By Graham Mackintosh
e-mail:BURROGB@aol.com

Editor's Note: The following material/article is excerpted from the author's new book "All The Angels With Us: A 1000 Miles with a Baja Burro" which tells of his journey along the mission trail in Baja with his faithful companion Mision. The book is due out in the spring. Graham Mackintosh is also the author of "Into A Desert Place" (publisher W.W. Norton,) a book describing his two years walking the coast of Baja, living off the sea and the desert. Before his trip, Graham Mackintosh called himself "the most unadventurous person in the world." But having visited the Baja desert and fallen in love with its dramatic scenery and hospitable people, he spent 600 days walking the coastline carrying his world on his back, dining on rattlesnake and cactus, drinking distilled seawater, and living with fear as a constant companion.

In 1997, Graham Mackintosh set off on another solo Baja marathon, walking from the border to Loreto, the site of the first mission in the Californias, to celebrate its 300th anniversary. For six months, he led a feisty burro from mission to mission down the mountainous backbone of the peninsula, enduring freezing nights in the mountains and baking days in the desert. This is his story:

Graham Mackintosh and his burro Mision in the Baja Desert. Click photo for enlargement

The Indian women stared as we passed and forded the stream. I was able to keep my boots relatively dry, stepping from sand island to sand island. One of them hailed me in mid-stream with a question about my destination. I pulled up Mision to reply. Standing hoof-deep in the crystal clear water, the burro took a voluminous, cloudy, greenish-gray pee. Embarrassed at his polluting the water and the occasion, I led him across to the other side and headed southeast toward Valle de la Trinidad and the San Mat’as pass.

It was good to be on the open road--passing through a dry, shrubby, desert of barrel cactus, prickly pear, tree yuccas, cholla, Mormon tea, sage, and juniper.

We were still on the route of the Baja 1000. Mision looked mesmerized by the sudden gunning of motors and the flashing colors of passing trucks and motorcycles pre-running the course. Needing maximum control again, I kept him on a short rein so I could hurriedly lead him into the cactus when I heard the roar of another vehicle.

Unfortunately, Mision was inspired to once more demonstrate his racing talents. Trying to hold him back instigated a relapse...indeed a total collapse! Down he went, right in the middle of the dirt road just beneath the summit of a blind hill. As I was hurrying to untie the pack and get the weight off his back, I heard a group of motorcyclists roaring up the other side.

All my frantic shoves and rope pulls were to no avail. He couldn't get up! I dashed to the top of the hill waving my hands to flag down the bemused riders. When they saw Mison flattened on the road with bits of baggage hanging off in every direction, they assumed there had been a terrible accident! Luckily, they stood guard, as I got him unloaded and on his feet before the next vehicle arrived.

We walked on a few miles and made camp in a relatively flat, open area, beside a sunken sandy arroyo. One thing was uppermost in my mind--it had turned hot and we needed water.

Just before dawn, I heard the burro where he shouldn't be, on the wrong side of the tent! I looked out to see that his picket rope had broken. As I hurriedly dressed and put on my boots, he walked across the arroyo. I untied the part of the broken line that had been left behind and followed him over. He had settled down to munch contentedly on the thin covering of dry grass. I decided not to tie him. No big deal, I thought, he needs all the grazing he can get. He's my trusty amigo, my carrot companion. He's not going anywhere. I'll collect him after breakfast!

Mackintosh and Mision have a quick moment of bonding during the Baja 1000. Click photo for enlargement

Back at the tent, I was packing everything away, occasionally looking up to check Mision hadn't wandered out of sight when, suddenly, I heard from far up the valley, the sound that would shatter my trust forever--the bray of another burro! Immediately, Mision stood erect, his eyes and ears shot forward; he pumped himself up and gave a brief answering cry.

I picked up the halter and three carrots and started walking slowly across the arroyo. Halfway over, Mision started walking very purposefully in the direction that the bray had come from. I waved the carrots, calling, "Mision, Mision." All he did was start trotting, faster and faster. I started running after him; he kept 40-50 yards in front of me. I realized that unless he wants to be caught, there's no way I can catch him. I followed him probably two miles and was just about to give up when suddenly ahead there was a group of horses and a whitish male burro with big black and orange patches.

