South from Bahia De Los Angeles, the rocky graded two-track ascends the coastal foothills, twisting in serpentine fashion through precipitous arroyos, alluvial washes, and remnants of Baja's mining era. Ocotillo, cardon, and elephant trees dot the seemingly lifeless landscape and evidence of modern civilization becomes increasingly sparse.
The afternoon sun laid shadows across our tracks as we made our way south on a trackless beach towards Playa San Rafael. Unlike the States, in Baja the beaches are used as dependable routes between fish camps. In search of a beach camp, we headed for the protected waters of Bahia San Francisquito, a small fishing pueblo approximately midway down the peninsula. With just a few palapas, a dirt landing strip, and a small rustic restaurant around us, we set up camp along the water's edge.
Baja has its way of weeding out any weak links in your rig. An hour out of San Francisquito, we heard over the CB "We have a problem." The coilover suspension on the other CJ-7 had gone south-way south! The rear mounting crossmember had sheered clean off on the driver side and a passenger-side failure was eminent. This was about the time we were regretting not ponying up for a Premier Power Welder. Out came the batteries and welding gear for a third time. A bit more involved, it was three hours before we were rolling again.