– A look at the mountain range behind our camp –
Under the spell of Giganta.
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A new year – the show goes on.
This is the morning show from our beach.
We see it almost every morning, but can’t get enough of it.
Some days it’s still like a lake. Perfect for these ‘stand-up paddle boards‘.
At other times all hell is loose. Rock mountains and water mountains: Waves that change in billions of years and waves that change within seconds. Just a slight difference.
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This is our camp under the shade of the Sierra de la Giganta. In the middle-left you can see the formidable chasm – actually a fantastically narrow vertical drop-off of more than 300 feet – that once prevented me from climbing down that mountain.
This is a view on Giganta in which I try to explain the route I once found to climb up to the top of it. Most of it, as you can see, is actually hidden behind other ridges. The entrance is pretty difficult to find nowadays after a devastating flash flood during a hurricane has reshaped the entire landscape down there some years ago.
The first stretch in a narrow canyon doesn’t gain much elevation but is not easy as you have to continuously scramble over huge boulders. A following spectacular ascent through another canyon is very steep and on so loose rock that you have to crawl on all fours. Then comes bushwhacking through tall dreadful, thorny vegetation; very easy to lose all sense of direction. Then, at about 5000 feet elevation it gets better and the rest is easy.
The view from the top is fantastic. You can clearly see the other Baja-coast in the west with the glistening surf of the Pacific 50 miles away. I spent the night on top and gathered a heap of bone dry agaves to light a fire. It burned like gun powder and didn’t last more than a few minutes, but it was bright and so many people happened to see it. I kept hearing the most amazing stories in the following months about a plane crash, a mysterious UFO sighting, equally mysterious activities of native Indians, secret military actions, and even a brand new light tower. No one ever goes up there, it’s a bit hard.
This was more than 10 years ago, I didn’t have a GPS yet, and on the way down I lost my way badly in the blinding vegetation jungle. I ended up over an impossible 300+ feet drop – my rope was simply too short – and had to turn back and climb up again on an incredibly loose 45-degree slope through horrible thorny cactus vegetation. You can see the vertical drop very well. I had only a gallon of water for two hard days and came back with my cloths torn to pieces. You can read a bit more about this adventure here. I never did it again and have never heard of anybody who has been up there. It is a wonderful special intimacy I feel with Giganta since then.
On top. Looking east on Danzante and Carmen in the distance.
Sunrise up there.
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Down by the water the Pelicans couldn’t care less about Giganta looming over them.
Neither does Old Blue. I always try to get the ultimate shot of him before he glides away, sulking.
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The final anchorage of a proud sailing yacht; it sank close by a little while ago and Giganta was watching, unmoved.
Things come and go. Today I look at my own worn out cloths, my old body in not so good shape lately, my old motorhome, my old boat, all our old stuff. Everything is old and worn. Not that it bothers me, but sometimes you suddenly notice things you haven’t seen even though they were always there.
A new year, a new moment, but I catch myself lost in thought, hanging on to old judgements, opinions, and stories. It takes a life time of practice letting go. The show always goes on, it looks different each moment.
Klaus Jan. 3. 2012