The names of the innocent have been changed, also the statute of limitations has not run out. I was present at the start of this story and the blanks were filled in at a later date by one of the survivors. Sitting round a campfire in the Arizona desert: this is how it all started.
“It’s as easy as walking round, picking up $100 bills.”
“Never had much luck with get-rich-quick schemes,” replied Kevin, “what kind of a dinosaur is a megalodon anyway?”
“Big dead shark, teeth the size of your hand, biggest fish the World has ever seen.”
Kevin should have felt safe; Arizona had no coastline. They were camped in the Sonoran desert but Rufus was a little bit sketchy and his proposition was bordering on illegal. The big problem for Kevin and Gabby was that funds were running low, they had under estimated the cost of touring the World in an ex-British Army 4x4 truck; they needed an income more than their online t-shirt shop and their Youtube channel could provide.
Gabby and Kevin were nearly six months into the adventure of a lifetime. That’s if you don’t count the two years building their overland expedition truck from a 1993 Leyland Daf T244 four tonner. The chassis cab had been cheap enough but building the living area and equipping the vehicle had eaten into their savings. The cost of shipping it to North America was reasonable but driving from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Fairbanks, Alaska, and then South to the Mexican border had made a huge dent in the running money.
The vast distances and expensive diesel fuel of Canada had been underestimated. The permanent four-wheel drive of the Leyland Daf gave horrific fuel mileage. Wild camping where ever they could had helped. They tried to avoid tourist traps and admission fees; paying out for just fuel and food but now the trip was stalled in the desert. They were at the crossroads of the trip. Central America and then South America lay ahead but the money was running out.
The BLM [Bureau of Land Management] land around the town of Quartzsite has been a magnet for recreational vehicles for a long time. Snowbirds from Canada, nomads from all over the States flock to Quartzsite in their thousands. For little or no charge the desert becomes the winter base for motor homes, travel trailers, 5th wheelers even tents. A community practicing economical living, that suited Gabby and Kevin just fine. They may have had the only UK registered Leyland Daf in the county but they had a lot in common with their neighbours.
Missy and Rufus had also built their own RV. A thirty year old re-purposed fire truck; lime green and white with chrome. A 4x4 overland expedition vehicle; one big and tough truck, the same as my Mack but an International. They were from Idaho, just wintering in the South-West, their second year of working just the summer. Missy would go back to waiting tables at her family’s restaurant; Rufus would try get back to dry-walling with his brother. Rufus didn’t relish the return to hard manual labour. Selling megalodon teeth on E-bay for a hundred bucks each was something he awaited with pleasure.
As the six travelers sat around a ring of stones, a small pallet wood fire flickered enough light to see the passing joint. Conversation was about the finer details of tooth extraction from Mexico.
“Technically it is illegal. Yes. But they turn a blind eye; they’re more interested in whole dinosaur skeletons and ancient man-made artifacts than old shark teeth that once were on the Pacific Ocean floor.”
“But how did these teeth end up in the Baja?”
“San Andreas fault, earthquakes and the clash of continents. What was seabed millions of years ago is now high and dry.”
“Who buys the ■■■■ things? Where’s the market?”
“Kids worldwide. Awesome thing to have when you are ten years old. A sixty million year old shark tooth that is massive.”
Cheryl and I were skeptical and Gabby was reluctant to commit to the scheme but Kevin persuaded her with a few more relevant points.
“ We have to get out of the US soon. Our B2 visas only give us six months. I know Baja California is not really on the way to Belize but I think it would be good to get some spending money together while we have the chance. We can sell on E-bay. We got Pay-pal. A little bit of poking around in the desert can’t do much harm?”
Next morning, we all went into town and wandered around the endless gem and mineral stalls that are an ever present feature of Quartzsite. We found a vendor with shark teeth for sale and Rufus bought a small megalodon chomper so everyone would know what they were searching for down in Mexico. Rufus wanted the six of us in the three trucks to do the trip but under Cheryl’s firm belief that it would all end in tears; we left it to the younger couples who had much more in common. Both guys were ex-army and had served in Afghanistan; although Rufus, the typical American, mentioned it at every opportunity and Kevin, ex- British squaddie, hardly ever. It is not often that I dip out from a chance of adventure but only time would tell if I was acting wisely.
There was a little bit of paper work to do before entry into Mexico but it was all available on the Internet. Tourist visas cost 538 pesos and lasted for 6 months. Vehicle insurance was mandatory but turned out to be cheap; $120 for thirty days, $125 for 6 months. Just how good the insurance was and what it covered was debatable. Gabby and Kevin went for the 180 days. They planned to continue on to Belize and had to also complete the formalities for a TIP, Temporary Importation Permit; normally a $400 re-fundable deposit to discourage travelers from selling their vehicle and leaving Mexico without it but free for motorhomes and valid for 10 years. Rufus and Melissa purchased 30 days insurance but did not bother with the TIP as Baja California enjoyed an exemption from the bureaucracy.
