Paying Homage To The Sonoran Desert's Original Ramblin' Man. By Kevin Franklin RISING IN THE center of the zócolo (town square), the memorial to Father Eusebio Francisco Kino, Jesuit sojourner, quietly waits for those who seek out the final resting place of the desert frontier's most famous missionary. I'm on a trip ultimately heading to Kino Bay, and this stop in Magdalena, Mexico, seems a fitting start. A large, white dome pierced by four archways forms Kino's memorial. Kino traveled throughout much of what is now Arizona and Sonora, Mexico, teaching animal husbandry and bringing seeds for growing fruits and vegetables to the locals. Once he even drove a herd of cattle for division among his string of missions in the area, writes Marshall Trimble in Roadside History of Arizona. Kino was a great humanitarian who sought to alleviate hunger wherever he went. No dummy, the good Father also realized Christian doctrine was more palatable to people with full stomachs. To his credit, he often defended the Native Americans under his charge from the excesses of the Spanish military. The native Italian even brokered the peace between the Spaniards and the Pima Indians in the 1694 Pima Rebellion. Aside from the fact that he was a tool of Spanish conquest, personally extended the reach of Spanish power and subverted Native American culture, Kino was one hell of a good guy. But what I like about him most is his wanderlust. Every time I venture into an obscure Arizona backwater, I find a plaque commemorating the time Kino passed through there some 300 years previously. If I read an historical account about a remote haunt, his name appears. Baja, Sonora and Arizona all were his stomping grounds for 34 years until his death in 1711 in Magdalena (see Jim Griffith's Beliefs And Holy Places). He traveled 75,000 miles by some estimates. So naturally, coming to his final resting place is something of a pilgrimage for me. Besides, when traveling south on Mexico Highway 15, visiting Magdalena bypasses the highway toll. What more incentive could you want? Inside Kino's memorial, murals adorning the ceiling highlight his travels. What's best described as a giant viewing console dominates the center of the open-air room. Visitors look through one of several Plexiglas panels into a pit displaying Kino's naked bones. In a small building on the other side of this plaza there's a statue symbolizing the corpse of St. Francis Xavier. The real thing is on display in Goa, Portugal, according to Griffith. We bid our adieus to Kino, a man who even in death seems unable to rest, and head west toward Caborca with plans to visit Puerto de Libertad, the only place outside Baja where the exotic Boojum plant thrives; and Desemboque, the Seri Indian village whence ironwood carvings originate. Then we'll camp on the beach north of Kino Bay. Just west of Caborca, we turn south toward Libertad. According to our 1996 International Travel Map of Baja and Western Sonora, this is the best way to go. This particular map served well in Baja. Nevertheless, after banging down 65 miles of dirt road for four hours, I emerge from the desert near Libertad to find a paved road, heading back toward Caborca. There's no mention of it on the map. What my traveling companion remembered from the mid 1970s as a lonely, windswept point has become a bustling little town. The smokestacks from a power generating station rise over the horizon. Disappointed, we head directly south toward Desemboque. About 30 miles later, where we're supposed to find our road, we find instead a locked gate. Apparently the northern road to Desemboque has become part of a bioreserve and is now closed. The only way in is to go all the way south to Kino Bay, 90 miles away, and then head north along the coast road for another 50 miles. Instead we shoot directly for the coast due south of Kino Bay, west of Valle Verde. Valle Verde is neither a valley, nor green. It is, in fact a large, dusty mud flat. We follow a number of faint tracks that disappear on the flat and run into barriers of scrub brush and trees. We retreat once again. Ultimately we find a quiet beach south of Old Kino, resting our travel weary minds with the sounds of the ocean. It's a perfect little nook. Maybe Kino, the patron saint of desert travelers, sympathized with our wandering misfortunes and directed us with an invisible hand to this sanctuary in his bay. We'll find out tonight if he's on our side when the tide rolls in.

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