Only a few miles outside El Rosario, the cirio trees began. Cirios are strange trees, not really cactus. They are related to the coachman’s whip (Ocotillo). They look like upside-down carrots. You can see them in the banner photo for this blog. I love cirios because they break all the rules for trees. Cirios are also known as Boojum trees, from Lewis Carol. They have individual personalities, they grow very tall, they are extremely rigid for such a thin, tall tree, and some of them have straight horizontal branches only a foot or two long.
They look furry—the trunk covered with leaves after a period of rain. They grow out of solid rock, and filter their water from the air when it’s foggy. It’s hard not to love a cirio, but you wouldn’t want to hug one, because they have horrendous thorns. I’ve become fascinated by cirios—and my obsession started when I looked for a little seedling to bring back. I couldn’t find any! It seems probable that cirios reproduce only in certain favorable years, perhaps decades apart.
Cirio doing an imitation of Groucho Marx.
On top of this, many cirios blew down in the recent storm, and I have seen evidence that they are being collected—perhaps the Chinese think they look like penises, and can cure erectile dysfunction. So I’m trying to find out through observation if cirios might be declining—and anyway it’s a good mystery to keep me occupied.
I reached the pass over the spine of Baja, just beyond El Rosario, in less than half an hour, with distant views--but not as dramatic as when I came here last time, with fog creeping over the crest and the cirios looking mysterious in the evening fog.
About half an hour later, I arrived at the place where I had camped last year. It seemed much the same, although greener. I had a beer, sitting in my chair on top of a large rocky outcrop, looking out over the desert in the later afternoon sun. Then I took a walk up a faint track, away from the main road. A number of cirios had been blown down in the storm.
The cactus here are so interesting. It’s my own personal little botanical garden. The giant cordon cactus appear very swollen. They have pleated sides, so they can absorb lots of water when it’s available, and expand. And expand they have—the pleats are stretched, and they look very fat indeed. The cirios also look a bit fatter that last year, but I can’t tell for sure. But they are very heavily leafed out (they grow leaves after it rains).
They are the most variable, individual trees. Some are densely leafed out on only the trunk (with no branches), looking like green pipe cleaners. Others have straight horizontal branches 1-2 feet long, which are also leafed out. Some of these cirios with branches could be mistaken for very skinny conifers.
After the sun set and Venus came out, there was a soft rosy glow on the distant mountains, and various finches were chirping; crickets were humming. It was utterly quiet—almost no wind. The temperature at 7:30 is 61 F.
Dusk in the cactus garden--first night in the wild desert.
Saturday 3/13/10
At 9:00, I stepped out for a walk before breakfast. The temperature is already 73 F, not a cloud in the sky, and no wind. Immediately, I saw a man walking up the dirt side road towards me from the highway, with something red in his hand—obviously a gas can. His pickup truck on the highway had the hood open. We shook hands, he said his name was Eduardo, and he needed gas. In fact, having already guessed his problem, I was carrying my spare gas can, and poured it into his can, one just like mine, only his was covered with white bird droppings, like it had been stored in a barn. I started to walk back to my trailer, but then decided it was a good opportunity to socialize, so I followed him to his beat-up pickup truck.
He introduced me to his traveling companion, Guillermo. Eduardo, short and stout with a mustache, was 30 or 40; Guillermo was tall and trim, about 70, with an attractive, deeply lined and tanned face, also with a white mustache. Both were wearing cowboy gear and cowboy hats. Guillermo had beautiful snakeskin cowboy boots. We chatted a bit, about how far it was to El Rosario. They said they didn’t know the area very well. Guillermo was originally from somewhere nearby, but Eduardo was from near Ensenada. They were both working on a ranch up there, raising alfalfa, and they had come south to buy some heifers. They asked me if I had spent the night here in the trailer. They said they had spent the night in the back of their pickup truck. I looked in the back—it was dirty, with nothing but two used tires. I asked them if they had used the tires for pillows, and
They laughed. Eduardo said that their pickup truck was older than Guillermo, and laughed. Eduardo said that Guillermo was part Indian and part Mexican.
I said that I had been here in 1961, before the road. They whistled. Eduardo asked how old I had been then. I said about 20. He did the math, and whistled again.
Guillermo said that he had a daughter living in New York. He said it was very cold there. I said I was born near NYC, in “Nueva Jersey.”
I asked if the economy was bad here. They said it was, but that “people got by.” He said, in contrast, in the US, when the economy was bad, the “sheriff comes with papers.” He said that there was no work for Mexicans in the US now.
They finished pouring the gas and departed, with the appropriate formalities and thanks.
In this desert garden, you have to observe very carefully. I was sitting in the shade of a big cordon cactus, when I noticed on the ground a tiny cactus, round, about the size of a half dollar. I barely protruded from the soil. I noticed several others. Now that my eyes were sharpened, I noticed a tiny, velvety gray-green sphere, about the size of a small button. It was covered with long spines. Apparently it was the seed (or bud) of a the cordon cactus above me. Now I noticed dozens of them, all about. You don’t want to sit on the bare ground, no matter how bare it looks. Unfortunately, a day later, I had forgotten this important lesson….
