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#1
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Copper Canyon trip
I am interested in a Copper Canyon trip and ran across an agent who calls
his company California Native. On paper it looks good but I would appreciate anyone with first hand, or second hand, experience or knowledge. Please reply and I will share with you the secret of eternal youth. Thanks,J. |
#2
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Copper Canyon trip
"singlemalt" wrote in message m... I am interested in a Copper Canyon trip and ran across an agent who calls his company California Native. On paper it looks good but I would appreciate anyone with first hand, or second hand, experience or knowledge. Please reply and I will share with you the secret of eternal youth. Thanks,J. Hi, We did a nearly two-week tour of Copper Canyon a few years ago, and used California Native to arrange everything for us, although we went on our own and not with a group. The company did what I can call a perfect job. Our route took us first to El Fuerte. We arrived late at night and spent the next night there. It was election day, and there was a polling place right on the front verandah of our hacienda. There were a few hours of heavy rain in the afternoon, but having the constant stream of eager voters right there kept things interesting. We had booked horses to go along the river, but the rains prevented that. We had a dry morning to look around the interesting town, and spotted a nice looking restaurant where we had our dinner. We had tickets for a 6am departure on the train, but our request for a wakeup call was laughed off at the desk, who said our breakfast would be ready at 8, then a car would take us to the train. We were still the first ones to the station, but busloads of seniors soon filled the platform. We were entertained by some schoolboys on horseback, who put on a little fancy riding demonstration, then paraded by with their hats out, and those hats were soon very heavy looking. The train finally came. The tour groups, thankfully, had private cars in the back of the train, and we found seats just behind the bar/snack car, which was just behind the dining car. The train is quite nice, with fairly new equipment, comfortable seats, and clean windows. Our destination was Divisadero that day, and it was literally a day trip to get there. The train is slow, desperately slow sometimes, but the journey is remarkable. Our gray morning became a very rainy day before long, but rather than the rain putting a damper on our enjoyment, we were rewarded with views of vernal falls everywhere. There were hundreds and more hundreds of cascades where they don't normally exist, so the already spellbinding scenery was made even moreso, despite the rain. There was a standing area between the bar car and dining car, with a long, glassless window on each side, so photography was possible even with rain streaking down the windows. We were one second late deciding it was lunch time, and were nearly flattened by a horde of seniors. It was another hour before we could get a meal. The food was good - prepared to order and not particularly expensive. When the weather cleared, we pulled onto a siding while an odd train passed in the other direction. There was an engine, followed by flatcar after flatcar, and on the flatcars were RVs of all manner and size. Since their occupants hadn't been in the rain yet, they were hanging out on the flatcars, with drinks and snacks, enjoying the scenery. I never looked into that train, but any RVers reading this might be interested enough to look it up The nearest that train could have come from is Creel, but there are roads to all the stops between Creel and Chihuahua. We finally reached Divisadero late in the afternoon. It was dark out, and it was snowing. Our hotel was down a ramp to the canyon rim, and to the left, and our room was reached by a rickety-looking wooden platform to a block of rooms perched right on the canyon rim. It was dark, so there was no sightseeing that night. We checked at the hotel desk to ensure that our horseback rides scheduled for the next day, and were told everything was set. This hotel was styled like a ski lodge, with massive beams, and great stone fireplaces everywhere. The restaurant was brighter, and the food was very good. After eating, we relaxed in a fireplaced nook with drinks, and chatted with a couple from Manitoba who we recognized from the train. The next morning, I rose early and pulled the drapes to see our view for the first time. I think it was my gasp that woke my wife. We got ready quickly and went out onto our deck, which had a dropoff of something like 6,000 ft from there to the canyon bottom. There was mist rising through the sunbeams, and light reached further down into the canyon by the minute. We finally had to tear ourselves from that to get cleaned up for breakfast We were at the appointed spot for our horseback ride on time, but a lady from the hotel came to see us, saying that our horses had been let out two days earlier because of the storm, and nobody could find them. She pointed to a small group of people nearby and said the hotel would provide a guide for a walking tour, and we could tip him a peso each if we wanted to. We went