vacaenbaja
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Whispering Canyon By John W. Hilton
It was no wonder we had the feeling that a jinx or curse
hung over the Island of Angel de la Guarda. For two
years we had been trying to get out there to do some real
exploring. Each attempt met with some sort of disaster.
In fact, there were several planned starts that never got
under way due to weather, engines, or the sudden change
in plans or heart of those who owned boats.
When we talked of our desire to explore the Island,
there are always plenty of people who had boats who
"certainly wanted to get out there sometime." The trouble
was that the "sometime" just didn't seem to materialize.
The summer was about past. One thing after another
happened to the Carmans' boat, the EL Seguro. Finally the
engine had to be taken out and shipped to the United
States to be completely rebuilt.
During the rbuilding of the engine, the boat was
beached and repairs were made on the hull-- a new
fiberglass bottom, new paint, other items. It would be a
new boat as soon as the engine was installed. We made
a date to go to the Iland. Now we would be able really to
spend some time there--we thought.
The engine came. There was a frantic time with me-
chanics, helpers, and kibitzers as it was installed. Then
it was tested and it ran hot. This was just just a small matter
of timing they thoght at first. After a couple of precious
days passed in testing, it was decided that it was not
timing, The water pump was no good. This would be very
simple. Dr. Carman got on the overseas radio and called
Fancisco Munoz at Tijuana, asking hime to pick up a
water pump and fly it down on his Friday trip.
We planned to get under way Friday afternoon as soon
as the pump was installed. I had everything packed.
Francisco landed with his passengers and the usual pack-
ages but there was no package for Dr. Carman. The near-
east water pump for that engine was back on the Atlantic
Seaboard. The Carmans' time was about up. So was ours.
PART 2 to FOLLOW
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David K
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Cover: Whispering Canyon. Blue palms and sheer walls mark this enchanting canyon on Angel de la Guarda Island in the Gulf of California. John Hilton,
who painted this and the back cover scene, is one of the few men who have set foot in this glorious setting...
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vacaenbaja
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Whispering Canyon PART 2
Then two other boat owners volenteered to make the
trip. Things looked good again for a day. Then one of the
owners suddenly changed his mind and headed for the
United States via San Felipe. The other one had his mind
changed for him by a relative. This was the last straw. I
was perfectly willing now to give up and believe in the
jinx of Angel de la Guarda.
The thing that was breaking our hearts was the fact
that we had flown over the Island at sundown two nights
in a row and had seen some canyons containing hun-
dreds or possibly thousands of palm trees. This ment
just one thing, there was water in those canyons if one
dug a shallow well. Palms have shallow roots and the
roots must be in damp ground. We had told everyone of
discovery since we thought we would be going out
there very soon. Now that it looked as if we would not
make it, we wondered whether the word would get out
and someone with a conbination of curiosity, nerve, and
a boat that was in working condition might very well
beat us to our own discovery.
Sharon had become ill and Dr. Carman had flown her
and the rest of my family to the States. Now he was
back and we were a glum lot. There sat the island like a
mountain range in the Sea of Cortez, smiling a rosy-pink
smile of mockery at us that evening. I was sick of trying
and said so. Then Dr. Carman suggested that we take
the El Seguro anyway.
"It runs fine at half speed," he assured us. "It will just
take longer to get there and back but we won't have the
safety factor of being able to outrun a sudden storm." So
far as I was concerned, the El Seguro was a straw and I a
man about to go down for the third time. I grabbed it.
Lillian Carman agreed and said we should get going that
very same afternoon. Nacho was not so enthusiastic. He
had suffered so much trouble with this boat that his con-
fidence was shakened. He really did not care to take a
chance on the island trip until the water pump was in-
stalled. He looked to the south and said, "Wind tonight
from the south. It is not good. It is blowing in the channel
right now."
Antero looked around and said, "The wind is blowing
out there in the channel. It will be a nasty night for a
small boat."
