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I drove out there in May, turning to the west immediately past the military barracks in Lázaro Cárdenas, just south of San Quintín. Look for the sign saying Bahia Falsa. The gravel road skirts the farms and fields at the northern end of the bay and turns south past several of the volcanic cinder cones so clearly visible from the highway and from far out to sea.
San Quintín Bay, separated from the Pacific by a long, narrow peninsula, has two branches - the main bay and the more westerly Bahia Falsa. About 9 miles from Highway One, the road approaches the upper reaches of Bahia Falsa which, at low tide, appears to be filled with a huge D-Day armada of ships. These are really platforms from which cultivated oysters are suspended.
Arriving at the bay, you can't miss the "Oyster Farm". It is a fascinating and friendly place to visit. I was shown how juvenile oysters were seeded onto broken oyster and sea urchin shells which were then strung together and dangled into the bay. In about eight months they are ready to harvest and eat. I was invited to sample a few. They are very big, and delicious raw or cooked. The price is about a dollar a dozen!
To get an "aerial view" of the bay and its surrounds, I climbed Monte Kenton, the tallest of San Quintín's volcanic cones. I approached from the south-east, scrambling up the steep slope of multicolored cinders, weaving my way between bunches of buckwheat, yellow-flowering trixis, and the odd gray-green siempreviva.
The climb was hard work. Monte Kenton seems twice as tall as its reputed height of 876 ft. For every two steps up, you slide one step down. However, there were wonderful views of the roads, marshes and occasional deep, dark cinder quarries around the bay. I wondered where Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo had landed in August 1542 and taken possession of the land for Spain, vowing to defend it against all who disputed the claim.
Upon reaching the easier slopes near the top, I could hear grinding and welding. I surprised a group of workers erecting a tower for a Baja Cellular phone installation. Judging by the looks on their faces, not many visitors had come straight up those cinder slopes. One of the workers pointed out the Old Mill, the Old Pier, the Old English Cemetery, and other landmarks across the bay.
Looking down on the Old Mill and the remains of the rail causeway beside it, my mind was filled with a more recent history. In the 1880's Cabrillo's Puerto de la Posesion was leased to the British owned Mexican Land and Colonization Company . The company had ambitious plans to settle the area with an economy based on dry wheat farming.
To find markets for the abundant crops expected from the region, an extensive system of railways was proposed and surveyed. From San Quintín, lines were projected to run to San Diego, Yuma, and Bahía de los Angeles. Most of the track and rail stock (a locomotive and ten cars) arrived from England in July 1891 aboard a 3,500 ton steamer. Drawing 22 feet of water, the vessel could not enter the bay and had to anchor outside and transfer cargo to a 400 ton lighter - a process that took nearly a month to complete.
The company had begun track-laying on the west side of the bay near Monte Ceniza. The passage across the narrows of San Quintín Bay proved to be an unexpected headache. The Mexican government wouldn't permit a "railroad-type trestle" to be built, but insisted instead on a filled embankment or causeway.
The initial gap was 1300 feet long and 40 feet deep. As it was narrowed the tidal surge intensified, washing away tons of earth and sand. The engineers were forced to use over 30,000 cubic yards of rock blasted from a nearby quarry.
By March 1892, the fill was complete, and the final gap, some 75 feet, was crossed by a wooden truss-style bridge. Laying the tracks across the narrows had cost the company over $100,000; a sum three times the amount anticipated, and about half of what was spent on the entire railroad!
To add to the difficulties of government interference, other problems arose in 1892 when U.S. newspapers began circulating stories that the Mexican Land and Colonization Company's efforts at San Quintín were merely a cloak for Britain to secure a naval base in the region.
In response, the company pointed to the vast amount of land brought under cultivation by British immigrant farmers along the initial 17 mile section of the railroad, and the fact that they had constructed what was the largest flour mill on the entire west coast. The company could also point out their considerable investment in the digging of wells, the building of a hotel and a school, and the opening of postal, telegraphic and steamer services to San Quintín. Moreover, since 1891 more than 100 men had been working on the various railroad projects.
