Chapter Two
Let’s move the calendar forward another year and a half. On Thursday, November 17, 2005 I drove out to the reservation to the junction of the highway which goes south to Pisinimo. There, at 3:30 PM I met Dave Jurasevich who had driven all the way out from Los Angeles. The plan was that we would do a roped climb of Peak 2650 and knock the bugger off for sure this time. Dave was a skilled rock climber, and I had a high degree of confidence that, with Dave leading, we could stand on the summit. We convoyed south, keeping in touch on our 2-meter ham radios, and parked in a small group of peaks about ten miles south of the village of Kom Vo where we camped for the night. There was a road nearby where a few suspicious-looking vehicles passed during the evening. We had a campfire going, but they didn’t stop – chances are, they were involved in smuggling drugs or people into the U.S.
During the night I was awakened by a helicopter less than a mile away. It was circling, as if looking for someone, and it did so for some time. Eventually it left, but it took me quite a while to fall back to sleep, because now I knew for sure that there were Bad Guys nearby. I mentioned it to Dave the next morning, and he said “What helicopter?”. He had slept through the whole incident! Jeez, I coulda smacked him! We broke camp early and drove back out to the highway.
After we had continued a few miles south, near Stan Shuatuk, we came upon a group of Border Patrol agents on the side of the paved road. We stopped and talked to them. One of their vehicles was tipped over on its side. We didn’t bother to ask why. However, they told Dave that the helicopter which had circled near us during the night had “got their man”.
We said goodbye and headed down past Papago Farms. There is a network of fields here covering a couple of square miles. They have wells and pumps and irrigation ditches in place, but it doesn’t look like they’ve grown anything for a few years, as the place is somewhat overgrown. Once south of the fields, we came upon a large Border Patrol compound. There were large, modern buildings and trailers to house agents. It was an expensive-looking place, one meant to be there for the long haul. Trust me, this place is totally off the radar, miles from nowhere. We didn’t see anyone there as we drove by, so we continued south and in three more miles had reached the border with Mexico.
At the border here, there is the usual barbed-wire fence. A wide, well-maintained dirt road sits just north of the fence on the U.S. side. Several signs advise illegal crossers of the dangers of sneaking in and trying to cross the desert, advising that the main side-effect of such an attempt is death.
We drove seven miles southeast along the border on flat ground, then entered the La Lesna Mountains. The road gets very steep in places, and can be quite rough. It follows deep canyons through beautiful country. This range is one of my favorite places in all of Arizona. Three miles later, we had come out on the east side of the range and were parked at the border.
Five hundred vertical feet above us loomed the summit of Peak 2650. Border Monument 153 sits atop the shoulder of this peak, only 50 or so feet below the actual summit which lies maybe 100 feet to the north in Arizona. This is an impressive peak – the uppermost 200 vertical feet is sheer rock and it forms a sharp fin which stands out for many miles in every direction. We gathered our rock-climbing gear and walked up the slope, crossing the border fence into Mexico and contouring around to the south side. Our plan was to get up to the monument, then head for the summit.
We set up, and I belayed Dave as he climbed up a steep spot.
When it dead-ended, he down-climbed and we moved to a different spot. This looked more promising. The very first bit was the crux, a Class 5.7 move which involved my boosting Dave up so he could continue. From there, it was nothing worse than Class 4, and 100 brushy feet later he was at the monument. He checked it out and determined that we could not do the final bit to the summit without more gear than we had, maybe even needing a second rope which we could fix. I didn’t follow him up. We were disappointed, but there wasn’t anything more that could be done. Dang, this border peak was turning out to be a lot more of a problem than I had figured.
Before he rappelled down to me, we watched a large passenger van speeding along a nearby road in Mexico. It stopped about 1000 feet south of the border and unloaded a bunch of border crossers, who quickly melted into the desert and disappeared from sight. We didn’t see them again, but they were probably lying low until nightfall could give them the cover they needed to sneak north into the U.S. As we watched, the van turned around and then sped back the way it had come. As shocked as we were to witness this, it is a common occurrence in this area. Instead of saying shocked, perhaps entertained was a better word. Fortunately, the Border Patrol monitors this region carefully and few avoid getting caught. We gathered up our gear and dropped down to the desert floor, once again sneaking across the border into the U.S. This time it was we who were the illegal border crossers.