Our hearts fell again. The weather looked fine to us
except for a very light south wind. We were sure we had
seen south breezes that were not followed by storm.
Suddenly Doc cried, "What do we have a plane for? Let's
fly out over the channel and see what it looks like. It will
only take a few minutes."
We were in the plane and off in five minutes. We
circled out over the inner bay and gained altitude, then
started out for the channel itself. There were no white-
caps. There was a slight swell coming in from the south
making a tremendous pattern of concentric arcs ten miles
across. The swells did not look bad, however. There was
practically no wind aloft.
We landed and walked over to where Nacho and Lil-
lian were talking. "Let's go," said Doc. "Let's get packed.
It's now or never." It was like pressing an electric buzzer.
Everyone went into action. Nacho started hauling gas
down to fill the tank. I went to the house to get my things,
which were already packed. Lillian and Doc were doing
the same.
Everyone else was shaking his head. Each was sure
we were crazy but if we insisted, he would help. The
young Spaniard who measured out the gas fancied him
self an expert on the weather. He had only been around
about eighteen months but he was still ready to predict
and he predicted a very bad storm. We just grinned at
each other and started piling things into the boat. Even
Nacho was in the spirit of things by now.
"A little wind did not scare Columbus," he smiled as
he rolled a fifteen-gallon drum of fresh water down and
heaved it aboard singlehanded.
PART 3 TO FOLLOW
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vacaenbaja
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Whisering Canyon PART 3
There wasn't much in the way of goodbyes. We simply
climbed in, started the motor, and pointed the El Seguro
for the opening between the Horses Head Island and the
outer tip of the bay. The breeze had died down to noth-
ing, there was a shallow swell and that was all. The
engine ran smoothly at half speed. The temperature re-
mained normal on the gauge. Clouds hung over the
mainland back of us. They had come up from nowhere
while we were getting underway. Now the setting sun
was turning them blood-red. Lillian was tsking color pic-
tures and exclaiming on the beauty of the red sky re-
flected in the water. Nacho looked back and frowned.
"I don't like red sunsets," he said and was silent for the
next two hours.
As we passed the last point of the mainland and turned
a bit more southerly to make a course for the south end
of the Island, we began to notice a gradual change in the
water. There was still no wind but the swells were higher.
Now we could have gone only at half speed even if we
had the new pump, for the swells all at once turned into
waves with whitecaps. It was almost dark now. We could
see a bright star rising over the southern tip of the island.
Doc took the wheel from Nacho.
"I'll handle it for a while," he said." I don't feel seasick
in rough weather if I have hold of the wheel."
Nacho said nothing, he simply turned away and looked
out across the black water. The boat was lurching wildly
now. I could see that Doc was trying to hold a course on
the star over the island. The whitecaps were phosphores
cent. Now and then we shipped water from the crest of
one as we climbed it. Of course, this was nothing com-
pared to that other night on the gulf. The steady drone
of the engine was reassuring. From time to time Doc
snapped on a small flashlight to check the temperature
gauge. It was about normal.
Then, dimly, the outline of the south end of Angel de
la Guarda Island separated from the dark sky and we
could see that we were closer to it than the mainland.
The waves did not seem to be getting any higher. I think
we were all begining to breathe a bit easier. Suddenly a
great phosphorescent splashing ahead showed us that we
were catching up with a school of porpoises. No one had
said anything for at least half and hour.
Lillian said, " Aren't they beautiful?"
Doc murmured that they were suppose to be good
luck.
Gradually the waves lessened as we came into the lee
of the iland. Soon it was quite calm. We were all looking
ahead now, trying to pierce the gloom to see whether
there there were any white caps beyond the point of the island.
This would tell the story. If it was blowing out there, we
might have to turn back and take shelter in some inlet on
the west side of the island or make a run for the gnat-
infested harbor of La Vibora.
