EL PICACHO DEL DIABLO
November 9-12, 1990 R.J. Secor
This trip got off to a sad start with the death of Ron Jones' father-in-law. Ron remained home to comfort his family, but he made generous use of his limited time to give details of the route to Jim Hinckley, Kent Santleman, Graham Breakwell, and me. We piled into Jim's van and drove to Mexicali, and on to sleep in the desert that night, north of the dry lake in the Valle de San Felipe.

Once we were on the dry lake bed we found some bright orange stakes. Closer investigation revealed that they were the route markers for an off-road race. We had seen some support crews along Mexican Highway 3 the night before, and we wondered if this was the route of the Baja 1000. We soon left the lake and visited the small ranch at the base of the peak. Nazio told us that the trailhead was six miles away, and the safest place for Jim's van would be at the ranch itself. We gave him a tip, drove the remaining distance to the trailhead, and decided to leave the van there.

Hawks flew over us as we approached the entrance to Canon del Diablo, a wild place with beautiful rock walls. The cable at the first falls was most sporting, and the four of us swung across the polished rock slabs without incident. We proceeded up the canyon to a camp at 3,600' that night; the campsite featured spent Mexican-made Bleust cannisters and mountain lion tracks. The next day we hiked up to Campo Noche, made obvious by the words carved into a fallen log, highlighted with fluorescent orange spray paint.

It was a great relief to shoulder day packs on our third day. We followed Night Wash, Slot Wash, and Wall Street to the summit of the north peak of Big Picacho. We weren't able to see the Pacific Ocean, but the Sea of Cortez was visible, and I swear that I could see the mouth of the Colorado River. Eleven hours of daylight forced us to move quickly, however, and we soon left the summit, descended to Campo Noche (I suffered a tick bite along the way) and hurried down the canyon to a camp at 4,000' with minutes of daylight to spare.

We continued to hurry down the canyon the next morning, and didn't pause to take a real rest until beneath the first falls. Swimming in the pool beneath the falls was delightful, and we soon marched on to the van, relieved to find it unmolested.

We stopped at the ranch on the way back. Nazio wasn't there, but another ranch hand asked us for some beer. Evidently the staff of the ranch has come to expect beer from peak baggers! Then back to the dry lake, where we made our big mistake. We got on the wrong road after leaving the lake. The road was loose, sandy, and probably had been torn up from too many off-road racers. There was no stopping now, unless we wanted to get stuck for a long time! Jim ordered everyone over the rear axle, and he lugged the van what seemed an eternity until reaching the safety of the pavement of Highway 3 at sunset. Another highlight of the trip home was crossing into the United States. Immigration officials neglected to ask Graham Breakwell, a proud member of the British empire, which country he was a citizen of!

El Picacho del Diablo is one of the great peaks of North America. It has great vertical relief, surrounded by desert on one side and a forested plateau on the other. I hope the CMC makes this an annual trip.
 
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