on the tour. The guide was young and didn't really speak English, and didn't want to speak in Spanish, so he was pretty mute for most of the tour, but things were self-evident for the most part. We were in some deep woods on the canyon rim when we came on a clearing, perhaps a mile long. It was the airport. The drugs airport. Divisadero isn't a town, it's a train stop. There are hotels, a store/gas station, and a few ranches. Thus, I was intrigued when we came on what looked like a millpond in New England, complete with waterwheel and a red building. I finally got the guide to speak in Spanish, and he said the building was erected 100 years ago to crush grain. It was built by the government for use by the Tarahuamara Indians (pronounce Tara-Mara) who soon went back to their mortar and pestle ways. It spent time as an illegal distillery, a school building, and the government is once again trying to convince the Indians to market products there, instead of on sidewalks and dangerous cliffside perches. We went for a second cliffside tour later that day, and stretched it until dusk. We were up on a high point when our guide pointed out a rancho in the distance and said it was his home. Then he held out his hand to shake, and fully intended to leave us there in the dark. I was bigger than this guy, and my wife can argue quite well in Spanish, so he finally brought us back. I gave him five bucks, when what he deserved was my size 11 in his backside. The next morning we packed up, then wandered some more, finding the Divisadero ladder, which the Indians use to go to and from their villages, about 1,000 feet below the rim, and in tiers to the canyon bottom. The train came in late afternoon, so we just sat in the bar car for the short trip to Creel, where we stayed in a comfy new chain-hotel, but in lodge-like accomodations, complete with our own gas stove for heating. We had a nice meal, but apparently some toxic corn chowder. That was all we had in common, and we were quite distressed for a while, until the Imodium took effect. The next morning, a young Mexican guy in a new Suburban picked us up for our first real 'adventure' of the trip - the ride to Batopilas at the bottom of the canyon. Before the turnoff into the canyon proper, we were shown a waterfall by going off-road, and following the river IN the river until we got close, then we walked. It was a pretty place, and we enjoyed a bit of a snack there, then back to the car for our descent. The pavement ends very shortly after the turnoff for Batopilas. After that, both literally and figuratively, it's all downhill from there, and what a HILL. We stopped frequently, sometimes at our request, other times to let uphill-bound vehicles go by, and often because cars in front of us were stopped. The road is evil. The scenery is spectacular, and ever-changing as you descend The road hadn't escaped the damaging rains of the previous few days, and there were washouts where even our dark-skinned driver looked white and wide-eyed. Once at the canyon bottom, spectacular is replaced by what seems impossible. It's beautiful: green like a jungle, yet with the fantastic canyon scenery rising above, in every direction. The Batopilas canyon, and the town of Batopilas are named after the Batopilas river, which was truly raging when we arrived. We were driven through the pretty-much one road town to our hotel, Julia's, which has only two or three rooms, no phone or restaurant, and a very simple room. That room has a wide veranda, though, and it overhangs the Batopilas river as much as our room in Divisadero overhung the canyon. It was wild, and hard to leave that porch for any reason. There were goatherders across the river, leading what seemed an endles parade of goats home from wherever they'd been foraging, and just a canyon wall over there. There was a mangled jeep in the middle of the river, and it still held paint, so it was probably a storm-related wrect. It was the force and the sound of that water that was so mesmerizing. We eventually tore ourselves away to look for Maxi, the rancher who was to take us trail riding the next day. All we had was the heard name over the phone, so not even a proper spelling. However, walking through town looking for the tourist desk, we were greeted by an American woman at the door to a gift shop. Surprised by her presence, we talked for a bit, then mentioned we were looking for Maxi about horseback riding. She called to a young girl, and gave her a coin while she told her to go find Maxi and bring him there. Then we talked, mostly about how she came to be running an upscale gift shop in such a remote place. The girl came back with the bad news - Maxi was gone, and from what I could understand, she meant he was on a bender somewhere, and everyone was looking for him. Anyhow, I'm trying to answer your question, not write a travelogue. Batopilas, at the bottom of the canyon, was the high point of our trip. It was once one of the richest towns in the world, and was second to only NYC with a public electrical grid, along with one of the first public water systems in Mexico (still operating, and quite fascinating). There are no fancy restaurants, but everyone serves good food. Mostly, Batopilas has a very cheery and friendly population, even by Mexico standards. We