At last we reached the point and, giving it a good wide
berth, we rounded it and turned north. The sea was calm
except for the same sort of swell we had started with. All
at once everyone seemed to feel like talking. we got out
some lunch and ate it. Nacho and I sang some snatches
of Mexican songs. Without saying it in so many words,
we all agreed that the jinx had been broken. We had
called the chanel's bluff and won.
I had not offered to take a turn at the wheel on the long
crossing, so now I suggested that I take over. The others
needed sleep. My suggestion met no objections. In a little
while I found myself alone, piloting El Seguro over an
oily sea of swells. It was a"following sea" and kept me
busy at the steering.
Ahead was the point of the island which made La
Vibora Harbor. Nacho's last warning was to stay well
off shore when I passed it. Time seemed to stand still.
There was nothing but the drone of the motor, the soft
hiss of the water, and the stars which swing back and
forth across the sky ahead. I rounded the point of La Vi-
bora and took a direct heading for the dark pyramid of
Punta del Diablo (called Punta Rocoaosa by some fastidi-
ous map maker who does not want to give the devil his
due).
This took me quite a way offshore because the island
makes a sharp bend. My companions slept. The motor
droned away, the following swells picked the boat up and
shoved it first right and then left. I was begining to get
the rhythm of the thing and kept the Devil's Point some-
where in the middle of the arcs. Occasioal schools of
flying fish and needle fish shot out of the water ahead of
the boat like blue-white sparks, leaving phosphorescent
wakes behind them in their flight. A huge manta ray
came swiming by. Its kite-shaped body made a slow
moving patch of phosphorescence longer than the boat.
Some small rays jumped, making bright fountains of bio-
luninescence as they fell back to the water.
PART 4 TO FOLLOW
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Santiago
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Thanks for this.
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vacaenbaja
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Whispering Canyon PART4
A pair of porpoises traveled with me for a long time,
one on each side near the prow. Suddenly they would
both shoot foward and cross in front of the boat several
times, leaving white glowing streamers in the water. It
was a game. They finally left me for another manta and
went swimming away at an angle to my course, cutting
the same kind of capers in front of the giant ray.
Suddenly with no warning at all, a great orange flame
shot up from the eastern horizon. I gasped so loudly that
it awakened Lillian. She stuck her head out of the cabin.
"What is it?" came her sleepy voice.
We both watched for another moment as the flame
turned to a golden horn and finally the crescent of a late
three-quarter moon. There it hung over the black mirror
of the gulf looking down at its waveriing reflection. Whisps
of clouds which had not been visable minutes before
glowed a soft yellow.
The other two awakened, streatched, and looked at the
moon and Point Diablo looming ahead.
"Must be about two o'clock," mumbled Doc.
A quick check disclosed that none of us had brought a
watch. It didn't matter. We were nearing the jagged point
which was our destination. We had broken the jinx. The
island was ours. Nacho took the wheel. We passed the
point and turned in near strange jutting rocks . There was
a crescent beach of cobbles. Nacho seemed to know the
anchorage for he pulled in without hesitation, glancing
at the dark silhouettes about him for his bearings.
In my haste I had not brought a sleeping bag. The
thought of spending the rest of the night on the hard deck
of El Seguro was not very appealing. i had hoped for a
sand beach but this beach was cobblestones about fist
size.
"There is no sand," insisted Nacho in a vain attempt
to keep us all aboard the boat.
"There are rattlesnakes here and they travel at night."
called Nacho as I slipped over the side into the shallow
water. I waded ashore and walked up over the high cob-
ble beach. There, just as I had suspected, was a level spot
lowwer than the strom-piled summit of cobblestones. It
turned out that the sand I hoped for was just plain dirt.
but it was softer than the planks of El Seguro or the cobble
beach. I looked about with my flashlight for tracks of
snakes and saw none.
Soon Doc and I were unloading things, much against
Nacho's will, and carrying them over the ridge to the
level spot. I had some things wrapped in a light-weight
plastic tarpaulin. I spread this out and it was my bed. A
canvas sack of gear served as a pillow. We were soon
asleep. The Carmans had some bedding but not enough
to make much difference. Nacho slept on board.
