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On an 860,000-acre refuge, wildlife officers face a human torrent


Note: this article is one of several feature stories in a special issue about the West's immigration landscape.

CABEZA PRIETA NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE, Arizona — Somewhere in these 860,000 acres, a lone Border Patrol agent is holding 28 illegal border crossers.

The call comes in over a brand-new truck radio, but the damned thing has stopped transmitting, so U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Officer John Schaefer can’t respond. "That’s so awesome that the radio broke," the 33-year-old says with a sardonic grin, as he scrambles to the roof of the Dodge pickup. With a hand-held radio, he assures the increasingly nervous Border Patrol agent that he’s on his way.

He climbs off the roof, jotting down GPS coordinates. The agent is more than an hour away, he guesses. He jumps into the truck, revs the engine, and tears off down the rough road.

Schaefer, a native of Prescott, Ariz., grew up wanting to be a Border Patrol agent. But two years of sitting in border checkpoints in Ajo, Ariz., watching cars drive past, changed his mind. So he turned his attention to Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge, just up the road, where he could roam the desert freely. Now he’s one of only two officers covering this vast expanse of desert, which shares 56 miles of its border with Mexico.

Rumor has it that Edward Abbey is buried somewhere out here. The Cabeza Prieta of Abbey’s time, however, was quieter. While San Diego, Calif., and El Paso, Texas, were swamped with illegal border crossings 20 years ago, few dared face the heat and emptiness of the huge refuge. Abbey could backpack across his beloved Sonoran Desert for days without seeing another person.

But times have changed.

Schaefer’s colleagues in other wildlife refuges work to enforce the Endangered Species and Migratory Bird acts. Schaefer, however, is less concerned with the Cabeza’s rare Sonoran pronghorns and colonies of lesser long-nosed bats than with the human beings that aren’t supposed to be here. He spends most of his time assisting Border Patrol agents, rescuing immigrants who have lost their way in the scorching heat, or contending with armed drug smugglers.

The wind moaning through the lonely saguaros and volcanic rock can be intimidating. Other wildlife officers rarely, if ever, apply at Cabeza Prieta: The only people who go for the job these days are other former Border Patrol officers. For Schaefer, though, it’s a childhood dream come true.

"It’s a fantastic job. I get to control one of the largest chunks of wilderness in the Lower 48 states," he says. "This is more how the Border Patrol used to be."

Devil’s Road

A startled desert hare bursts from under the rusted husk of a Chevy Trailblazer axle-deep on the road, its windows shot out long ago. Schaefer’s truck slams across the rocks, engine roaring as it scrambles through ruts filled with light, airy soil that locals call moondust. The stuff rises like a thick fog, floating hundreds of feet into the air. "You should see what it’s like to chase someone through this shit," Schaefer yells.

In the mid-1990s, the United States began a concerted effort to stop illegal crossing by sealing the busiest sections of its border with Mexico. The Border Patrol added more agents and threw up fences, spotlights, and motion detectors in El Paso, San Diego and Nogales. The efforts worked locally. Overall, however, the flow of people crossing the border has increased. Last year, former Customs and Border Protection Commissioner Robert Bonner estimated that 450,000 succeed in crossing annually. And the empty sections of Arizona have borne the brunt, accounting for more than half of the U.S. Border Patrol’s apprehensions since 2004.

Cabeza Prieta and the neighboring Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge and Organ Pipe National Monument have become major thoroughfares for undocumented immigrants flocking to jobs in the states. Border Patrol officers at the Ajo station pick up an average of 90 illegal crossers every day. And Cabeza Prieta Refuge Manager Roger Di Rosa estimates that every week, 1,000 cross the eastern portion of the Refuge alone.

It’s a long and sometimes deadly journey for the immigrants. The valleys in the refuge concentrate the intense heat, earning the historic Camino del Diablo, or Devil’s Road, through here its demonic name. Fourteen immigrants died along that trail four years ago. Hundreds more have died in the Arizona desert. "I’ve seen it get to 175 degrees. You drain your 100-ounce CamelBak in a matter of minutes, and your ears start ringing. But that doesn’t mean people won’t try to cross.

"It’s dropped somewhat in Cabeza Prieta this spring," Schaefer says. "It just shifted somewhere where it’s easier. It’ll shift back."


Half an hour after the Border Patrol’s call for help, Schaefer steers around the burned-out shell of a van sitting in the middle of the road. Drug smugglers ram 500-pound loads of dope through the refuge, scarring the land with ghost roads.

The smugglers have increased their armaments in recent years. "They’re better equipped than we are. They have firepower, numbers, and drugs." In January 2005, gunmen fired automatic weapons at a U.S. Customs and Border Protection helicopter pilot in the refuge when he landed to track footprints. In March, agents discovered observation posts, complete with shade structures and sleeping bags, overlooking a Border Patrol encampment in the refuge, Schaefer says.

"You’ve got to be ready for anything out here now," Schaefer says. And he is: Armed with a .40-caliber Glock, night-vision goggles, bulletproof vest, and a small arsenal in his truck, Schaefer has a plan for the day he comes under fire. "I think I’m a better shot," he laughs, "so hypothetically, I can run away for a little while. Then, fire, move. Fire, move."

He won’t need these tactics today, though. After over an hour of driving, Schaefer finally finds the Border Patrol agent. Grinning with relief and gripping his steel baton tightly, the agent leads Schaefer to his captives. They were sleeping under the branches of a mesquite tree when he found them. Someone in the group with desert smarts had snapped off creosote branches to surround the tree’s outer limbs, making a canopy that concealed 24 people. Four others hide inside a second canopy.

Crouched inside, Leonardo Montero tells a familiar tale. He couldn’t find decent work in Chiapas, Mexico, but family arranged a job for him in Los Angeles. He arrived at the border in Sonora four days ago, joining a group of immigrants who walked 35 miles in two days.

He might try crossing again, might not. "I can’t say," he says quietly.

Another hour passes; two more Border Patrol vehicles arrive. The immigrants crawl out from under the trees and climb into the backs of the waiting trucks. But even as they are hauled back across the border, thousands of others are successfully crossing, making their way into the United States.

Among them, says Schaefer, are murderers, carjackers and gang members. Catching just one dangerous criminal makes the whole game "totally worth it," he says. As for immigration enforcement beyond the borderlands, Schaefer sees it as woefully inadequate.

"It’s like a game of capture-the-flag. They cross through here, or Texas, or California, and get to Phoenix and, ‘I’m safe!’ All enforcement stops within 80 miles of the border. So, if you make it through that, you’re golden.

"You saw all those marches," he says. "What percentage of those people was illegal? Did you see any Border Patrol or immigration enforcement buses out there ready to process them? No."

Other feature articles in this special issue on immigration:

The Immigrant's Trail - introductory essay

Abandonment - Small Mexican farming towns such as Francisco Villa in Sonora are emptied of their young men when the lack of good-paying local jobs sends them north of the border

Perseverance - Illegal border crossers face a dangerous journey filled with heat, dust, flies and thirst, and always the danger of capture and deportation

Contradiction - Once in the U.S., immigrants find themselves in a land of contradictions, facing an uncertain welcome, sometimes even from other Latinos

Hope - After 16 years of living in the shadows in Pasco, Wash., Wendy and Erendira Santana finally win legal residency