FIRST MEETING

 

 

The date was June 2, 1971.  We had departed San Felipe two days prior, on Memorial Day, for an adventure that would change our lives forever.  The locals in San Felipe had recommended that we begin our trip at the end of May.

“Los vientos van a calmar.”  They said, “The winds will be calmer then.”  They were wrong. 

    For two days we fought headwinds and short chop that shot spray over the fly-bridge and into our faces.  We spent sleepless nights as the boat rocked at anchor in the never-ending, wind-driven swell.  However, we thoroughly enjoyed the ever-changing coast as it slid by our boat.  As we sailed south, to starboard the deserted beaches and the slowly rising desert unfolded.  It reluctantly yielded to the mountains twenty miles away that reached for the sky.  We motored past a few camps and as we reached the islands, Las Encantadas, a fierce wind forced us to retreat to Puertecitos where we spent our first rocky anchorage.  Next morning, with renewed energy, we pushed forward and fought the wind until it realized that we were not giving up.  It relented and let us pass.

    We were fascinated at seeing an arid desert, devoid of vegetation, dumping into The Sea.  We live in California and our coastline is adorned with palm trees and pines.

    As Snoopy II, our 24-foot sport cabin cruiser, slowly approached the smooth shore in the incredibly lovely bay of San Luis Gonzaga, several small cabins, shacks, and trailers came into view.  Perched on the edge of the beach like seagulls, the houses peeked out from thatched palapas that shaded them from the relentless sun.  A few small boats dotted the sand like beached whales.  We drew closer and spotted what we were looking for.  A small fuel shack was located toward the north end of the sand spit that separates Bahia San Luis Gonzaga from Bahia Willard.

            Our guidebooks for this trip included Murray & Poole’s, Cruising The Sea of Cortez and Ray Cannon’s, The Sea of Cortez.  Our boat, a single-engine Fantasy, guzzled a gallon of gasoline every two miles and we were constantly looking for a place to satisfy his thirst.

We anchored, launched our dingy, Snoopito, and rowed ashore.  Timidly, we trudged up the sand to the fuel shack.  To the right of it we saw a cantina (a room with a thatched roof, a few tables, a small kitchen), and a pleasant looking woman.

            “En que puedo servirles?”  She said with a great smile.  “How can I help you?”  Big brown eyes that seemed to sit on top of two of the rosiest cheeks that we had ever seen caught our attention.  Dan answered her in perfect Spanish and her eyes danced with mischief and we instantly fell in love with Alfonsina Urquidez Valencia Davis.  A deep friendship developed that has kept us coming back for thirty years.

            Alfonsina, dressed in a cotton dress and sandals, was running in several directions at the same time, cooking, serving tables, and filling gasoline orders.  She stopped to watch a small plane bump to a landing on the dirt airstrip behind the cantina, and shook her head.

            Her husband, Henry Davis, an American, rolled a large oil drum of gasoline down to the edge of the water and instructed us to bring the boat in as close as possible.  The beach sloped very gently here and, in spite of the wind, only small wavelets broke on shore.  We placed a chamois over the fuel tank entrance to catch the biggest chunks of rust before they went into our tanks.  The process was unhurried; we had all day.  With a hand-activated pump, we slowly filled our tanks and our five-gallon cans.  An hour later the boat was ready to depart, but we were not.  Why leave such a beautiful place?

            We anchored and stayed for two nights, hoping to catch up on our sleep.  A west wind continued to toss our boat like a cork, day and night.  We donned scuba gear and dove for conch in murky waters disturbed by the westerly.  Finally, reluctantly, we pulled anchor and continued south.  We explored as far south as San Francisquito, took refuge from the relentless wind in Puerto Refugio on Angel de la Guarda Island, anchored at Bahia de Los Angeles, Isla Partida and Isla Raza.  

Then, with time running out, we headed north.  Two weeks after our first visit, we returned to Alfonsina’s.  As we again dropped anchor, we were hooked, figuratively speaking.  For thirty years we have continued to return - to enjoy The Sea and the woman who herself discovered Bahia San Luis Gonzaga in 1959 and knew she must return.

            With her we have gone clamming, dune buggying, boating, and flying.  She taught us to cook camarones, make tortillas, tamales and best of all, to really love Baja.  We have enjoyed great conversations with her and developed a true appreciation and respect for the things she has done. 

            Over dinners and lunches and breakfasts, we have listened in awe to her tales and adventures.  Her story is one of courage and determination.  A woman who is as tough as she is beautiful, Alfonsina has earned a reputation of being honest and fair.

 

            In a country and at a time when women “just didn’t do that” - she did