This area is grazed. I can see nine cattle in the distance. You can see sparse grass and other forbs growing where protected by cactus or shrubs, but not in the open between the clumps of shrubs, so probably there would be a light cover of grass without the cattle. But everywhere, even in the open, is a sort and sparse cover of green forbs. And many of them have tiny flowers, no bigger than the head of a pin. In fact, if I looked, I could probably find 20 or 30 different species in flower—but except for some yellow daisies, the flowers are tiny, and in many cases furled (ready to come out in a week?). The cactus, also, seem ready to bloom. So I may be a little early for a blooming desert. Despite the grazing, the cattle don’t seem to be doing much harm here.
But quite a few cirios blew down in the storm, and there are almost no young ones here.
I packed up a bit after noon, after taking a last walk around my garden, and set a leisurely pace down the highway, often only 45 mph. Many of the roadside lunch establishments that you see about every 20 miles, very rudimentary, seem to have been abandoned. Even one tiny town, complete with gas station and some kind of compound (possibly a school), is abandoned.
I stopped several times, looking for cirios under a foot tall, but didn’t find any.
Late in the afternoon, I came to my second campsite from last year, out of sight of the highway on a side track—an access rutted road that leads to the old trans-baja dirt road. After backing the trailer into a good spot, I grabbed my flashlight and camera, and set out to hike along the old highway—just a dirt track.
This was a route I hiked last year—when I hiked to find a fantastic eroded boulder and strangely twisted cirio. This was the same identical cirio, it turned out, that another photographer (who has a program on National Public TV) had spent some time photographing. To get to this cirio, I had to hike 3-4 miles on the old road, then take a side road from the old road.
You probably think I’m fooling myself—to think it’s the same cirio. How can I tell them apart—to be sure? Well, you don’t know cirios. These are plants with a personality. No two are the same, and it’s easy to see the differences between them. This particular cirio is contorted into a kind of spiral. It was already getting dark when I found my special cirio; I photographed the eroded boulder against the stars, then started back, using the light of my camera display to find the road again. Luckily, I didn’t run into any cactus in the dark.
A 25 mph wind had come up, but the temperature, in the 60s, was comfortable, if cool. I watched the silhouettes of the cirios and cactus against the orange sky near where the sun had set, with Venus shining low behind them. Gradually, the stars came out brighter and brighter. There was no moon, but the starlight was enough to navigate in the desert.
As night fell, I saw several bats against the rosy strip of horizon, and several large moths. Along the road, were tracks of a coyote following the road, jack rabbits, and small critters, possibly rodents and lizards. There were many holes of various sizes in the ground, possibly rodents, lizards, and large spiders. But here I never saw a single animal other than the bats and moths. Even ants aren’t especially common.
At my last campsite, there were more birds—woodpeckers, mockingbirds, and some small finches. Crickets sang. But again, no mammals or insects visible. I had seen tracks in the stream bed. I think there is life here, but active at night, and keeping well clear of humans, who probably hunt most anything. The book I am reading says that most life in Baja is supported by the sea, which is very productive here. Coyotes are 5-10 times more common near the shore, compared to the interior. Many animals eat what is washed up on the shore.
This is a fantastic area—with jumbles of huge boulders, distant views of mesas, and very luxuriant growth of strange plants.
The genus Fouquiera has three large representatives here: the cirio, ocotillo (coachman’s whip), and the elephant tree. All are large and strange. Often cirio and elephant trees grow out of small cracks in solid rock. In the dark, the cordons look immense. In fact, they are the largest cactus in the world, similar to the organ pipe
As I approached the trailer, three huge semis, all lit up with colored lights, cruised by, making an immense amount of noise. But out here, occasional noise like that—it’s part of the wild atmosphere. It’s like being on an asteroid, near a spacelane—and you watch the giant starships blasting by—their portholes lit bright against the starry space.
Sunday 3/14
Last night temperatures went probably into the fifties. When I arise, the sun is blazing through my window, it’s 63 F, and a raven is pacing on the ground around the trailer, checking it out. There’s still a strong wind. The large shrubs are waving back and forth in the wind, but the cirios and cordons are almost completely steady, their tops waving maybe 6”.
After breakfast, I went for a bike ride north on the highway. Traffic was light, and only seemed dangerous when a vehicle approached when I was on a hill, so we couldn’t see if another vehicle was approaching. There wouldn’t be room for two cars passing plus a bike.
I stopped at a number of places looking for cirio seedlings, but found none. I even climbed a granite ridge, reasoning that cattle couldn’t get up there, in case they are eating the cirio seedlings and eliminating them. But no cirios seedlings up there.
By mid afternoon, I had returned, eaten lunch, and packed. I headed south, not intending to go more than, say, 25 miles. But I only got about a mile before I saw a lot of cirios, including some smaller ones. So I stopped and went for a hike. It was a lovely spot—a grassy swale between two very low ridges of granite. A virtual park, a botanical garden. There were all kinds of cactus, including some new ones, lots of small elephant trees on the ridges, and some very large cordons.
