Here was my plan: I would leave my truck parked half a mile from the border, then walk south into Mexico to find my peak and climb it. I had never been here before, so all of this would be new to me. There was some risk involved – the area was notorious for the smuggling of people and drugs from Mexico into the U.S. Even leaving my truck unattended for many hours would be risky – it might not be there when I returned! It would make a dandy vehicle for lawbreakers to use to further their goals. I could see in the distance the area where my peak was located.
This time, I was going to be much more careful. I loaded a lot of gatorade into my pack and set out on foot. In a few short minutes, I reached the border – a couple of limp strands of barbed wire marked the spot. Looking back across the fence into the U.S., I took this next photo – one last look into the homeland. The barren Sierra Arida was visible in the distance.
The mountain range I was in was called the Tule Mountains in Arizona, but the Mexicans call it Sierra el Choclo Duro, which means “the hard corn range”. Interesting name for a mountain range – it refers to dried corn kernels, which are used in recipes in some Spanish-speaking countries. No corn growing here, though – just harsh desert. Straight ahead of me was a low pass, which I crossed, then changed to a more southwesterly direction. There were gullies of varying sizes to get through, then another low gap in some hills. Now, I was standing at the edge of a flattish area that extended right over to the base of my peak. Here is what I saw.
The picture shows Peak 810 Meters, which translates to about 2,658′ for our U.S. readers. It is several hundred feet higher than the Arizona high point of the range, and that’s why I was here to climb it. As I walked across the desert floor, I kept eyeballing it to figure out the best ascent route. Once I reached the base of the peak, I started up and took this picture. The mountainside was steep enough, and the day getting on enough, that there were already shadows forming.
It was a 1,500-vertical-foot climb to the summit, and by the time I reached it, I had been out three hours from the truck. The views were great, and, to top it all off, there was no sign of a previous visit. It felt really good to leave a register on this one.
I can’t believe I used to dress like that to climb here in the desert, but that was a lifetime ago. Check out these views from the top. The first one is looking west along the faint line of Mexican Highway 2.
This one is the view southeast to the distant Cerro Pinacate.
And here’s one more, looking north into Arizona.
Man, it felt so good to be up on top, but I had to go. There was only so much daylight, and I didn’t want to be down here across the border in the dark. I took my leave and carefully made my way down the rough eastern slope to the valley bottom. Nothing too mysterious about it, I just retraced my steps. The heat was oppressive, though. By the time I stumbled back to my truck, it was 102 degrees in the shade. My legs had been sore all day from yesterday’s cramps, but not so much that I couldn’t do what I had to do. Almost six hours had passed since I had left the truck, and it was good to be back.
Before I lost the light, I needed to cover quite a few more miles, so away I went. Heading back over to the Camino was the work of only a few minutes, then I continued northwest to a major junction at Tule Well. Here, one road headed north many miles out through the Tule Desert, but that was not my path. To climb the third and last peak of this trip, I would need to continue west through the Cabeza Prieta Wilderness and emerge out on the Lechuguilla Desert.
For the most part, the road was pretty decent and I was able to make good time. Translate as – not in first gear. It was eighteen miles from Tule Well to a spot I needed to find out in the vastness of the Lechuguilla, and by now it was getting late and the sun was going down. I found it, a faint track heading back to the southeast, as it paralleled the spine of the range down its east side. Driving it as quickly as I could, I lost the last bit of daylight right where the road ended about four miles out.
As night descended, I took stock of my situation. I was just over half a mile, as the crow flies, from Mexico; I had a nice flat campingspot; no cramps; plenty to eat and drink. Everything looked good for my last climb the next morning. Hours after I retired, laying in the back of my truck trying to sleep in the oppressive heat, I heard the sound of an engine. I got out and looked up into the night sky, but couldn’t see anything, although it seemed like I heard a small plane flying overhead. It had no lights, but I was sure it passed right over me several times. Months later, I spoke to a Border Patrol pilot who told me they fly at night with technology that can spot the warmth of a live body – he said they had no doubt picked up on my signature and made several passes just to make sure. One person camping there was of no concern to them – bad guys wouldn’t stick around anyway.