As a consolation prize, we drove back deeper into the La Lesnas and climbed Peak 2443, an easy summit, where we left a register on the top. Once back down, we drove east, then north, along roads out in the desert to the east of the range. We passed the settlement of Ak Komelik (“Arroyo Flat”). It appears to be a working ranch, but I have never seen anyone there. Continuing north a few more miles, we parked in a very secluded area surrounded by striking rock formations.
It was the perfect campsite, with a fire, plenty of adult beverages, good tunes and a very dark sky. Thankfully, unlike the previous one, it was a quiet, uneventful night.
The next morning, we headed west and climbed La Lesna Peak, the northernmost summit in the range. Back at the trucks, we continued north and soon left the mountains behind. Dave was out in front, some distance ahead of me, far enough that I couldn’t see him. The radio crackled – he was calling to say that there was a helicopter circling right over him. I soon caught up – we stopped, got out and waved to the pilot.
He didn’t seem to want to land, so we kept on driving, this time with me out front. Little did we know that he had called for backup. Before long, the road passed through a deeply-rutted spot hemmed in by thick brush on both sides. It was like driving into a tunnel, with no escape on either side. I radioed Dave that there was a vehicle ahead blocking the way. At first I couldn’t tell if it was an abandoned one, but soon saw that it was moving towards me with its headlights on. We were trapped, and I didn’t know what was about to hit the fan, but I was scared. I got out – Dave pulled up behind me and got out too. What the hell was going on!!
A uniformed young man got out of the vehicle and announced that he was with the U.S. Border Patrol. He told me in a firm voice to walk back to my vehicle, and I knew he meant business. Making sure to keep my hands in plain sight, I told him we were climbers and had been climbing nearby during the past two days. Then I told him I had a permit from the Tohono O’odham nation, which he asked to see. Finally, he asked us both for identification. The permit, coupled with our ID and co-operative attitude, seemed to convince him that we were who we claimed to be, so he radioed his associates that all was well. Nevertheless, they must have been amazed to see us way out here, where normally they would only run into Bad Guys He informed us that they had stopped a vehicle last night and had confiscated 1600 pounds of marijuana. It had come up from Mexico and they had wondered if we were somehow associated with those smugglers. We chatted for quite a while. He told us that the drug smugglers had a network of lookouts scattered through this part of the desert, and that they used encrypted radio signals so their drivers could avoid getting caught. Furthermore, he shared that the smugglers had a 2-meter repeater hidden somewhere that was giving them a distinct advantage over law enforcement. Little did he know that he was talking to the ol’ Desert Mountaineer, who had stood on top of most of the 400-odd summits on the reservation! Dave and I were both licensed ham-radio operators and could relate to what he was describing. I recalled a strange radio repeater I had seen a few years before in a nearby mountain range and when I told him about it he seemed excited. He felt it had probably been placed by drug smugglers, and I felt certain that it was the one they were looking for. I told him I’d send him the GPS co-ordinates of the exact spot, and he said they’d send a chopper to check it out. Well, I did and they did, and I know for a fact that the repeater was destroyed. I have had many personal encounters with Border Patrol agents over the years, all of them positive, but this one was special.
We parted company with the agents, and Dave and I drove many dusty miles more, past Kots Kug ranch, and past the village of Kupk with its one inhabitant, to finally reach the pavement again near Kom Vo. We travelled together for another 33 miles to the Gu Vo junction, where Dave headed back to L.A. and I returned to Tucson. Was I any better off than before Dave and went in to try this elusive border peak? Well, maybe – I now knew more that I did before we tried, but that summit still seemed awfully far away. One thing for sure – it had now become a “grudge peak”. So ends Chapter 2.
Please stay tuned for Chapter 3, the exciting conclusion.
To be continued…………
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