When I awakened Doctor Carman in the early dawn,
he insisted that he had not slept a wink all night. This
didn't make much sense to me since I was sure that
it was his snoring which had kept me awake all night.
Lillian reported that she had slept a little bit which was
mighty honest of her. After firing three shots with my
pistol, I managed to attract the attention of Nacho, who
had anchored off shore reporting that he had not slept a
wink all night because of the bitting gnats. A few of the
gnats had found us but none of the rattlesnakes Nacho
had predicted.
Walking down the beach about a hundred yards to
gather wood, I found a beautiful sandy spot which had
undoubtably been used by turtle fishermen as a camp.
Charcoal from their old fires told the story of repeated
use. When I called Nacho's attention to this he grinned,
saying that he was a stranger to this spot.
"Then how did you find this excellent anchorage in
the dark?" I asked. "I asked the turtle fishermen about it.
I didn't ask about a camping place. I thought we would
sleep on the boat." I ahve never caught Nacho without
an answer.
Dawn at the anchorage of Punta del Diablo was a piece
of magic. The sky was a deep blue-black tinted with the
faintest lemin down near the water. Somewhere out
there were the faint outlines of Tiburon, the island
famous for its Seri Indians. In the foreground was the
crescent of cobblestone beach ending in the magnificent
upthrust of volcanc rock like a great monument. Gradu-
ally the sky became more yellow. The water at our feet
took on the color and then the grat shining sun burst
forth.
The plutonic rocks of the desert island behind us
glowed redder than they really were. Even the cactus and
catclaw took on a rosy aura. I was walking toward camp
with my arms loaded with wood. A lone pelican swam
straight toward me and came so close that I laid down my
wood and reached out and petted its back. It sounded like
a hollow cardboard carton. The bird seemed surprised at
this act and backed off a bit. I gathered up my wood and
walked back to where Nacho had a fire going. The pelican
followed along in the water only three or four feet off
shore. I am sure he was as curious about my actions as I
was about his.
At breakfast, Nacho started talking of how calm the
morning was and how it would be calm alll day. Further-
more , he assured us that this was a good anchorage and
he could take the boat out a way and anchor it bow and
stern. It would certainly be lonely here on the beach wait-
ing for the explorers to return. He went on like this until
the Carmans and I held a conferance and decided that
although Nacho was a boatman and therefore should stay
with the boat, he had taken a chance to come in the
weather we had the night before and he was certainly
entitled to be in on the discovery of the canyon we had
sighted from the air.
"I could carry the shovel," he offered, "and anything
else you would like carried."
This was very unusual, for most Mexican boatmen do
not want to venture even a hundred yards from the shore
of Angel de la Guarda Island. The place is supposed to be
accursed and full of poisonous reptiles. The difference
here was that Nacho had lived through our first attempts
to reach the island. He had flown over it with Doctor
Carman and Lillian one afternoon and looked down in
awe at the palm canyon we were about to explore. The
enthusiasm had been catching.
PART 5 TO FOLLOW
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vacaenbaja
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Whispering Canyon PART 5
We were soon making our way up a long alluvial fan
toward a canyon about two miles ahead. The going was
rougher than than it had looked from the air. Here was the
sort of place where there would have been a trail had it
been an inhabited country, but since Angel de la Guarda
was supposed to have been uninhabited since its discov-
ery by Francisco de Ulloa in 1539, we could expect no
trails.
Yes, we were actually soon in the mouth of a magnifi-
cent canyon and still there was no trail or sign that others
had passed that way.--no kleenex on the bushes, no ciga-
rette boxes, no beer cans, just untouched desert.
The first palms were scrubby and unkempt looking,
not much taller than a man. They were the typical blue
palm of Baja California but cut down in size from trunk
to leaf. But for the blue palms and the giant cardon cacti
growing with them, this could have been a canyon in the
California desert. There were smoke trees, catclaw, in-
cense bush, and many other of the familiar shrubs of our
own desert, but here and there were cacti that which were
completely different.
