I love to get off the beaten track. That’s not hard to do in old Mexico. Last March of 2002, Daniela and I, along with our friends Bryron and Shelly Shelton, headed south of the border for an off-the-beaten-track adventure. The goal: to find our way onto the remote and rugged ranches of some of northern Mexico’s most successful practitioners of Holistic Management. This story, plus Islands of Abundance, highlight the lessons and insights gained from our journey.

Within a few hours of crossing the border, we found ourselves pulling into the tiny town of Pitiquito, in northern Sonora. We were on our way to Rancho de La Inmaculada, the home of Ivan and Martha Aguirre and their children Dacia, Ivan Jr., Aurelio, and Marco. Ivan had instructed us to ask anyone in Pitiquito for directions to the home of his uncle Hector, who would then join our expedition and lead us out into the middle of the Sonora Desert, delivering us to the doorstep of the La Inmaculada headquarters. After a few inquiries we found Hector, had lunch, inspected our vehicles to make sure they were up to the trip, and were on our way.
The road from Pitiquito to La Inmaculada only covers about 60 miles (100 km), but they are 60 of the longest and roughest miles any of us had ever tried to negotiate. Rocks, gullies, washboards, and ruts gave way to the occasional 50 meter (yard), much appreciated smooth stretch. Our only mishap was a dented flywheel housing, made apparent by a sudden, awfully dang loud clickitty clack. Luckily, Byron has a self-sufficient streak of ingenuity, and he took it off, banged out the dent, and away we went. The first two forks in the road were signposted, but after that you had to know where you were going. Good thing Hector was along.

We drove mile after mile through cactus, cactus, and more cactus, mixed in with all sorts of desert brush and millions of acres of bare, desert pavement. With just a couple exceptions, there wasn’t a perennial grass plant in sight. After what seemed like an eternity, Hector assured us we were getting close. Still no grass.

This isn’t the first article about La Inmaculada. I’ve read at least two others, and the photos I’d seen, which depicted a grass-covered landscape, didn’t look anything like what we had been driving through. It was hard to imagine this was the same planet. We rounded the last bend, a fenceline came into view, and all of sudden there it was—grass-covered desert. How did that happen? Much of this story will cover those details, but first a little history.