Cordon cactus on the left--world's largest cactus. Cirios are the skinny ones on the right.
I was seeing a number of small (around 6’ high) cirios on the ridges, so I reasoned this might be the place to find a seedling. Working my way N along the ridge, I eventually found one only about 8” tall (photo). But even this one was apparently a number of years old, with a trunk already 2-3” thick, and wedged firmly in a crack by its roots.
The smallest cirio I could find--it already has a trunk the size of an egg. "Saplings" are extremely rare. There is some evidence they are being collected.
The sun set as I wandered among the giant cordons—they made wonderful silhouettes—along with the cirios—against the orange strip of sky in the west, with Venus as a vocal point. Returning to the trailer after dark, I moved it back to the place I had spent the previous night, because it was level and I could get away from the highway with ease. Temperature in the trailer at 7:20—67 F.
Last year, and so far this year, I have been lucky with the cactus. I keep an eye out, and step carefully between them. But I’m often off trail, and of course, looking for cirio seedlings. So today, I ran into one with my lower leg. Not much damage done, and apparently it didn’t break off in my skin.
Sunset in the cactus garden.
But towards sundown, walking in the grassy swale, there were some large cholla cactus. These are the most deadly of all the cactus. They have segmented arms, about the size of a small apple, which break off. They gather on the ground, at some distance from the mother plant. You step on them, and you are in trouble. They have very long, extremely sharp spines. They could go through a shoe, so you need thick soles. Fortunately, mine had thick soles, but as it began to get dark, I did step on some cholla segments.
Now I was walking around on clumps of cactus—the chollas stuck to my shoes. Not a good idea, since a spine could come through. So I tried to pull them off. It’s hard to do, since the spines apparently have barbs, and are very difficult to remove from the sole. On top of that, they also have smaller spines, so no matter how carefully you grab the cactus piece, you get some of the smaller spines in your hand. Working to remove some chollas from my shoe, I sat down. Of course, I was careful to look closely at the ground, to make sure I wasn’t going to sit on one. But despite that, I did sit on some spines.
When I got back to the trailer, I felt something nip me in the behind, so I took off my pants. There were about three lumps on my behind, like large mosquito bites. One still had a spine in it, which I removed with my fingers. Lucky all the spines were out, because back there, it would have been very difficult to use tweezers effectively. No more sitting on the ground!!
Monday 3/15
I had a busy day—go up at 7:00 am, and decided to go for a hike where I was last night, in the amazing cactus garden. I was going to look for more cirio saplings, since I had finally found one last night.
I took two liters of water, some snacks, warm clothes (in case I got lost and had to spend the night), and my personal locator beacon (PLB). I was gone till noon, but I didn’t need all that stuff, since I went less than a mile. But I did learn something very important. I found a 2’ cirio, dead, lying on its side. At first, I didn’t think much about it, until I noticed that the taproot had been cut with a knife. And, the cirio was in a spot that they don’t usually grow. So, someone was collecting cirio saplings, and apparent dropped it. The only saplings I did find alive were completely, inextricably wedged into the rock, explaining why they hadn’t been collected. And, a rocky ridge where cirios grow had boulders moved, possibly to get cirios out with their roots intact. The elephant tree grows here also, and it’s saplings make perfect bonsais, since they have extremely small leaves. Likewise, I saw no very small elephant trees, except for ones wedged into cracks in the rock. So, the plot thickens.
South of Catavina
I was driving only about 40 mph, so I could look at the scenery safely. After an hour, the scenery changed from one of giant granite boulders to something more volcanic—barren mesas and valleys. I passed a large seasonal lake, now with an expanse of muddy water whipped by the wind. A bit later, I stopped at a low pass, because I saw a lot of small cirios. I got out and climbed the hill beside the highway.
I was driving only about 40 mph, so I could look at the scenery safely. After an hour, the scenery changed from one of giant granite boulders to something more volcanic—barren mesas and valleys. I passed a large seasonal lake, now with an expanse of muddy water whipped by the wind. A bit later, I stopped at a low pass, because I saw a lot of small cirios. I got out and climbed the hill beside the highway.
Cirios on the windswept hill. They are extremely stiff, and do not bend with the wind. This shows their permanent shapes.
When I got on top, a wind of 50-60 mph hit me full-force. I was struggling to stand, and getting cold. On top of those difficulties, I was now wearing my sandals. The wind was blowing me around, making it hard to place my feet carefully—but my luck held and I didn’t kick any cactus. This windswept ridge was fascinating. It was covered with short green grass between the larger plants. There were a lot of cirios and ocotillos and yucca, but it was missing a lot of the other cactus, which I guess couldn’t stand that much wind. The cirios were all shorter and fatter than I had seen them before, and there were a lot of small ones. I eventually found the smallest one so far—only about 8” tall, but it already had a fat trunk, and was set as if in concrete in the ground.
I was pretty tired from struggling with the wind, and glad to get back in the car. The sun was low and brilliant in the clear air, without a cloud.
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The above exerpts about cirios was taken from my journal, about my 2010 trip to Baja. Read the whole journal here.
