VISIT VOLCANOES, BUT AT OWN RISK

July is not the best time to visit the Pinacate. The temperature
exceeds 100 degrees Fahrenheit every day and sometimes rises to 110 degrees.

That's the official temperature taken about 3 feet off the ground and
in the shade. The problem is that there is no shade. The Pinacate is
in Sonora, Mexico, in one of the driest and hottest parts of the
Sonoran Desert.

Of course it does not really matter how hot it may get in the daytime
so long as you have an air-conditioned hotel room in which to stay.
But that's the other problem. There are no hotel rooms in the Pinacate.

When you go, you must camp and try to sleep when the temperature does
not fall below 100 degrees until 10 p.m. Even in the wee hours of the
morning the temperature stays above 90 degrees.

Add a dash of humidity from the Gulf of California and one has all
the right ingredients for a long, sleepless night. If sleep does
come, it is a result of being exhausted, not tired.

It might also come because you are lying on a wet beach towel that
helps ameliorate the oppressive heat.

Heading east from Mexicali, I was driving into the volcanic field
that is the core of Reserva de la Biosfera el Pinacate y Gran
Desierto de Altar, a Mexican national reserve. Beginning about 4
million years ago, the dozen or so volcanoes were erupting
spectacular thousand-foot columns of smoke, clouds of ash and geysers
of red hot lava. This continued until just a few thousand years ago.

What remains today are enormous calderas that pockmark the landscape.
It is an eerie place, the closest thing on our planet to a lunar landscape.

I was there working on a new book project, gathering all the
information and impressions I could as well as obtaining photographs
revealing the uniqueness of the region.

I left home in mid-morning, which resulted in me arriving late at
night. It was after 10 p.m. as I pulled off Mexico Highway 2 onto a
dirt road that would take me to the first crater. My plan was to
reach the crater rim that night so that I would be there to take
photographs at sunrise, almost always the best time to shoot anything outdoors.

Highway 1 is just inside Mexico and parallels the U.S. border for
much of its length. The Pinacate actually straddles the border with a
small portion in the U.S., in southwestern Arizona, and the bulk of
it in Sonora, Mexico.

I would be turning south off of Highway 2, heading a few miles deeper
into Mexico and the heart of the volcanic field.

I had been off the highway for about an hour, driving south and east
on an unpaved road that is better described as kind of a path
consisting of two ruts in the sand.

I was going slowly, not more than 10 miles per hour, following my
headlights that pierced the otherwise absolute darkness ahead of me.
Even in the distance there were no lights in any direction as I had
entered a true wilderness area.

Even on holiday weekends you are likely to feel alone in the Pinacate.

The clock on my dashboard indicated that it was just past midnight,
and I was sure I must be getting close to the crater. It was at that
moment that a red light appeared in my rear view mirror. It seemed close.

I kept driving, but my eyes were fixed on the red light behind me, a
light that was now rotating like the light on a police car. I had no
idea what or who it might be and couldn't decide if I should stop or
keep going. It must be a vehicle, but why were there no headlights?

That question was answered after a few more minutes of heading into
the darkness. Headlights appeared, and I now heard voices yelling at
me. Who was it? What did they want? And why were they out here in the
middle of nowhere?

Perhaps foolishly, I stopped. Four men surrounded my car, and one
walked up to my window.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked in English with a thick Mexican accent.

"I'm on my way to the crater," I said, trying to sound calm.

He flashed a badge at me and it looked authentic - at least it was
thick and shiny.

"You're not here to pick up any drugs are you? Do you have any drugs
in your car?"

"No, I'm here to photograph the volcano," I exclaimed.

Not for the first time I found myself in a strange place, at a
strange time trying to explain doing something that must have seemed
very strange.

After a few minutes of conversation, I became convinced that they
were legitimate law enforcement officials and, more importantly, they
became convinced that I was actually going to take photographs of the
crater at sunrise.

I showed them my camera, tripod and that there were no drugs in my vehicle.

All of us spent the next half hour chit-chatting about working in the
desert, how hot it was and how lucky I was that I had
air-conditioning that actually worked in my car.

They told me that they routinely patrolled this area, the Pinacate,
because drug smugglers used the volcanic craters as giant targets.
Smugglers would pilot small aircraft into the region at night, locate
the enormous craters and shove bales of marijuana out of the plane.

Even if they were a bit off and the bale hit the edge of the crater,
it would still tumble down to the bottom. The next morning it would
be picked up by vehicle and driven into the United States at a remote
border location.

I thanked them for the information, shook hands with all four of
them, parted company and had a whole new perspective on volcanic craters.