There were several options for crossing the border; none promised a quick easy passage but Calexico, crossing to Mexicali, looked simplest. Kevin and Missy led the way in the International, westbound on Interstate 8 from Yuma after south on Highway 95, then south on Highway 7. The Leyland Daf struggled to keep-up but was only a few cars behind as they joined the end of the line-up for the border. RVs filtered right and each took a lot longer and the cars in the other lines. The vehicle examination was more of a guided tour for the Mexican customs officer, every cabinet inside and every storage box opened but not rummaged through with any thoroughness. An hour later the pair of trucks were heading south on Mex Hwy 5 heading for San Felipe and Pete’s Camp, the iconic first night halt for first-time new arrivals.
Parking just yards from the Sea of Cortez, palapas by their side the four set up camp and retired to the restaurant for a discussion about the final plans with a couple of wood-fired pizzas and some Tecate Light, the local brewery offering.
“We can dump and refill with fresh water here, there are a couple of supermarkets in town. How long can you guys stay off-grid in the Leyland Daf?”
“About seven days. Are we going to need any tools for this digging? We got a shovel.”
“ Yeah, we need a shovel each. So let’s say we leave tomorrow and expect to stay out there for a week.”
Lunch was at Cow Patty’s loncheria with an interesting conversation about shark jaws with proprietor and his only customer. Random memorabilia and an old school bus were incorporated into a structure held together by the stickers of numerous Baja 1000 racing teams. Next stop was Coco’s Corner, an iconic spot manned by an ex-army, double amputee in his eighties. Coco the army veteran who had established the dusty rest area/ campsite/ snack bar said that several customers had been lucky fossil hunting at the foot of local “mesas.” Mesa means table in Spanish. Geologically, a mesa was an outcrop of rock shaped like a mushroom; formed by erosion caused by wind and rain. If there was evidence of seashells surrounding a mesa then it was reasonable to assume that it was once under the ocean. Find sea shells- find shark teeth.
From Coco’s establishment, a single lane track wound among the hills before dropping into a gorge. It was dry but obviously a water course when it rained. There were no tyre tracks to follow as the two trucks picked their way from side to side; trying to keep out of soft sand and the ruts caused by descending streams of water. Easier for the Leyland Daf than the International with its lower ground clearance and long rear overhang. In fact Kevin drove with a smile on his face; the Leyland Daf was now doing what it was built to do. Rufus was muttering an endless stream of expletives as the back end of the International constantly grounded on the stony track. Missy’s white-knuckled grip kept the dashboard in place while Gabby nonchalantly checked her cellphone for a signal.
Eventually the gorge widened into a flat dry riverbed, several more gorges entered the main watershed at the same spot. The Sea of Cortez was still out of sight but looking downstream; there were several mesas and they were in logical places to start digging. The women wanted to set-up camp first; level the trucks, open the awnings, bring out chairs and tables. The men grabbed their shovels and attacked a mesa without even bothering to close the driver’s door of their trucks. By evening they were hot, sweaty with blistered hands and toothless. Twenty-four hours later it was the same story except everyone had now worn gloves. The four had spread out; a mesa each. They found plenty of regular sized shark teeth and shards of whale bone but megaladon teeth had proved elusive.
It wasn’t as easy as picking-up banknotes from the pavement. Maybe they were in the wrong place. Conversation over dinner centred on whether to move on or dig deeper where they were. They decided to break camp in the morning and head for the Pacific coast. They were unaware of the storm coming in from the ocean.
A distant thunder roll was the first indication, then the white light flashes reflecting in the open roof hatch over the bed in the Leyland Daf. It was well past midnight when the first raindrops forced Kevin to close it. Within an hour, there was no time-lag between lightning flash and thunderclap. In such a deluge, it is a time when all campers in vehicles feel sorry for campers in tents and celebrate their choice of accommodation and the safety it affords with a dry comfortable bed.
All that changed as a flash flood roared down the canyons and gorges; uniting in the riverbed. There was a sharp jolt in the Leyland Daf as the stony soil beneath the back wheels of the vehicle was washed away. Kevin dressed quickly, climbed through the small hatch into the cab of the truck and fired-up the motor. The wipers did little to clear the relentless rain; the headlights just showed a raging torrent rushing past but the lightning lit up the scene just long enough for him to see a path to safety. The truck had started drifting sideways by the time Kevin had engaged the differential locks and low ratio in the gearbox. He turned upstream, edging over to higher ground and the cover behind one of the mesas; rocks and debris clunking against the front bumper. It was impossible to get completely out of the water and the current still swirled around them but they were on firmer ground and felt safe.
