We got up early to meet our guide from Ecoturismo Kuyima at 8 a.m., and he was there right on time with a van to take us to up into the mountains. Maria was there picking up guests who were going out to the lagoon to play with whales. I had left my jacket in my cabana at the lagoon, and Maria brought it to me. It was a cold morning, and I was glad to have it back. Kuyima is extremely organized and efficient, unlike myself.

Our guide, Raul, was a delight. We had paid a total of about $180 for the day, including a permit for visiting the caves, fees for each camera we brought, pesos for the ranchers who own the land, and then the van, Raul and lunch. But it was well worth it because of Raul. Raul said to let him know if we wanted to stop anywhere to take pictures, and we took him up on it right away. As we left town, we passed by a lake with mist rising from it, and it was so pretty we stopped to photograph it. Cormorants posed for us. The day was starting well, and would only get better.

We asked Raul many questions about himself, Baja, the cactus and birds we saw, the military checkpoints, his family, the cave paintings and petroglyphs — in short, there was nothing we didn't ask him about. He obliged, in his excellent English. He learned English as part of a nonprofit program based in the US that operates mainly in Costa Rica. It helped him get a better job than he would have otherwise, he said. He would have been fishing for a living, but his language skills let him lead tours such as this one up to the caves. It was clear he loved the land, and he knew a lot about the plants, animals, and indigenous people who used to live there. He told us about the Cuchimie Indians, and their fate. There aren't any pure Cuchimi left now, so it was a pretty grim fate for that culture.

Raul bemoaned the loss of the knowledge the Cuchimi's had of the land and its animal inhabitants. He said he was writing a history for his own children, called "Ask Grandfather," about San Ignacio and its people. Though he is not from San Ignacio originally, he wants his children to have a sense of the history of the place they live.

Raul drove us up into the ecological area of Sierra de San Francisco in the van. Recent rains made the road muddy and tough to travel at times, but we made it high up into the mountains, where we had breathtaking views of mesas and canyons. Raul pointed out a cave in a far-off mountainside, called Cueva Oscura (Dark Cave), where archaeologists are still excavating artifacts, including human bones. Only scientists are allowed in that one, though.

The hills were green, and we stopped often to photograph flowers. Raul pointed out little indigenous squirrels, called "juancitos" or little Johns. They darted across the road, never standing still long enough for me to get a good look. Raul said they are raised as pets in Mexico. We saw lots of herds of goats and many burros and cows. We were definitely in ranch country.

We actually passed the turnoff to the cave paintings, and went higher up into the mountains. We had to sign an official register and pay 10 pesos to the owner of the land. Visiting the goat village was one of the highlights of the day. The farmers must be as tough as their goats to live up in these mountains. The house where we signed the register had uneven dirt floors, and the corrugated metal roof clearly didn't form a cozy seal with the walls. It was still very cold even in the late morning, and I couldn't imagine living in a house that was so exposed.

The ranchers and their families live up in this "village," which consisted of a few houses, a one-room schoolhouse for children up to sixth grade, a tiny medical clinic which is staffed once a week (or maybe it was once a month). One of the ranchers we talked to had only a few straggling teeth. I imagine it's hard to get to the dentist from up there.

I needed to use the bathroom, and was directed to an outhouse seated precariously between some boulders at the top of a fairly steep slope. I opened the door and it felt like it had fallen off, but it was still held by its simple rope hinges. I pulled its awkward weight closed behind me, and surveyed the bano. This was the most "rustic" outhouse I'd ever seen. The daylight wasn't coming from holes in the top of the outhouse...it was coming through the seat. If you dared to look down, you were basically looking down the hillside at everything that had passed before you. And the seat was just a keyhole-shaped cutout in a wooden board. I wondered if this was for the locals, or visitors. I think it might have been more comfortable to find a bush. At least you wouldn't worry about toppling down a hill.

The people we talked to were all friendly, but we were particularly interested in a group of Americans who were hanging around waiting to go on a three-day mule trip down into the canyon to see the more remote cave paintings. Raul told us the accessible cave we were visiting is just meant to whet the appetite for the longer journey.