spent another day in Creel: it was market day, and there was a festival in the square. Creel is interesting in it's own way. It's a lumbering town, and very much old-west in nature. Teenagers ride their dates double on horses down the street, and pickups and SUVs rule the parking spots. There's a little fried chicken place just off the square, and the chicken is wonderful. Not sure what their spices are, but it's distinctive without seeming foreign. Leaving Creel, going the other way, we had another long train ride to Cerocahui, where we stayed at a ranch run by Doug (Diego) Rhodes, and American of no small charm. We met up there with a group on a tour with California Native, and I was very surprised to learn that the guide was a distant relative of mine. This ranch is special in a lot of ways. The main hacienda is big and inviting, has a paperback library of books in several languages, and it's an actual hacienda. The rooms are arranged in a quadrangle, quite simple in decor, yet all the amenities are there, including a woodstove and a supply of firewood. The first day, Doug himself took the two of us in his vehicle for a tour of the area, then a descent to the town of Urique at the canyon bottom. This was all on a paved road, and not nearly as dramatic as the road to Batopilas, but that canyon is really at the green end of the Copper Canyon complex, and my best photos of the trip are from there. The scenery is like something I never imagined existed, and it was much easier to take in with a fellow American as a guide. I don't speak bad Spanish, but I do miss nuances, and that makes things lose meaning sometimes. Urique is a tiny town, and it had been somewhat brutalized by the rains. We walked around, had a nice lunch, then watched bulldozers and excavators as they pushed the former contents of the river back into the river. The ride back up, unlike from Batopilas, is more spectacular than the ride down, only because you see the scenery where you came from, and it's more varied than the other side fo the canyon. This was our last chance for riding on the trip, and we were assured that our horses would be outside and waiting when we awoke. And they were, tethered to a rail right behind our room. We got acquainted, led the animals to the hacienda, and had our breakfast. Then a ranch hand was there to show us where to go. We rode for a solid four hours, saw a little group of wild mustangs, a cave where a lot of people were buried, and some of the most pleasant riding scenery anywhere. After that, it was lunch, then back to the train for the too-long ride to El Fuerte, where we stayed at the same hacienda, and had a car the next morning to take us to Los Mochis for our flight to Mexico City. California Native delivered on everything they promised that was under their control. They had arranged our horses everywhere, but it was circumstance and weather that interrupted that part of our trip. Otherwise, it was great. We went in November, when the difference between the rim and the canyon bottom was extreme: 20F up top in Divisadero and 85F in Batopilas. We made our own air arrangements Keith |
#3
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Copper Canyon trip
On Sun, 10 Aug 2008 17:11:34 -0500, "K" wrote:
"singlemalt" wrote in message om... I am interested in a Copper Canyon trip and ran across an agent who calls his company California Native. On paper it looks good but I would appreciate anyone with first hand, or second hand, experience or knowledge. Please reply and I will share with you the secret of eternal youth. Thanks,J. Well, he asked you the time and you told him how to build a clock, but, hey, it's a great travelogue!! Hi, We did a nearly two-week tour of Copper Canyon a few years ago, and used California Native to arrange everything for us, although we went on our own and not with a group. The company did what I can call a perfect job. Our route took us first to El Fuerte. We arrived late at night and spent the next night there. It was election day, and there was a polling place right on the front verandah of our hacienda. There were a few hours of heavy rain in the afternoon, but having the constant stream of eager voters right there kept things interesting. We had booked horses to go along the river, but the rains prevented that. We had a dry morning to look around the interesting town, and spotted a nice looking restaurant where we had our dinner. We had tickets for a 6am departure on the train, but our request for a wakeup call was laughed off at the desk, who said our breakfast would be ready at 8, then a car would take us to the train. We were still the first ones to the station, but busloads of seniors soon filled the platform. We were entertained by some schoolboys on horseback, who put on a little fancy riding demonstration, then paraded by with their hats out, and those hats were soon very heavy looking. The train finally came. The tour groups, thankfully, had private cars in the back of the train, and we found seats just behind the bar/snack car, which was just behind the dining car. The train is quite nice, with fairly new equipment, comfortable seats, and clean windows. Our destination was Divisadero that day, and it was literally a day trip to get there. The train is slow, desperately slow sometimes, but