It was a bright, blue-sky morning when we set off from the quiet seaside village of Cabo Pulmo around nine o'clock. Kasey, Diana, and I hopped into the red Mitsubishi 4-wheel drive that Ken and Jenny had rented for their trip. With Ken at the helm, we met Pepe and Felipe before heading out—rounding out our group with a blend of locals and friends, all eager to explore the mountain town of Santiago.
As we eased out of town, the first wonder of the day appeared in the sky ahead—a crested caracara. The striking bird glided low and steady in front of our car for several miles, as if leading the way through the desert landscape. Its bold black-and-white wings and distinctive crest stood vivid against the morning sky, a silent escort that felt like a good omen for the day.
The drive was filled with rustic charm. We passed loose cattle and goats meandering near the roadside, and even a lone burro standing quietly as we rolled by. Each sight reminded us of the Baja peninsula's balance between wilderness and ranching life. The journey already felt like a step back in time—part road trip, part nature walk, and full of simple, wild beauty.
Santiago, nestled in the Sierra de la Laguna foothills, came into view like an oasis—lush by Baja standards, with palms, citrus groves, and a quiet resilience in its atmosphere. As we came into the town plaza, time seemed to slow down. We drove under the shade of large trees, admiring the historic mission church and the relaxed pace of local life.
We followed Pepe down a series of dusty backroads to a quiet overlook above a shimmering lake. It was peaceful and still, the view stretching wide under the midday sun. As we gazed out over the palms lining the water’s edge, Pepe shared something unexpected: the fronds from the palm trees are harvested only during the dark of the moon. He explained that the timing has to do with the sap in the fronds, which changes with the lunar cycle. It was one of those small, fascinating pieces of local knowledge that made the land feel even more alive.
Pepe then guided us farther into the hills, down narrow roads lined with mesquite and palo verde. We crossed arroyos, encountering a goat herd clattering across the track and a solitary burro watching us pass with curious eyes. Eventually, we arrived at a small, shaded park—an unexpected gem tucked beneath a canopy of native trees.
The park’s proprietor, a kind man who used to be a farmer, had transformed his land into a peaceful retreat for travelers. He’d built simple accommodations and resting areas where people could sit in the shade, listen to the birds, and take in the breeze. His pride in the place was evident, and his hospitality genuine.
After a short hike, we reached a hidden oasis of natural pools tucked among smooth boulders. The hot springs were quiet, almost surreal. We took time to soak, relax, and listen to the rustle of the breeze and the songs of birds overhead.
We encountered a very awesome looking tree.
As we drove back toward Cabo Pulmo in the late afternoon, the landscape shifted again—dusty roads lined with blooming cactus, their blossoms clustered on the south and west sides. The shadows had grown longer. We didn’t see the caracara on the return trip, but its early presence stayed with us, like a blessing that had quietly carried us through one unforgettable day in Baja.
The animals we left behind were still there when we returned. The dogs eager to get a run on the beach and Coco wanting some lap time.
A late dinner in town and it was bed time. The strawberry daiquiri I had was a stomach disruptor, let's leave it at that.
Glorious!!
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