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Day 7-8, March 1-2, 2001

San Ignacio to Punta San Francisquito
(150.3 miles, dirt 75.1 miles; 5.25 hours)

This page is dedicated to Jim Bailey. May he rest in peace, and smile down on us from the stars he loved so much.

A cow with cholla cactus stuck on its face Purple wildflower The sign for Punta San Franciscquito Turquoise found near our cabana at Punta San FrancisquitoThe view from our cabana -- the best reason to come to San Francisquito

Jess feeding a young horse at PFQDad happy to find an old tractorJess and our new friends from Colorado by our Duraflame campfireThe sunrise reflected in the water in front of our cabana

 

I've been back at home now for about a month, and I keep putting off finishing these pages. Part of it is stress--the chaos of coming back to the collapse of the Internet economy. The fear of losing my job. But part of it is not wanting to finish, I think, because it keeps the trip alive in my mind.

I keep thinking about being at Punta San Francisquito, and just the act of remembering it puts me in the same frame of mind as being there. It's a feeling I relish. The place is so simple that it would seem easy to sum up in a few sentences. It's a long stretch of lovely, deserted beach. A scattering of man-made structures, including shade cabanas on the sand and palapas for sleeping right above the beach. The palapas give shelter from rain, but they are merely thatched-roof buildings with low stone walls and no windows. They hold several cots, and nothing else (unless it's hot and the scorpions are hiding in your shoes). They open up to the beach and one of the most beautiful views on earth.

Punta San Francisquito also sports an unenclosed bar that opens to the beach, an enclosed restaurant attached to a large kitchen, several clean bathrooms, and showers that offer hot water, privacy, and an unobstructed view of the sky above.

I hadn't been to Punta San Francisquito since I was about 15 years old. It is one of the most inaccesible places we would visit on our trip. It was probably one of Dad's favorite places in all of Baja, and he hadn't been there for at least 10 years. It was also a favorite of Jesse's and mine. We left San Ignacio at 6:45 a.m., excited to get on the road. It was particularly neat to turn off onto the dirt "highway" that leads to Punta San Francisquito (or PFQ for short).

We drove through breathtaking cardon cactus forests, and the "highway" was pretty much empty. As usual the Hummer took the dirt like a pro, and we all enjoyed the ride, stopping, of course, to take pictures of cows with cholla cactus stuck on their sweet faces, and yet more beautiful flowers. We took pictures of the signs marking the entrance to San Francisquito, and got as excited as if we were meeting up with a long-lost friend. As we approached San Francisquito, we wondered (and worried) whether it would be open to guests.

We pulled up to the cluster of humble buildings that make up the resort, and saw a few men working on the cabanas, re-roofing them with green palm leaves. We met Jose, who manages the place now. He greeted us warmly, inviting us to stay. We were a little shocked to find out how much the price had gone up--from $14 a night per cabana, to $20 a night per person in the cabana. But again, we were happy to pay the price of paradise.

Dad walked around PFQ as though walking through a dream. He went to a storage building where for years he had kept a locker with a bunch of supplies, including an outboard motor and two Metzler inflatables, one for fishing and one big enough to waterski behind. (I remembered waterskiing on the beach one day, showing off in the shallow, gentle surf, and suddenly tumbling as the water beneath my ski went out with a wave. Though embarrassed, I was happy to fall in the shallow water and not on the sand itself. :)

Jose said they had just pried the door off the walk-in locker the month before, because nobody knew anymore who it belonged to. There were still some remnants that might have been ours--some kids' water toys and other small things. Dad had taken the inflatables and the outboard motor home years before. It was sort of sad to see the rest of the things there, including the shelves Dad had built.

We thought about our good friend Jim Bailey often on our trip, but never so much as when we were at San Francisquito. Dad and Bailey had almost died twice having "fun" here, once when they decided to go scuba diving (long before Dad had actually gotten certified) and once when they were out fishing for the "big one" and ran out of gas miles up the coast. They hadn't returned well after dark, and we were all frantic with worry on the beach. We asked the fishermen to go out and find them, but they said it was too dangerous. I remember the night clearly because we almost stepped on a rattlesnake on the way to the bar in search of help.

Then at about midnight, we heard voices and laughter from down the beach. We ran toward them, and there were Dad and Bailey, looking like two white ghosts from the salt spray dried all over them. They had wild hair, and were dragging their catch--several huge yellowtail tunas. They had used the tiny Metzler oars to row back to the beach, and had even broken one of them. Of course they were thrilled to be alive, and we were ecstatic to have them back.

