OVERLANDERS. Chapter 3.

    A track led East from Coco’s Corner; Coco the US 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. 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.

   The 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 Mack with its lower ground clearance and long rear overhang. In fact Kevin drove with a smile on his face; the 4x4 was now doing what it was built to do. Rufus was muttering an endless stream of expletives as the back end of the Mack 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 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, 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 Mack 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 Mack 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.