The next clump of palms was better looking an taller.
There were a few ordinary green fan palms mixed with
the blue palms but the blue-grey one predominate. We
began noticing fragments of agate, crystal, and obsidian
in the bed of the wash and started inspecting the walls
of the canyon. In many places the cliffs were pitted with
the open cavities of thin walled geodes containing small
quartz crystals and chalcedony. Higher up we could see
bands of obsidian in place. It was a rockhounds dream
come true. As I looked at the turrets and minarets of the
mountain ahead, I realized that a gem hunter might dis-
cover something really interesting in these varicolored
plutonic rocks capped in places by volcanic rocks.
The canyon became deeper and narrower as we pro-
gressed. Catclaw and other thorny bushes barred the way
oftener now and the palm surrounded us by the hun-
dreds. Nacho scanned the floor of the sandy wash for
tracks. He found those of foxes and a small car-like ani-
mal. There were also thousands of tracks of a large black
chuckwalla which we had seen in abundance on other
landings on the island. Mrs. Carman was busy now tak-
ing photos of everything around her. The doctor was
helping Nacho look for tracks and I was pecking away at
rocks with my prospecting pick. We were all having the
time of our lives. If this was what it was like to discover
a new palm canyon, then we were enjoying it to the
utmost.
It had been pleasantly cool when we left our camp
near the beach, but now the sun was getting warmer on
our backs. From time to time we would stop and enjoy
the shade of a towering cliff. We each carried a two-quart
canteen of water and were already glad we had brought
them along. The canyon, which did not look as if it was
very long, appeared now to be at least five miles in length.
We had stopped in the shade of an overhanging cliff
discussing the possibility of digging for water at one of
the palm clumps when I suddenly heard something un-
pleasantly familiar.
"Hold it, everyone," I urged. "I hear a rattlesnake."
We stood stock still looking slowly all around us for
the reptile. The buzz had sounded very faint and quite a
distance away. I was looking in a radius of fifty feet or
more. Finally my eyes lowered and there was our snake.
It was coiled ready to strike between Dr. Carman and
myself. The doctor had stepped over it just before we
stopped. As soon as the snake saw our eyes on it the
rattles came again.
We were all amazed. This was not the sharp buzz of
an ordinary rattlesnake. It was, rather, the muffled whis-
per of a rattler as if it were in another room. The snake's
color was almost exactky that of the buff-colored sand
upon which it was resting. There were the faintest of
diamond patterns in slightly darker buff. The tail was
banded in six very distinct black and white bands and
eneded in a set of rattles that woukd have been small for
a sidewinder, yet this was a medium-sized snake of about
two and a half feet. This was certainly not one of the
giant balck rattlers described by writers as abounding
here.
The many chuckwalla lizards we had seen that day
were quite black. It may have been that some person
panicked at the sound of rattle, or perhaps a cicada, and
thought every lizzard he saw was a giant black rattlesnake.
Such a statement can be carried down from a verbal report
to journal, to book and from one book to another until it
is generally accepted as fact.
Lillian watched with facination as the snake rattled
again.
"Do you have to kill it?" she murmured. "This is where
it lives, we are the intruders."
I told her I had promised Dr. Charles Bogert of the
American Museum of Natural History that I would try
to collect a couple of specimens to settled the discussion
as to whether this is a different type of snake.
I had some very fine shot loaded in my pistol for this
purpose. Just then Nacho reached for a rock. He had seen
all he wanted to of the snake. I called just in time to stop
him and shot too fast and too close. The shot damaged
the head for a good specimen but I put it in a collecting
bag just the same. There was no time on this first trip for
proper live collecting and later for killing by drowning,
which is the correct method.