When Mision saw the other burro he went straight at it--sniffing, cavorting, and joyfully biting and kicking. Mision was in his element; the two burros were just frolicking around while the horses looked on. I couldn't believe the transformation. No longer the repressed beast of burden, he was now the frisky singer, dancer, and fighter. The two of them acted like long lost, bickering buddies. Even if I'd got hold of Mision, I wasn't sure I could pull him away. I got within thirty feet and threw two of the carrots towards him, but the skittish horses led away their burroÉwho led away Mision. Mision was wild and free and he wasn't about to let me catch him. No amount of carrots was going to woo him back.

I hurriedly returned to my campsite, realizing I needed help. I tried to tidy myself up a bit, using a cup of water to wash and shave. By 9 a.m., I had most of the equipment covered in green tarps and buried in a bush. Taking all the water, my money, passport, knife, letters of recommendation, binoculars and GPS, I left the burro in the canyon and started following the cattle trails towards the highway looking for a ranch.

I tried to imagine the benefits of carrying on without Mision. But I knew that if I couldn't get him back, or secure another burro, I couldn't carry a quarter of the gear. I had a new appreciation for all he was doing for me.

With the temperature in the eighties and climbing, I walked a mile towards Highway 3--which ran through the San Matias pass from Ensenada on the Pacific to near San Felipe on the Gulf--then I saw a tin roof shimmering a mile or two ahead.

As I approached the buildings, I was glad to see a stout, middle-aged rancher attending to his cattle. He invited me into his simple ranch, made coffee and listened to my story.

He introduced himself as Chico and spoke with a deep, sonorous precision suggesting that he was not a native Baja Californian. He was from across the Gulf, from Sonora. He had a house, wife and children in nearby Valle de la Trinidad, and worked the ranch part time.

Mision has a quick snack during the Baja 1000. Click photo for enlargement

Hospitality to the fore, he dropped everything, grabbed his lasso, ushered me to his pickup and then drove miles, on and off roads, in search of the horses and burros. We passed over an old dirt runway with deep cross ruts dug every thirty yards to prevent planes from landing--clearly part of the anti-drug operation. When we eventually found them, we saw that Mision was still enamored with his new burro buddy.Chico tried to lasso Mision on foot but couldn't get close enough; he tried it from the back of the pickup with me driving, but that also proved futile. This was clearly a job for mounted cowboys.

Chico was good enough to pick up my equipment on the way back to his ranch where I was delighted to see that two of his cowboy neighbors just happened to be there waiting in chaps and Stetsons, horses saddled and ready to go. After the obligatory coffees and introductions, they rode off in search of Mision. Ninety minutes later they returned, driving the two burros into a corral. For his sins, Mision spent the rest of the day locked up with the cattle. He was given water and hayÉand the hospitality didn't end there.

One of the cowboys--a small, wiry, fierce-looking character that you would not want to cross--always seemed to have a knife in his hand. Whether cutting potatoes, slicing leather or whittling wood he held the knife with about the same expression and intensity as a suicidal Samurai. I was not sure if he was altogether serious when he waved the knife in my direction and said that Mision's problem was "'his cojones,'"--his testes...he would be happier without them." He volunteered to perform the service for him! On behalf of my buddy, I politely declined his noble offer!

However, I did take up his offer to adjust and repair the pack frame, which included attaching a more durable pair of leather side straps. Chico invited me to stay the night at the ranch, rigged me up a much-needed longer, stronger line to secure the burro at night, and insisted I visit and stay with his family in Valle de la Trinidad.

Next Story...San Felipe on the Fly

Mackintosh's "All The Angels With Us: A 1000 Miles with a Baja Burro" is available through amazon.com as is "Into a Desert Place: A 3000 Mile Walk Around the Coast of Baja California."

"All The Angels With Us" tells of Mackintosh's struggles with hunger, thirst, loneliness, terrible trails, and a strong-willed jackass. In spite of wanting to trade him at first, Graham came to appreciate his companion and tells of their growing understanding and friendship. He also describes how with so much time on his hands he came to develop a stronger spirituality, and an insight into the lives and beliefs of the early California missionaries.

Copyright © 2000 by Graham Mackintosh.  All rights reserved.