Reprinted with permission. ©1999 Ms. Wynne Benti/Publisher - Spotted Dog Press, Inc.
One fine October weekend our group of six, Ron Young, George Toby, Roy Magnuson, Bobcat Thompson, Scot Jamison and myself met early Friday morning in San Diego where we consolidated into two vehicles. I threw my gear in with Bobcat & Scot, and we were on our way to Baja around nine-thirty in the morning.

Picacho del Diablo

The last time I was in Baja, was on a climb of Cerro Pescadores and Pico Risco. My hiking buddy, Randall Danta (later of Hall & Ball), and I were ambushed by about fifty machine-gun toting soldiers of the Mexican Army, complete with body searches, a few uncomfortable moments and decapitated corpses in the middle of the higway (but, that's another story).

This was my first time down the west coast of Baja. Scot was a veteran who owned a cabin on a large fishing lake on Baja's gulf side. The windshield of his Fourunner was tatooed with "turista" stickers which for some reason, gave me a feeling of confidence. Perhaps if the Federalis saw the stickers they would give us a stamp of approval (it worked). As we drove along the narrow asphalt two-lane, all I could think about was how the California coast must have once looked like this - pristine bluffs and beaches - relatively undeveloped. A beautiful drive, pleasantly uneventful.

Once past Ensenada, we stopped briefly along the windy two lane highway to the eat the lunch we brought, then continued on to San Pedro de Martir Parque Nacionale. At times, we found ourselves behind large trucks, whose drivers would wave a hand out the window signaling that it was okay to pass. We turned left on the signed road to the Meling Ranch and drove east on a lwell-graded dirt road which passed through small quiet inland communities. The road climbed through the foothills of the San Pedro de Martir. We stopped at the entrance of the park - a rustic wood cabin with a radio. The men who gathered around the old woodstove inside the cabin came out to greet us. Soon we were on our way again, through the magnificent Ponderosa to the end of the road, a small hunting shack at Los Llanitos.

The place was quiet. Only the hollow sound of the wind stirred the branches of the Ponderosa above our heads. The sun set at about 6:30 and when night came on, the sky filled with millions of stars - the heart of the milky way. The wind picked up and throughout the night played havoc with the pines.

According to various thermometers brought along, the first night's temperature was in the low forties. The sun greeted us on Saturday morning and with loaded packs we started up the drainage below the shack, which we followed to the plateau. We used Jerry Schad's excellent Baja map as our guide across the densely forested plateau to the canyon. Around noon, we reached the base of Cerro Botella Azul, aka Blue Bottle, which was climbed by those who had not previously had the honors of doing so. Following a brief rest atop Blue Bottle, we continued on to the head of Canon Diablo, side-hilling along the base of Blue Bottle. When we reached the top of the canyon, we began the steep descent over rugged boulder-strewn, brushy terrain. At the canyon bottom, we could hear running water at the mouth of Gorrin's Gulley, where a small waterfall coursed down boulders. The drainage was an obstacle course of rocks, boulders and brush. Spring's stinging nettles were still barely clinging to life, full of sting. Winding our way through the canyon we arrived at Campo Noche before sunset.

As the wonderful Baja mountain night enveloped the day, the dry wind of the high desert picked up again. There was no moon so the canyon was pitch black. Our headlamps and a small candle provided the only illumination. Following dinner we lounged around camp, telling stories, gossiping about those who weren't there. We heard what sounded like a person rummaging through a tent, but all six of us were together. We had a visitor in the form of a small ring-tailed cat who took a liking to his cousin Bobcat's package of muffins and most of his chocolate. Before retiring, Bobcat attempted to dangle his food precariously from tree branches while the rest of us decided that bags of trail mix and freeze-dried foods don't make such bad pillows. Several times during the night we were awakened by the little ring-tailed cat trying to swipe Bobcat's bag of food off the branch. Around midnight, beaten-down Bob hauled his food into the tent.

Next morning, off at about a quarter to eight to get the Big Kahuna. Most were carrying three to four quarts of water. We fought our way through the manzanita and boulder-choked gullies. The weather was perfect - the wind had died down yet there was an occasional breeze. On up the mountain, through Night Wash, Slot Wash and eventually Wall Street. What seemed a never-ending slog through manzanita choked gulleys finally reached its conclusion on the summit at 10,154' around 2pm, overlooking the gulf and the San Pedro Martir Range. We spent only a short time on the summit before turning around and heading back down. The descent was somewhat faster than the ascent. We arrived back at Campo Noche just after sunset.

Left to right, standing: Scot Jamison, Roy Magnuson; seated: George Toby, Ron Young and author Wynne Benti. Photo: Bobcat Thompson

After a night's rest, with only one or two visits from our ring-tailed friend, we were up at dawn and off again, back up Canon Diablo around 7:30am. My pack felt heavier than it did on the first day. Back over the boulders, crawling over logs, wading through manzanita, oaks and stinging nettles. As we peacefully ambled along through the canyon, all hell broke loose when angry bees swarmed from inside a decomposing log. Pissed off bees covered me as I ran up the canyon, crawling all over me. For twenty minutes, Bobcat and Scot picked half-dead bees from my tangled hair.

Finally we made it to Blue Bottle Saddle where we had lunch. From there, we followed a shallow drainage back across the plateau where we ran into a NOLS group on a 90 day Baja survival outing. They were as surprised to see us as we were to see them.

We arrived back at the cars at 4:30. Somewhere a long the trail, Scot and Bobcat had come up with the brilliant idea of going to Ensenada for dinner and some margaritas. Unable to convince Roy, George & Ron to drive another five hours on dirt roads and narrow Baja highways after dark, we said good-bye.

With Scot "Mr. Baja" Jamison at the wheel, we drove to Estero Beach Resort just south of Ensenada. Though the restaurant was closed for "la fumagacion de cucarachas," we were served dinner and margaritas in the bar where we had a great view of the moonlit ocean and the white-capped breakers rolling into the bay. We spent the night sitting by the ocean downing magueritas in paper cups.

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