There were more and more cicadas buzzing as we pro-
gressed up the canyon. They sounded- twice as bad as the
rattler and kept us all jumping. Besides the snake, the
chuckwallas, and the small lizards, we saw two very
large scaly palm lizards and one collard lizzard. They
were all too fast to collect. I caught only a glance of the
collared lizard standing up on a fallen palm stump like
a dinosaur on its hind legs. It was about a foot long and
golden yellow and orange except for the black and white
collar below its large head. Just as I pulled the pistol from
its holster, the lizard dropped behind the log and disap-
peared. We were unable to find him or another all day.
PART 6 TO FOLLOW
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vacaenbaja
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Whispering Canyon PART 6
I had stopped to examine a wall of the canyon which
was shot with small chalcedony and quartz geodes when
my companions called, "Here's another rattlesnake in a
cave." I hurried around the bend and arrived in time to
see Gordon Carman down on one knee shooting a picture
of the coiled reptile. It was in the mouth of a small cave
and just out of striking distance of the Doctor. When the
picture was taken, I picked up a long stick and pulled
the squirming, rattling fellow out of the hole. He was
about the same size and coloration as the other and had
the same soft rattle. Holding the snake's neck to the
ground, I got a firm grip on it with my fingers and held it
for a close-up. Then I decided to kill this specimen with
the most efficient thing available. I took the snake out
into the middle of the wash where there was no shade. I
pinned it down to the gravel with a weight but with its
head exposed to the rays of the sun. It was dead in as short
a time as drowning would have produced. Although most
reptiles love the sun, they cannot tolerate prolonged ex-
posure to its full rays at midday.
We came into a side canyon which looked interesting.
There was a greener spot at the base of a cliff about half
a mile up. It looked as if there might be seeping water.
The fact that there were some doves in this side canyon
and that most of the animal tracks went that way were
futher indications. We had to do what we started out to
do , however, and that was to reach the end of this one
canyon. Then, if there was time and energy left, we could
explore side canyons.
The canyon seemed to end right ahead of us, but when
we reached the spot we saw that it really was a very sharp
bend as it entered a very deep, narrow gorge. Here we had
the strange feeling that we were being watched by some-
thing from the cliffs above. Small rocks kept dropping
about us. We hurried through the narrows as silently as
we could. None of us felt right about the place. For sev-
eral hundred feet, the cliff on the south hung right out
over the bed of the canyon. One could look straight up
and see no sky. It was the coolest place we had found but
we did not care to linger. The falling pebbles and the awe-
some overhanging cliff did nothing for our confidence.
At one sharp bend, a cave took off like a tunnel of an old
mine at a steep downward angle. None of us felt like
following it. The flood waters going down the canyon
had packed the cracks between the broken rocks on its
floor with matted twigs and palm leaves.
"That water goes somewhere," said the Doctor. "May-
be it seeps out into the side canyon below us. It's taking
off in that direction following this big fault and I think
its the same fault that makes the cliff at the end of the
side canyon."
We agreed that this was possible an then Lillian, who
had been silent for a very long time, spoke, "This whole
canyon whispers. Have you noticed it? The slightest mo-
tion of air in the palm trees makes them whisper like run-
ing water. The sand under our feet seems to whisper
when we walk over it. Even the rattlesnakes whisper and
we feel almost like whispering right now." Her voice died
down to a whisper as she finished. We all stood for an
instant and listened to the strange sounds of the canyon
we had found. It did indeed whisper.
Lunch time came and the four of us gathered in one of
the few spots of shade available without sitting in a mass
of underbrush and dead palm leaves. I had been hoarding
four beautiful mangoes which Bill had brought back from
San Ignacio. Mrs. Diaz had packed some luscious toma-
toes which had been flown in from the States. The rest
of the food tasted fine but those fresh things were especi-
ally welcome. We rested for a while in the shade. It did
not look much further to the head of the canyon. Tow-
ering walls were closing in on us, the palms were getting
closer together. The canyon was heavier with brush and
rocks and it seemed to split just ahead.
Lillian decided that she had walked about enough in
the hot sun while wearing light sandals. We said we
would go on the the end and meet her back in ths spot of
shade. When we emerged into the sun it was much hotter
than before. It was, in fact, almost like a physical blow.
