photos to post--one a very good bad road pic--but can't get the
attachment to do what it's supposed to.
Mike Humfreville, we were looking for a way to get from La Paz to San Ignacio that we hadn't taken before, and also wanted to see if Canipole (which
we both remember fondly) was still there. Gerhard & Gulick's Map 12 gives a good idea of the two old carreteras of this region. From Poza Grande, one
went through La Purisima, Huerta Vieja and Oja de Agua--easy to follow on Baja Almanac Map S-14 through El Duguajal, El Junco and Corral Dos Puertos.
But Mexicans fishing in the acequia at San Isidro said this road was washed out, so we took one to the southeast of it, from El Aguajiito to La
Bandera, El Injecto (curious name!) to El Junco, where it joins the road from Purisima.
The other carretera out of Poza Grande went through the Comondus--Miguel, Jose & Vieja--and is harder to follow in the Almanac because of the page
break. The Comondu route was perfectly beastly, bedded with sharp rocks and really slow, but more people took it because it was shorter. A lot of
effort has been put into improving all the roads we saw--sizable rocks are piled up for 5 or 6 feet on either side of them, with the roadbeds graded
but not washboardy. In a few spots there are natural "topes" made of bedrock, but the roads skirt around these so they're easy to spot in advance.
tim 40, would I recommend San Ignacio on the saint's day is a tough question, because the answer depends largely on what you're looking for and how
you feel about crowds. Unlike La Paz--where there's space on the Malecon for commercial operations to spread out during big fiestas, and plenty of
cops to direct traffic--San Ignacio is a very small place, with no provisions at all for handing hundreds of visitors and their many vehicles.
This an attractive, one-of-a-kind peninsula town, a little treasure, but you can't see that when the entire plaza is swathed in plastic, serving as
walls for all the commercial stands.The saint's day was interesting and lively, but personally I'd rather visit San Ignacio at some other time of year
(and Steve agrees).
Thanks to you, too, David K. I enjoy your informative posts--and BTW, noticed on another thread what a cute guy you are! If I were only 70 or 80 years
younger . . .
Lera
\"Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest never happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects.\" -
Mark Twain
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Neal Johns
Super Nomad
Posts: 1687
Registered: 10-31-2002
Location: Lytle Creek, CA
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Mood: In love!
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Lera, I am younger, better looking, and have more Baja archeological books than David K; and live with my maiden sister. Do I stand a chance? 
My motto:
Never let a Dragon pass by without pulling its tail!
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jrbaja
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 4863
Registered: 2-2-2003
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With that resume Neal
I'd say you definitely caught her attention
Lera, please u2u how to contact you when I get down there. We will figure out those whistles. I'm pretty sure we can make the one end work !
What a fun jaunt ! Thanks for sharing.
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bajalera
Super Nomad
Posts: 1875
Registered: 10-15-2003
Location: Santa Maria CA
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Assuming you're as handsome as that avatar, Neal, absolutely!
Lera
\"Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest never happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects.\" -
Mark Twain
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Neal Johns
Super Nomad
Posts: 1687
Registered: 10-31-2002
Location: Lytle Creek, CA
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Mood: In love!
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That's not an avatar! That's the real Me! 
My motto:
Never let a Dragon pass by without pulling its tail!
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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 65175
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
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Mood: Have Baja Fever
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NEAL JOHNS is a fox!
No wonder he has 'wives in waiting'!!!
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