The same could not be said about Missy and Rufus. The International had no pass-through from the living area into the cab. Water was beating against the back door with such pressure that it was impossible to open. They had no skylight or roof hatch; they were imprisoned and at the mercy of the wall of water that began moving them downstream. At nearly twelve tonnes, the truck was too heavy to go with the flow but turned sideways and listed heavily; resting against a large boulder as the dirty brown water washed over it and slowly found every crack and gap. Slowly filling the interior.
Rufus delayed smashing a window and climbing onto the roof of the truck. A wise move as the water didn’t come up to the top of the dining table before if slowly receded. By dawn there was just a thin coating of silt and slime on the surfaces that had been underwater. Outside the flow of water had nearly stopped with just a trickle from puddle to puddle.
Kevin ventured out to find no damage to the Leyland Daf. He quickly fired-up the motor and eased the truck onto higher ground. It wasn’t so simple with the International; it was half buried on one side with a lot of sizable rocks that needed moving before it could be extracted. Luckily they had four shovels with them. They would level the ground behind the truck, dig away the soil at each side and reverse out, with the help of the Leyland Daf if necessary. Gabby cooked breakfast while the others washed out the interior of the American and after the meal they all got down to digging. It was a morning of slipping and sliding, getting down and getting dirty and barefoot was the way to go.
“Is this what we’ve been looking for?” said Missy casually holding a shark tooth that completely covered her hand.
“Well bugger me, two days looking and now we get one when we’re not!” exclaimed Kevin just as Gabby reached down and picked up an even bigger one.
Megalodon’s had 276 teeth that fell out and replaced themselves on a regular basis. Finding two so close together gave the diggers hope that they might have stumbled on the remains of a dead meg that had been unearthed by the flash flood. They dug with renewed vigour but only found two more before Kevin ran out his winch cable to the back of the International. The ground was still sticky but they managed to pull the stuck truck onto an even keel. It would be days before the river-bed had dried enough for the trucks to retrace their steps back to Coco’s Corner. But the sun shone and spirits were high; no damage was done. The stainless steel bodywork of the old fire truck was top quality engineering. Silt was everywhere but nothing a high pressure washer couldn’t return to pristine.
Two days of searching the newly eroded deposits around the mesas brought a steady stream of megalodon teeth; some broken, some of excellent condition and size. Enough to make the expedition a success; well into double figures and a four figure payday, each. The last night was party night. Rufus brought out a bottle of Patron Silver, the salt and the lemon. It didn’t last long as they drank while laying out the complete collection of teeth. Rufus tossed a coin for first choice and they alternately picked their share. Biggest and best down to smallest and roughest.
The guys decided to walk the course before tackling the road out. A good choice as there had been plenty of erosion by the storm. They handballed rocks into the worst of the ruts; taking all morning to get it all level as the women packed up the vehicles in their absence. On the way back down, Kevin saw the bright blue corner of a plastic oil drum laying on the riverbed. Always one to leave a place cleaner than he found it, Kevin went over and kicked at the plastic; bending over he found it was more than a broken piece, it was a whole buried drum. He jabbed the shovel through the lid, shattering the brittle plastic. Kevin dropped to his knees.
“Look at this, Rufus, come here and look at this.”
The Englishman and the American stood staring at the cling-film wrapped bundles of dollar bills that filled the oil drum.
“Cartel drug money,” muttered Rufus.
“Fill your boots,” grinned Kevin.
The guys went back to the trucks and returned with the women and as many empty bags as they could muster; back-packs, sports bags, bicycle panniers all quickly filled with cash that seemed to be all in the $20 denomination. They re-buried the drum; pulled up a pair of sage bushes, pulling them behind as they tried to mask their footprints as they went back to the vehicles. A quick count revealed about $3,000,000, stashing that amount in the trucks proved more difficult. Kevin was anxious to get going, his military training reminded him of his vulnerability; wide open position in enemy territory, they needed a safe haven and quickly.
The Brits fancied Belize although the Americans preferred to return to the US; reasoning that home turf would be safer than a tropical jungle state. After some discussion, they decided to stick together; the trucks struggled up the loose surfaced track, then hit the newly paved Highway 5; turning South, heading for La Paz and the ferry to mainland Mexico. They hadn’t noticed anybody watching them, the whole time they had been off-road, but crucially, they had not noticed the game camera attached to a Saguaro cactus that overlooked the burial site.
To be continued…
That was only the first trip when I had been given, at the start of the season, all the rag tyres.
But it did exist in Europe too, in the days before extreme ‘hurry up’ and firm delivery times when you were either there or told to come back another day.