The temperature in the shade must have been around a
hundred and twenty and shade had been scarcer ever
since we left the narrows.
When we reached the split in the canyon, we decided
to take the right branch. It seemed to go the farthest. The
left one was steeper and choked with vegetation and
might have had open water for all we knew. We had in-
tended exploring both but the temperature was becoming
unbearable. The breeze which had started out with us
had abandoned us along the way. The palms no longer
whispered of water. The silence was broken only now
and then by a cicada buzzing or the chirp of some bird
hidden in the underbrush.
Finally our canyon turned into a narrow gorge with a
dry waterfall eighty feet high at its end. Nacho decided
he would climb the cliff. We could see more palm trees
on the next bench. Gordon and I contented ourselves by
half-heartedly digging in the sand with the folding army
trench shovel. Two feet down, the sand was dripping wet
and we became excited even in this heat. A few more
and we met with a mixture of sand and rock that
did not respond to our small shovel and weakened en-
ergy. There was water here, no doubt about it! We took
pictures of each other at the head of Whispering Canyon
with the member's flag of the Los Angeles Adventures'
Club, then we gathered up our things and waited for
Nacho.
PART 7 TO FOLLOW
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vacaenbaja
Senior Nomad
Posts: 640
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Whiapering Canyon PART 7
All of a sudden a crashing sound came from above.
Half a dozen huge rocks hurtled into the gorge and landed
all around us. Then came Nacho's voice, "Cuidado.
senores, the rocks are very loose here. I have climbed two
dry falls and there is no water running but it looks very
damp. I am afraid to go back the way I came so I am
working down the ridge to the south."
We called for him to hold still until we got out from
under him. It was a good thing. When he started climb-
ing again, more huge rocks and many small ones hurtled
down and any one of then could have killed a man if it
had struck him.
We waited until he was well down the ridge, then fol-
lowed the canyon floor back to the divide. We could tell
of Nachos's progress by the tumbling rocks. Finally we
met at the fork of the canyon. We sat for a little while in
the shade of a clump of palms and discussed going up the
other branch of the canyon. It only reached the discus-
sion stage.
We noticed that fire had burned and blackened some
palms a long time ago but put it down to the work of
lightning. Then we found something in one of the larger
clusters of palms that made us wonder. There were sev-
eral stumps which had undoubtedly been cut by a man
a very long time ago. Cerinly no saw or steel ax had
been used, yet the stumps had been cut and the logs car-
ried away for some purpose. On one very old trunk near
the merging of the two branch canyons was a series of
small cuts or blazes which had certainly been the work
of a stone ax. I will not be at all surprised if we find the
traces of some sort of human habitation on the island if
we look long enough. It is inconceivable that a piece of
land forty-five miles long and twelve miles wide should
have remained uninhabited throughout prehistory as
well as history. The stumps and scarred trunk are small
proof that man was here, but still they are enough.
I remembered reading that in 1765 the Jesuit Padre
Linck heard of fires on the island being seen from the
mainland. He went over by canoe with some Indians
from Bahia de Los Angeles and found "no people, animals,
or water." Could it be the Indians had moved to the east
side of the island to be safe from conversion? The appar-
ent age of the stumps matched rather well with the date.
Palm stumps last a long tiime in the desert.
We decided that we should start back to where a breeze
could hit us from the gulf before we fried. We had ap-
parently picked the hottest day of the season for our
jaunt.
When we reached Lillian, she was getting ready to walk
back to the boat alone. She had picked up fragments of
black obsidian and printed the words "I GO" and formed
an arrow in the white sand.
Gordon and I were ready for a rest. We checked the
water in the canteens and all of us were down to about a
cup apiece. The heat was not letting up. Nacho arose and
said, " I will go to the boat and bring it inshore. You come
along more slowly."
