trip, the 3 rather scruffy looking climbers must have caught the attention of the Customs Officers. After some hours of going through the packs, removing door panels, dissembling the Seva stove, they must have decided that we weren't importing anything but dirt, because they let us pack it all up so we could continue on home. I haven't been back to climb Big Picacho yet, but I did end up with a nice sketch map of all the wrong dirt roads that don't lead to the trailhead.

Cerro de La Encantada Duke Blakesley

We stood on the west rim of the gorge to study main climbing routes up Big Picacho. Loose vapory clouds and mist driven by a cool breeze obscured a view to what John W. Robinson has called "one of the finest mountains on the North American continent." Suddenly, nature's Grand Theater presented us with an unforgetable performance. The cloudy curtain was raised to reveal a MASSIVE peak of pale granite rock, unique in Baja, stretching upwards 10,154 feet. I was a believer in Mexico's official name of Baja California's highest point - Cerro de la Encantada - "enchanted mountain." Sometime earlier, I had purchased a Mexican topo of the area. The store manger spread the map on the counter. Big Picacho was pointed out to me with a warning that climbers reported the mountain to be in a different location. A moving mountain! Truly, this was a Cerro de la Encantada. In October, 1986, Peak Baggers' from across the United States responded to a Sierra Club Mexico outing that required "all participant's to be in excellent physical condition with considerable backpacking and mountaineering experience." I lied...and was accepted and assigned to one of two teams, each team consisted of twelve people. Our team leader was Jerry Schad. Our co-leader and only woman was Vicki Hoover. Our team would climb from the Pacific side to reach Big Picacho, while the other team would enter Canyon del Diablo from the desert. They faced a respectable 8,000 feet elevation gain. We turned to climb "Blue Bottle," high point of the main plateau at 9,450 feet. We DID find a small blue bottle someone had secured to a tree near the register. We signed our names and read a fading notation which informed us of an alleged mountain tragedy. A previous hiker whose name appeared in the clutter of papers had died of a rattle snake bite in a rocky meadow in the near vicinity. Potential hazards in this remote area evoked mixed team reaction. An east-coast man had envisioned a Mexican National Park complete with uniformed Rangers, well defined routes, and overnight trail huts! A mid-westerner, a strong hiker and avowed rap music enthusiast blurted, "I thought you guy's would all be younger!" Polite smiles and stony silence...the gauntlet had been thrown. We turned towards the waiting challenge. We began our descent into the gorge losing 2,500 feet (mas o menos) struggling with heavy backpacks down steep rugged terrain, silently cursing the clutching vegetation and tree limbs, while at the same time marvelling at the pristine wilderness. We reached the upper region of Canyon del Diablo and continued down canyon

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