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| Hiking | 47.00 Miles |
7,000 AEG |
| | Hiking | 47.00 Miles | 61 Hrs | | 1.27 mph |
| 7,000 ft AEG | 1 Day Break | 35 LBS Pack | | |
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| no partners | | The mission was to hike from Mexico to Interstate 8, via the Tinajas Altas and Gila Mountains.
It is said that the Tinajas Atlas Mountains form a natural barrier along a 4 mile stretch of the southern border, an impassible bulwark, barring entry to all but the most motivated of men. The combination of steep grades and saw tooth ridge lines are formidable; but given enough time and the right gear, they can be traversed, and are on a regular basis.
After a 10 AM kickout on the Camino El Diablo Road, I worked my way down to the U.S Border (did not cross it). The plan was to hike the 42 mile journey undetected. The first order of business was to navigate the minefield of ground sensors without setting them off. These are typically placed on smuggling trails, constriction points, and areas of least resistance; in other words, the best places to walk.
The first sign of other people was in a canyon behind Tinajas Altas Peak, which had footprints from group of guys who had recently passed through. They looked to be about 24 hours ahead of me and we took the same route, more or less. The smugglers did a good job concealing their tracks over the first few miles, rock hopping etc., but they were to become sloppy and careless as time progressed, the mountain and heavy burdens taking their toll. With the arrival of cooler weather, men come here to take the challenge,risking the best years of their youth for a chance at a big payday.
There are two passes across the Altas that the Border Patrol utilizes to monitor and apprehend northbound traffic. Each has a road of sand that is difficult to cross without leaving footprints behind. The BP cruise the drag roads cutting sign and will investigate the slightest disturbance in the sand. They are professional trackers and relentless once they have a mark, coming at you three shifts a day, like an English hunt club chasing a hapless fox, trumpets blaring.
Luck was to be on my side over at Cipriano Pass. The sand road was graded/drug soon after my crossing, erasing the less-than-perfect attempt to cover my tracks. I had disappeared without a trace, well... not much of trace anyway. The evening was spent at a mountainside camp with a great view of the action below. An ink black night camped under the stars; interrupted by an occasional roar of engines, military aircraft flying maneuvers, BP spotlights and vehicles...it was surreal.
Day three started out with a nine mile dash across the Davis Plain. The mountains are impassible in this section so one must run the gauntlet out in the flats. Speed is key here, as there is little cover and the sandy soil makes it next to impossible to conceal one's tracks. A group of smugglers appear to have walked this section on Thursday night. Their path was obvious, despite the use of carpet booties, and the BP was able to reel them in near Sheep Mountain. The ground there was covered with the tracks of men and machines. Like pages in a book, the tracks told a tale of their own, of desperate struggle, chaos written in the sand.
The ridge at Sheep Mountain was to be the last hump of the hike. It was here that I changed footwear, going from sneakers to Danner military issue boots, hoping the switch would create some confusion, and buy me some time for the home stretch. The remaining 12 miles were smooth sailing to my destination at Exit 22 on Interstate 8, where a friend from Yuma picked me up. He became a captive audience as I recounted the experience in all its wearisome detail. |
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