This sounded all right to us. We three sat there for a
while and talked of our discovery and how we would
come back in cooler weather with a larger shovel and a
man to use it.
Below the narrows, Doc started tracing the tracks again
and found for sure that most of them turned up the short
side canyon. He said for me to go on and keep in sight of
Lillian and he would check the side canyon.
Lillian was really traveling fast. I asked, "Why the
hurry?" She shouted back over her shoulder that the sand
was burning her feet through the thin soles of her shoes
and she was heading for the water.
I soon heard Doc coming behind me. He said the side
canyon would have to wait until we had time and a good
machete as it was choked with brush. A man could step
on one of those whispering rattlers in such a spot and
there would not be any palce to jump.
When I reached the shore, Lillian was already in the
water. Nacho was aboard the boat. Gordon and I lost no
time getting into the water too. it was a wonderful feel-
ing. For the first time in hours we were away from the
scorching heat which seemed to come up from the
ground as much as it came down from the sky.
Our ice on board was long a thing of memory, yet here
was Nacho wading toward us with opened beer bottles.
Warm beer did not hold much of an appeal to me. I took
one to be polite and was pleased to find it comparatively
cool.
When I asked Nacho how he had managed this, he re-
plied that about thirty feet down there was a very cold
current just off shore. When he had anchored the boat
out there for the day, he had dropped the beer and a gallon
jug of water overboard in a rubber bag to cool.
"If you don't know this place, how is it that you knew of the cold current?" I asked.
"The turtle fishermen told me," he grinned. "They
know all the important things about every anchorage.
They just don't walk ashore very far."
The water was refreshing and the cool beer was great.
The feel of the cool jade-smooth pebbles under our feet
was a luxury after the walk over rugged, hot country. I
looked down through the clear water. In the good light, I
saw what I had suspected that morning. About one in
ten of the pebbles would serve as a semi-precious stone
with just a little final polish. Jaspers, chalcedonies, and
zeolitic flower stones were mixed with variclored plu-
tonic rocks of the region and obsidian pebbles. Lillian
was in the shallow water now with her shell-collecting
basket gathering these natural tumbled stones to take
home.
"We should call this tumbled stone beach," I suggested.
Soon we were loaded and on our way toward the
south end of the island. We passed cliffs and shore caves
of indescribable beauty. Some of the caves went through
points of rocks and reminded us of the famous blue grotto
of which we had read.
Angel de la Guarda Island will be famous for many
blue grottos if it ever becomes populated.
We discussed population on the way home. We dis-
cussed just about everything. We were a talkative lot.
Then I suddenly felt sleepy and crawled into the tiny
cabin for a nap. When I awakened we had rounded the
point of th island and headed on a straight course for the
Bay of the Angels. The afternoon was beautiful, the water
was calm. Our hearts were gay and the jinx , if there ever
was one, had most certainly been broken.
Soon we would be back at the bay bragging of our ex-
periences. There would be electric lights, cold drinks,
two-way radios, and airplanes. Now, for just a little long-
er, the four of us sat united in a very special sort of close-
ness which comes from a great experience shared.
Since my Barbara could not come on this trip, Lillian
Carman is without a doubt the only white woman ever
to enter the canyon. I thought she should name it. I said,
"What shall we call it, Lillian?"
The answer came without hesitation, "Whispering
Canyon, of course! The Whispering Canyon of Guardian
Angel Island."
FINIS
[Edited on 1-6-2013 by vacaenbaja]
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Santiago
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3511
Registered: 8-27-2003
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Thanks again for this posting. If anyone would like a copy of this in a word doc, send me your email via U2U.
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Santiago
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3511
Registered: 8-27-2003
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[img] [/img]
Does anyone know which canyon is Whispering? I'm guessing red or yellow line based on story.
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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 64848
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
Member Is Offline
Mood: Have Baja Fever
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I bet Graham will know... as he lived on that island for two months and studied it a lot before... Then wrote his book 'Marooned with Very Little
Beer' in 2008... http://grahammackintosh.com
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