the journey is remarkable. Our gray morning became a very rainy day before long, but rather than the rain putting a damper on our enjoyment, we were rewarded with views of vernal falls everywhere. There were hundreds and more hundreds of cascades where they don't normally exist, so the already spellbinding scenery was made even moreso, despite the rain. There was a standing area between the bar car and dining car, with a long, glassless window on each side, so photography was possible even with rain streaking down the windows. We were one second late deciding it was lunch time, and were nearly flattened by a horde of seniors. It was another hour before we could get a meal. The food was good - prepared to order and not particularly expensive. When the weather cleared, we pulled onto a siding while an odd train passed in the other direction. There was an engine, followed by flatcar after flatcar, and on the flatcars were RVs of all manner and size. Since their occupants hadn't been in the rain yet, they were hanging out on the flatcars, with drinks and snacks, enjoying the scenery. I never looked into that train, but any RVers reading this might be interested enough to look it up The nearest that train could have come from is Creel, but there are roads to all the stops between Creel and Chihuahua. We finally reached Divisadero late in the afternoon. It was dark out, and it was snowing. Our hotel was down a ramp to the canyon rim, and to the left, and our room was reached by a rickety-looking wooden platform to a block of rooms perched right on the canyon rim. It was dark, so there was no sightseeing that night. We checked at the hotel desk to ensure that our horseback rides scheduled for the next day, and were told everything was set. This hotel was styled like a ski lodge, with massive beams, and great stone fireplaces everywhere. The restaurant was brighter, and the food was very good. After eating, we relaxed in a fireplaced nook with drinks, and chatted with a couple from Manitoba who we recognized from the train. The next morning, I rose early and pulled the drapes to see our view for the first time. I think it was my gasp that woke my wife. We got ready quickly and went out onto our deck, which had a dropoff of something like 6,000 ft from there to the canyon bottom. There was mist rising through the sunbeams, and light reached further down into the canyon by the minute. We finally had to tear ourselves from that to get cleaned up for breakfast We were at the appointed spot for our horseback ride on time, but a lady from the hotel came to see us, saying that our horses had been let out two days earlier because of the storm, and nobody could find them. She pointed to a small group of people nearby and said the hotel would provide a guide for a walking tour, and we could tip him a peso each if we wanted to. We went on the tour. The guide was young and didn't really speak English, and didn't want to speak in Spanish, so he was pretty mute for most of the tour, but things were self-evident for the most part. We were in some deep woods on the canyon rim when we came on a clearing, perhaps a mile long. It was the airport. The drugs airport. Divisadero isn't a town, it's a train stop. There are hotels, a store/gas station, and a few ranches. Thus, I was intrigued when we came on what looked like a millpond in New England, complete with waterwheel and a red building. I finally got the guide to speak in Spanish, and he said the building was erected 100 years ago to crush grain. It was built by the government for use by the Tarahuamara Indians (pronounce Tara-Mara) who soon went back to their mortar and pestle ways. It spent time as an illegal distillery, a school building, and the government is once again trying to convince the Indians to market products there, instead of on sidewalks and dangerous cliffside perches. We went for a second cliffside tour later that day, and stretched it until dusk. We were up on a high point when our guide pointed out a rancho in the distance and said it was his home. Then he held out his hand to shake, and fully intended to leave us there in the dark. I was bigger than this guy, and my wife can argue quite well in Spanish, so he finally brought us back. I gave him five bucks, when what he deserved was my size 11 in his backside. The next morning we packed up, then wandered some more, finding the Divisadero ladder, which the Indians use to go to and from their villages, about 1,000 feet below the rim, and in tiers to the canyon bottom. The train came in late afternoon, so we just sat in the bar car for the short trip to Creel, where we stayed in a comfy new chain-hotel, but in lodge-like accomodations, complete with our own gas stove for heating. We had a nice meal, but apparently some toxic corn chowder. That was all we had in common, and we were quite distressed for a while, until the Imodium took effect. The next morning, a young Mexican guy in a new Suburban picked us up for our first real 'adventure' of the trip - the ride to Batopilas at the bottom of the canyon. Before the turnoff into the canyon proper, we were shown a waterfall by going off-road, and following the river IN the river until we got close, then we walked. It was a pretty place, and we enjoyed a bit of a snack there, then back