However, the greatest blow to the British colony came from a severe drought lasting throughout the 1890's. With diminishing harvests of wheat, the mill, powered by a large steam engine often stood idle, as did Baja's first standard-gauge steam locomotive. In 1909, the company finally gave up, ripped up the track and began loading all the railway equipment on a ship bound for Redondo Beach, California. The 1,750 ton, four-masted British bark Drummuir anchored outside the bay and the laborious task of lightering began. The rails of the "Peninsular Railroad" ended up at the Santa Clara Gold and Copper Mine in Arizona. Because of a loading accident, the 17 ton, six-wheeled, saddle tank locomotive, fell into the sea at the mouth of the bay and remains there to this day.
From on top of Monte Kenton, I could look down at the runway, launching ramps, and beautiful bayside houses of the American communities of the Pedregal and Hacienda San Quintín. About five miles to the north-west, shimmering white depressions behind the coastal dunes, marked the location of salt evaporation ponds that were once used by Dominican missionaries, and seal and sea otter hunters. Looking south, at the long, narrow peninsula separating San Quintín Bay from the Pacific, I conceived the idea of taking a day hike all the way around it.
Next day, I set off from the village of Chapalita (called La Chocera on some maps) 8 miles up the peninsula on the Pacific side. There is a little-used "road" running all the way to the end - Cabo San Quintín. Immediately south of town the road runs along a stretch of sandy and pebbly beach then rises on to low cliffs of black volcanic rock. Sharp rocky outcrops and sheets of drifting sand make this a strictly 4WD proposition.
It was perfect hiking weather. The sun was warm. The Pacific breeze was cool, and I was energized by an explosion of color. The rolling dunes were blossoming with pink sand verbena, orange desert mallow, white ice plant, orange-red lotus, yellow bladder pod, and purple locoweed. The dark and dreary basaltic rocks were enlivened by gray, yellow and reddish lichens. Spanish moss, siempreviva, and box-thorns filled the gaps between.
About 1.5 miles from the village, I passed a couple of cliff-top ranches. Another 0.5 miles brought me to a tiny black-walled settlement nestled at the base of Volcan del Sudoeste. Beyond, was one of the loveliest and most productive clamming beaches in the area.
At low tide "Four Mile Beach" runs south almost as firm and flat as a freeway. At high tide, a vehicle might be forced uncomfortably close to the softer sands of the dunes which provide a continuous backdrop to the beach. I raced ahead admiring the abundance of sea-bird life and occasionally wandered into the dunes to listen to the melodic singing of meadow larks and horned larks.
Driving off the beach at the south end presents two choices - both involve climbing steep slopes of soft sand. Once past these you're safely at the end of the peninsula which widens around Monte Mazo (160 ft), the smallest of the ten cinder cones in the San Quintín area. There are many fine tide pools, rocky points and sandy coves to explore, and at least one wreck - a Hawaiian registered catamaran that seems to have run aground beneath the only navigation light in the area.
Rounding Cabo San Quintín and heading further east towards the mouth of the bay, the beaches are more protected from the prevailing wind and the Pacific swell. In all this wild beauty, I met a lone Mexican gathering seaweed, but otherwise there was no one, no village, no campers, no vehicles.
The "road" which was typically either deep sand or tire-stabbing volcanic rock disappeared as I made my way up the bay side of the peninsula. It was suddenly very windy again. I came to the mouth of a lagoon. Luckily the tide was still fairly low. I was able to wade knee-deep, carefully dragging my feet in case there were stingrays.
Heading north, the shore became more challenging to hike with ramparts of washed-up seaweed and softer sand. The upper half of the peninsula wa s a tricky mix of mud, marsh and winding channels which I had to negotiate barefoot with my boots strung around my neck.
There was also an abundance of bird life inside the bay. Indeed, San Quintín Bay is probably home to more species of birds than anywhere else in Baja. Racing the sunset through the marsh, I was too preoccupied for bird watching till the water exploded around a group 40 yards from shore. Desperate pelicans, gulls and cormorants were suddenly enveloped in a "tidal wave" of 25-30 charging sea lions. I had never witnessed such a concerted ambush before; and given the commotion, I couldn't be sure how successful the charge had been.
I crossed over the dunes at the narrow neck of the peninsula and gratefully picked up the Pacific road running back to the village. A few times heading up the bay side, I wondered if I'd bitten off more than I could chew - but with 20 miles behind me, I could look back on one of the most stimulating and delightful Baja walks I'd ever taken. .