This group of hardy middle-aged men and women were quite impressive. They were waiting for the ranchers to round up all the burros needed for the trip. The thought of camping out in this cold, cloudy, rainy weather was not appealing to me at all, although Dad and Jess and I agreed we'd love to come back some day and do the trip in warm weather. One of the women in the party apparently agreed with us, and asked if we could give her a ride back into town when we were done seeing the cave paintings. We invited her along with us, and she gratefully accepted.

Snow said she lived in Florida, and, despite her name, she could not bear cold weather. She hadn't been prepared for the rain and frigid temperatures, so she decided to wait for her friends back in San Ignacio. She had actually spent the night in the same house we'd seen with the dirt floors, and she had made an adventurous trip to the outhouse during the night. They gave her the only bedroom. While she was incredibly grateful for the hospitality, she had been so cold that it was hard to sleep. When she woke up, she noticed that someone had put another blanket on her during the night. The people of Baja who have the least seem willing to give the most. It is a most amazing and touching phenomenon.

Snow turned out to be a good sport about our bodily function discussions, though she was well read and liked to write. So she could talk about loftier things, if she wanted to, but after a while she seemed perfectly comfortable just talking about farting. Of course she has three kids of her own, so she's probably heard it all. Dad and Jess liked her a lot more after she loosened up about gas. I would have been happy just talking about our favorite books.

Raul took us all to see the paintings at Cuevo Raton. I had never seen cave paintings before, and it was eery and neat to see these paintings that may date back 800 years or more. We could make out human figures, bighorn sheep, deer, and even a turtle on this underhung cave wall. Raul and Snow shared their theories about why the Indians painted them. I tried to imagine what they looked like, what they might have been thinking while they painted. What would your concerns be if you were an Indian? You wouldn't be thinking about the nearest ATM or diesel station. But you would probably be thinking about being hungry, maybe having sex, an upcoming trek, or a conflict with a family member or friend. Or a new love, or a lost love. Or a particular skill you were trying to master. Or a beautiful scene or animal. Have we really changed that much? Human emotions tie us to even our earliest ancestors.

While we were driving down the mountainous road, we saw a rancher on horseback a ways ahead of us, chasing after some mules. They were all running the wrong direction, away from the ranch, and we had to laugh. I would bet anything that Snow's friends didn't make it out that day, even though they had come a day early so they could get started in the morning. We were a long way from the little goat village now, and it was already early afternoon. It was supposed to take all day to get down into the canyon on the mules. I made a mental note to remember not to be on a strict time schedule if we ever did the burro trip.

Next Raul took us to another area where we hiked a short way down into a streambed, and up the other side. We started seeing petroglyphs, or rock carvings, everywhere. Some looked like sunbursts, others like tally marks, and still others like polka dots. In the bottom of the streambed Raul showed us where the Indians would grind things in the stone. You can still clearly see the holes in the rocks. It was so pretty in the streambed, with colorful lichen and moss growing all over the rocks, and a wild fig tree growing out of the side of a rocky slope. We saw more flowers that we hadn't seen before, and lots and lots of petroglyphs. It was really a magical place.

On our way back to San Ignacio, Snow told Raul she had always wanted to see a crested caracara. And wouldn't you know, Raul spotted one on top of a huge, majestic cardon cactus on the side of the highway. We stopped and took turns watching it through binoculars. I hadn't even heard of a crested caracara, but I appreciated its masculine beauty. We started joking with Raul that we'd always wanted to see a whale shark, a bird of paradise from New Guinea, a mountain lion, etc., but he just laughed at us. Snow was rapturous, being an enthusiastic birder who had been looking for this bird for years.

We got back to the hotel, tired but with heads full of the great things we had seen. We thanked Raul profusely for showing us such a wonderful day. Snow found a room at the La Pinta, and we invited her to dinner. We enjoyed each others' company once more, and then hit the sack early for another day of adventure.