After another night of little sleep due to the heat, I arose at dawn. During the night, I got a wild hare about something – specifically, I wondered if I might be able to drive a little closer to the border to save some walking both going and coming back, thereby cutting down my exposure to the extreme heat. At first light, I saw a faint track continuing along the edge of the mountains and heading in my direction. It had probably been made by the Border Patrol as they had poked around closer to the frontier. I thought that because there was already a track there, what’d be the harm if I drove there too. So I did, and, much to my delight, it went right down to the border. Even better, what bit of a fence that had been marking the international boundary was lying on the ground. I sat there, my engine running and the air conditioning going full blast, as I looked into Mexico. Oh, what the hell, why not? I put it into gear and drove over the barbed wire and, Bob’s your uncle, I was no longer in the U.S. Hey, this was exciting! I assure you that I always buy Mexican auto insurance before driving across the border, but not today.
Now what? The terrain ahead looked pretty decent, like I could keep going, so I went a bit farther. Still good. Maybe a bit more. Well, before you knew it, I had driven a full two miles into Mexico. My adrenaline was flowing – was I really going to get away with this stunt? Any minute, I expected to see a house or a vehicle, and then how would I explain away my presence. Even worse, what if I were to run into some Federales? I’d be S.O.L. I parked at the end of a long ridge, at what had to be the perfect spot. There was nothing in sight – vehicles, structures, people – nothin’. My peak looked tantalizingly close – this wasn’t going to take long.
As I locked up my truck and put the club on the steering wheel, I prayed nobody would come along while I was gone. What a target – a 4WD vehicle with Arizona plates, just sitting there. I needed to make this quick. Shouldering my pack, I set off across a flat stretch, marked only by a couple of gullies. A short while later, I started up a rocky slope, and, before I knew it, I had reached a ridge-top 800 vertical feet above the desert floor. Wow, that was quick. Oh, wait – I wasn’t at the summit. This ridge was in the way, and I had to drop down again before starting up the final 500 feet. It was a roomy summit, and I took this self-photo once I had arrived.
There was no evidence of any previous visit, so I built a cairn and left a register. Fat chance anyone else would ever sign in to this one, right? As a matter of fact, I know of four others who have stood there since my visit in the eighties. Here is a view looking northwest into Arizona. The mountains in front of you are the Sierra de la Lechuguilla. The light-colored ones in the distance on the far left are the Tinajas Altas Mountains. The large flat area on the right in the distance is the Lechuguilla Desert.
This next view is looking back the way I had come. The ridge right in front is the one I had to climb over. Out beyond that, across the desert floor, is another ridge – I am parked at the right-hand end of it – the truck is way too small to see.
Even though it was still fairly early, I figured I’d better get a move on, so I readied my pack and started down. Not wanting to climb over that intervening ridge again, I headed southeast down a rough slope and dropped the 1,200 vertical feet to the desert floor.
When I was most of the way down, I had an experience which I still remember vividly all these years later. Out in the open on the steep rocky mountainside, I came upon a dead bighorn sheep – it was just a baby, and had died only recently. Seeing it had a powerful effect on me, and I was overcome with emotion. What a harsh and unforgiving land this was, such a struggle to stay alive. One mis-step and you’re gone.Through my tears, I wondered how it had died – I doubt it had weighed 15 pounds. I lingered a while, then left. It had been a long three days and it would be good to wrap things up. This route mandated a much longer circuitous walk back across the desert floor to my truck.
I had been gone a mere 3 1/2 hours in total when I arrived back at my truck. It was good to be finished, and my truck was right where I had left it and still in one piece. I fired it up, turned it around and drove back to Arizona. As soon as I crossed that fence, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was 103 degrees, but I had the ice-cold air-conditioning cranked and, quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn! There were still 40 more miles to go until I hit pavement, but they were pretty easy ones. This sign greets those who are starting in towards the Camino del Diablo as they head south from the freeway. You can enlarge it to read the message.
It had been an eventful three days, maybe a bit too eventful. Were I to do those climbs again, it would only be in the company of friends, and at a more reasonable time of year.
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