Still, it’s not a trip to be undertaken carelessly. You don’t want to get stuck in the middle of the desert, and if you are, you want to be prepared. Well aware that I was flouting accepted wisdom by traveling alone, I carried plenty of food and water, two spare tires and extra gas. I took comfort in knowing that if my truck did break down, I would likely be discovered by Border Patrol agents within a matter of hours, as a substantial length of the road runs within a mile or two of the Mexican border. Here, one has to work hard not to be found.

By the time a Spanish captain named Melchior Díaz led the first convoy of Europeans from Sonoyta to Yuma in 1540 as part of the Coronado expedition, Native Americans — including the Quechan, the Cocopah, and the nomadic hunter-gatherer Hia C’ed O’odham (Sand People) — had lived in this swath of Sonoran desert for thousands of years.

European explorers relied heavily on native guides to lead them successfully through the perilous unknown, from one watering hole to the next; among them was Padre Eusebio Kino, who made missionary and scientific trips along the Camino beginning in 1699, and drew its first maps.

There were several variations on the route. The shortest course offered the least water, which could have dire consequences. Thirst was less of a problem on longer trails, but those risked Apache attack. Faced with this choice, some believed the safest strategy was to go the long way in the hottest days of summer, when the Apaches tended to retreat to the mountains.

Traffic along the Camino peaked in the mid-19th century, as prospectors were lured across it to the Gold Rush in California. In the early 1850s, over 10,000 people, many from Latin America, made the difficult trek each year — it was during this time that the trail claimed the most lives and earned its diabolical name. While mapping the border in 1855, Lieutenant Nathaniel Michler noted that along the Camino “death has strewn a continuous line of bleached bones and withered carcasses of horses and cattle as monuments to mark the way.”

No one keeps track of exactly how many travelers the Camino sees today. The manager of the Cabeza Prieta refuge, Sid Slone, guesses that up to 1,000 people may drive its length each year. And Mr. Slone has never heard of any of them dying in the desert.