On a less life-threatening note, I recall so clearly sitting under dazzling starry skies at San Francisquito and talking about astronomy and life with Bailey. He kept telling me if he had a daughter, he wanted her to be just like me. I still find it humbling that he would want his daughter, Shawna, to be just like me. We were all sad because Bailey and Shawna couldn't make it on the trip. I am very much looking forward to getting to know this father's daughter. Bailey is one of the gentlest, sweetest, and most sensitive men I know, next to my own father. What lucky girls we are to see the world through their eyes.

But I digress...sort of. Past and present merged for us at Punta San Francisquito, because so little had changed. The rooms and food were more expensive, and the food was better. That's all. The whole place is like life strained down to its simplest and most wonderful elements...sea, sky and sand. Sun, stars and moon.

We set up our "camp" that first afternoon. Jess and Dad unpacked the Hummer, pulling out our sleeping bags for the first time. Dad got the gas-powered generator humming along, so I could charge my camera batteries and my laptop. I felt a little guilty having these ultra-modern conveniences along, but I enjoyed keeping track of our trip down to the tiniest details. It was kind of fun to sit in the palapa, with a view of the beach, and peck away at my keyboard. Call me a techno-geek. I don't care. :)

We walked to the south end of the beach after setting up our little camp. In all my visits, I'd never walked over to either of the houses at the far ends of the beach. They are owned by the children of the original owners of the resort (two brothers whom I believe have both died now--Dad knew them both). We visited the Gonzales house first, and enjoyed being looky-lous. It's a beautiful house with a fabulous patio, and a horse corral below it. We came back later to feed the horses and mules, and then took pictures of a rusty old tractor because we knew Bailey would love it.

Just as we wondered whether the resort got much business this time of year, people started flying in. The Rogers brothers came first -- Bill, John and Steve. We made friends with our new neighbors, and then set out to explore the fish camp located on the bay down the road.

As we wandered around the fish camp, checking out the day's catch and the contraptions used for drying it, one of the fishermen approached us. Basically he was jonesing for cigarettes, and it was a loooong way to the nearest 7-11. He ended up trading us two lobster tails and two "pulpos" or octopus for a pack of cigarettes. Although I don't condone smoking or eating octopus (they are so sweet and intelligent), we were all thrilled with our bartering skills, and even more thrilled with the ceviche and grilled lobster tails that Jose's wife, Marcela (the chef), made for us that night.

In fact, we were so proud of ourselves that when we went back the next day to return Joachin's netted bag, we bartered again for more octopus. This time we were probably not getting such a great deal (Dad gave up a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label scotch whiskey) but it was really the thought that counted for us. We were scratching a living out here in the harsh desert, trading our goods with the locals, and all that "Survivor" hooey.

We ended our first night at San Francisquito with a fire in a pit in front of our palapa. Again we smoked cigars, and reminisced about our many trips to Baja and this special place. We watched the stars and wished that Pam and Bailey and Shawna and Rusty and Frank and all our "Baja buddies" were there, too. We hoped we were just the pioneers breaking the trail, and that soon the rest would follow us.

We didn't close the tarp-like flaps over the front of our palapa, so we awoke with the first rays of morning light at about 5:30 a.m. Dad and I got up and watched the sunrise, and Jesse poked his head up out of his sleeping bag to see it. It was really cold at night and in the early morning, but as soon as the sun came up I started peeling off layers of clothing. Dad photographed a breathtaking sunrise, with pastel colors reflecting on the water. Because the Sea of Cortez is to the east of the Baja Peninsula, the sun rises right over the water. As California residents, we're only used to seeing the sun setting on the sea. What a treat those San Francisquito sunrises are.

We made coffee with our "retro" percolating coffee pot (again very thankful for the generator) and shared it with the Rogers brothers. Then we watched them pack up their plane and take off on PFQ's dirt runway. They flew off to Laguna San Ignacio to see the whales, and I saved a disk for them so they could see themselves flying the friendly Baja skies.

It turned out to be a sunny, beautiful day, perfect for more exploring. We walked to the north end of the beach and checked out the other beach home. This one is perhaps slightly more spectacular, with a turquoise fireplace and a huge antique-looking stove. We sat on their veranda, pretending for a few moments to live on this beach, admiring our view.

Then we set off in search of natural treasures, and the beach didn't disappoint us. Jesse collected cholla cactus skeletons, and even found a dolphin skull back a ways in the desert brush. He also found a few pretty pieces of turquoise.

