Summers
are unbelievably hot along the Baja Peninsula down in old Mexico
The
sleepy fishing village of Loreto is on the east side of the peninsula, facing
the beautiful, blue Gulf of California .
Selected for the shelter it offered missionary ships from Spain Sunrise
We
were just beginning the final part of a 15 hour drive from San Diego Toyota
As
we drove down the mountain, we found ourselves behind a slow-moving, diesel
truck, that, because of its slowness and the fumes, I wished we could pass. But
the road was too curvy, so we were still stuck behind it when we came to a
“flash flood” area. It had rained somewhere upstream and this normally dry
creek bed was now full of water. I knew not to drive across a strange creek
because they can take lives. I knew the importance of reading a creek, of
knowing if the water is too deep or too fast moving to cross.
We
could see that the water reached only to the hub caps of the truck ahead of us,
so we could see it would be safe to follow him into the water. I changed my
attitude toward the truck and became grateful that it was in front of us,
helping us read the creek. If the water had stayed at that height, we would
have been fine. But a little more than half way across, we were suddenly
slammed with a high wall of water, mud, stony silt and crickets! Our
lightweight truck stammered a bit, and then stalled out.
In
no time at all, the rush of water inside the truck reached all the way up to
window level. I squatted on the seat as I rolled my window all the way down.
There were crickets all over me, and all over the truck. Poor little guys. My
hair was now getting soaking wet from the rising water! Where were my sandals? I
began to seriously prepare to vacate through the window, not wanting to be
rushed down stream like so many crickets. But look! That diesel truck had seen what
had happened, and, armed with tow chains, was backing into the raging water of
the creek to help us! I remember listening to the comforting sound of that
diesel engine as it pulled us up and out of imminent danger.
It
towed us only a few miles down the road to a tiny gas station named Agua
Amarga, “Bitter (that is, undrinkable)
Water”. We were stuck between two
such “dry” creeks, and at the mercy of raging flash flood torrents. The truck
would not start. There were no restaurants in this rural agricultural area;
just vending machine potato chips, polverone sugar cookies and Coke. No hotels;
just the wet front seat of our truck. Gratefully, however, there was a bathroom
with very cold, but running water.
The
attendant was an old guy, all smiles and gestures. I was so glad to be able to
communicate with him in good Spanish. Since there would be no more traffic for
this newly converted Wayside Inn, he encouraged us to unpack a bit and spread our
things out to dry. Everything we owned was soaking wet and muddy – clothes,
personal papers, CD’s, my favorite books and the sleeping bags. We hoped the
car would dry out and start up again tomorrow.
This
land, and all the creatures that survive on it, are unique forms of Life
designed to gather life-sustaining moisture from the more subtle coastal fogs
and humid sea breezes. Rain has always
been scarce here, and so the life forms tend to be ancient, other-world looking,
with thick skins designed to survive in harsh, drought conditions. The stout,
grey-trunked Elephant Tree seems so heavy and cumbersome, yet still manages to
be graceful. The Boojum Tree stands 12 feet tall. It looks just like a candle,
tall and thin, tapering off as it reaches the top. Its whole body is covered with tiny,
needle-like leaves that are only six inches long, giving the tree a very fuzzy,
yet regal beauty. When I sat in meditation under one, it began to hum a most
haunting sound when the wind passed through its tiny leaves.
The
Arroyo toad, an endangered species, has adapted to the intermittent rainfall
here, by digging deep holes in the sandy soil when water is scarce. They then
dehydrate themselves by wrapping up in a blanket of skin, and wait, buried in
the soil, for the waking kiss of the next rainfall. When they feel the moisture
of the rain, they rehydrate themselves, and hop back out onto the land.
It
had rained really hard here! There were huge puddles and the ground had turned
to a soft, sandy mush that one could easily get stuck in. The locals learned of
our presence soon enough and arrived on foot, bringing Mexican hospitality,
smiles, laughter, and delicious homemade yam empanadas and cheese quesadillas.
This was the first rain in 15 years! Much needed, the rain made everyone feel
joyful. Farmers and children, old ladies, kids on bikes, everyone came by the
store with eyes dancing and big smiles in celebration mode. Everyone was
joyful, celebrating the long awaited, life-giving moisture. It was an
unforgettable evening.
No
one was happier, though, than the Arroyo toads, for they had been buried in the
sand, waiting for this rain, for 15 long, dry years. As soon as they unburied themselves, the
males found suitable puddles and begin an electrical-wire kind of high pitched,
raspy call to attract a female.
The
sound was everywhere, all engulfing, all pervasive, hypnotic. It lasted all
through that night and the next, and all day long, for as long as we were
there. It was utterly mesmerizing, as hundreds and hundreds of toads hopped
about in romantic frenzy, giving new meaning to the expression “horny toads!”
These
sweet toads with big, watery eyes had been buried alive, waiting for life
sustaining rain for 15 years! And as they waited, their species was in ever-greater
danger of going extinct. With urgency, as he reached the surface, the male
began calling out that he had found a suitable puddle for the kids. The sooner
the eggs could get laid and fertilized, the better the chances that the little
tadpoles would have all the water they needed until they could hop out and live
on land. Answering the call, the females chose their mate and, although they
had come perilously close to extinction, perpetuated their species for yet
another season.
And
so it was that the very same rain that threatened to take my life was a life
sustaining rain that perpetuated the lives of hundreds of Arroyo toads and
removed them from the list of endangered species.