As we walked back along the shore, I fell into a sort of walking meditation. I felt so peaceful, and I dreamed of living in Baja. Your priorities and needs shift so radically when you are there, it's hard to imagine a "normal" life in "civilized" society. It seems pointless, even senseless. I had said this to a woman who, along with her husband and two friends, had bought a house at the fish camp and spent as much time as possible doing very little there. We were just passing by their beachfront home on the way to the fish camp when we met them, and stopped for a moment to chat and pet their pugs. This woman and I looked at each other, two strangers suddenly made familiar by inhabiting the same dream. She said she hoped I would be able to move to Baja and have a "real" life. I said I hoped so, too.

We got back to our palapa, hungry for lunch. We were conserving cash, and had decided to eat the provisions we had picked up on the way to PFQ instead of buying our breakfast and lunch in the kitchen. I made sandwiches of odd combinations of goat cheese, avocado, tomato, mustard, tuna and sardines, using a very large hunting knife of Jesse's. We were all famished from our walk (some real exercise, at last!) and the sandwiches tasted divine. Almost anything tastes great when you are really hungry. Jesse's knife made short work of the ripe pineapple we bought at the little grocery store. We joked that Jesse could really pick a good pineapple, but the truth was it was the only one in the store. Although it was Jesse's idea.

As we sat enjoying our lunch, more planes started flying in. A group of men from Modesto stopped for about an hour before taking off again. We shared our pineapple with them, having designated ourselves the welcome wagon. They gratefully accepted it, and then went on to other adventures.

It was a warm, sunny day, the first of our trip. We later talked about how we got bad weather at the times we were most prepared for it, and spectacular weather during our one full day on the beach. We were blessed, indeed, by the weather gods. It was warm enough out to get on swimsuits and jump into the sea, but cold enough in the sea to jump right back out again. Not like the bath water we were used to in the summer. But we blissfully lay on the beach, snoozing and soaking up the sun.

Eventually a whole flock of planes landed; a large group of 12 people and four planes from Colorado bearing some of the nicest people you'd ever want to know. We made instant friends with them, and shared our octopus ceviche and the digital photos we'd taken thus far on our trip. They obviously had a lust for life. They thrilled at every story we told about our current trip, and our past trips. They must have had lots of stories of their own, but they seemed to prefer to soak up ours. It clearly fueled their enthusiasm to be around ours.

That night we ate fresh fish for dinner again, and loved it. We were a little sad that it wasn't accompanied by lobster tails again, but Joachin hadn't been diving for lobster that day and we couldn't afford it from the menu. The Rogers brothers were already back from San Ignacio, and we were a little jealous to hear they had had a fabulous time with the whales, petting them at length. But of course we were happy for them. We invited everyone to come back to our palapa and enjoy our fire.

We went back and made another Duraflame fire (the only kind of fire for us!) and took another long, timed-exposure photo with Dad's Nikon on a tripod. We moved around the fire and occasionally set off the flash. The effect would have been interesting enough by itself, even if Jess hadn't hung a BA in it. (The Rogers brothers had figured out exactly what we were doing, and even in particular what Jess had done, after we all cracked up. I thought that was pretty smart of them!)

Perhaps we scared the Rogers brothers off, but the Colorado crowd apparently couldn't get enough of us. All 12 of them came to the fire, and we found chairs for everyone and squeezed in. We tried to keep the conversation civilized, but eventually it came back to farting again. I think it was actually my fault this time, in trying to apologize for Dad and Jess in advance. These clever Coloradans called me on it, and I was caught! Maybe it was me who liked talking about farting, they implied! I had even let loose once or twice myself in front of Dad and Jess, just to get even and give them a taste of their own medicine. But of course they went nuts and wouldn't stop talking about it, so my strategy clearly backfired.

We all hit the sack pretty early (about 8:30), as we planned to pack up our camp and hit the road in the morning. We woke up to another fabulous sunrise, and I captured this one with my Mavica.

I went looking for Jose and Marcela to get photos of them. I talked to them in my awful Spanish. I said I would like to learn to speak Spanish, and to live in Baja. Jose, who had quite the sense of humor, said I would be welcome to come live at San Francisquito and work in the kitchen. I had them both cracking up as I said, in my poor Spanish, that I could learn to speak Spanish and to cook, too!

We weren't in a real hurry, but we were in the rhythm of the road once more. We drank coffee and packed up our stuff. Jess put everything back in place on top of the Hummer, and we were back on the dirt road, headed for LA Bay.

I think we all wondered if we'd ever see Punta San Francisquito again, and we were all a little sad as we drove away. Dad says that when you get old, you always wonder if it will be the last time you see a favorite place.

But I knew we still had more adventures ahead of us, on this trip and many others to come. Dad instilled this love of Baja in us as little kids, and, if nothing else, Jesse and I would bug him until he brought us back. It's only fair, isn't it Dad? :)