to the car for our descent. The pavement ends very shortly after the turnoff for Batopilas. After that, both literally and figuratively, it's all downhill from there, and what a HILL. We stopped frequently, sometimes at our request, other times to let uphill-bound vehicles go by, and often because cars in front of us were stopped. The road is evil. The scenery is spectacular, and ever-changing as you descend The road hadn't escaped the damaging rains of the previous few days, and there were washouts where even our dark-skinned driver looked white and wide-eyed. Once at the canyon bottom, spectacular is replaced by what seems impossible. It's beautiful: green like a jungle, yet with the fantastic canyon scenery rising above, in every direction. The Batopilas canyon, and the town of Batopilas are named after the Batopilas river, which was truly raging when we arrived. We were driven through the pretty-much one road town to our hotel, Julia's, which has only two or three rooms, no phone or restaurant, and a very simple room. That room has a wide veranda, though, and it overhangs the Batopilas river as much as our room in Divisadero overhung the canyon. It was wild, and hard to leave that porch for any reason. There were goatherders across the river, leading what seemed an endles parade of goats home from wherever they'd been foraging, and just a canyon wall over there. There was a mangled jeep in the middle of the river, and it still held paint, so it was probably a storm-related wrect. It was the force and the sound of that water that was so mesmerizing. We eventually tore ourselves away to look for Maxi, the rancher who was to take us trail riding the next day. All we had was the heard name over the phone, so not even a proper spelling. However, walking through town looking for the tourist desk, we were greeted by an American woman at the door to a gift shop. Surprised by her presence, we talked for a bit, then mentioned we were looking for Maxi about horseback riding. She called to a young girl, and gave her a coin while she told her to go find Maxi and bring him there. Then we talked, mostly about how she came to be running an upscale gift shop in such a remote place. The girl came back with the bad news - Maxi was gone, and from what I could understand, she meant he was on a bender somewhere, and everyone was looking for him. Anyhow, I'm trying to answer your question, not write a travelogue. Batopilas, at the bottom of the canyon, was the high point of our trip. It was once one of the richest towns in the world, and was second to only NYC with a public electrical grid, along with one of the first public water systems in Mexico (still operating, and quite fascinating). There are no fancy restaurants, but everyone serves good food. Mostly, Batopilas has a very cheery and friendly population, even by Mexico standards. We spent another day in Creel: it was market day, and there was a festival in the square. Creel is interesting in it's own way. It's a lumbering town, and very much old-west in nature. Teenagers ride their dates double on horses down the street, and pickups and SUVs rule the parking spots. There's a little fried chicken place just off the square, and the chicken is wonderful. Not sure what their spices are, but it's distinctive without seeming foreign. Leaving Creel, going the other way, we had another long train ride to Cerocahui, where we stayed at a ranch run by Doug (Diego) Rhodes, and American of no small charm. We met up there with a group on a tour with California Native, and I was very surprised to learn that the guide was a distant relative of mine. This ranch is special in a lot of ways. The main hacienda is big and inviting, has a paperback library of books in several languages, and it's an actual hacienda. The rooms are arranged in a quadrangle, quite simple in decor, yet all the amenities are there, including a woodstove and a supply of firewood. The first day, Doug himself took the two of us in his vehicle for a tour of the area, then a descent to the town of Urique at the canyon bottom. This was all on a paved road, and not nearly as dramatic as the road to Batopilas, but that canyon is really at the green end of the Copper Canyon complex, and my best photos of the trip are from there. The scenery is like something I never imagined existed, and it was much easier to take in with a fellow American as a guide. I don't speak bad Spanish, but I do miss nuances, and that makes things lose meaning sometimes. Urique is a tiny town, and it had been somewhat brutalized by the rains. We walked around, had a nice lunch, then watched bulldozers and excavators as they pushed the former contents of the river back into the river. The ride back up, unlike from Batopilas, is more spectacular than the ride down, only because you see the scenery where you came from, and it's more varied than the other side fo the canyon. This was our last chance for riding on the trip, and we were assured that our horses would be outside and waiting when we awoke. And they were, tethered to a rail right behind our room. We got acquainted, led the animals to the hacienda, and had our breakfast. Then a ranch hand was there to show us where to go. We rode for a solid four hours, saw a little group of wild mustangs, a cave where a lot of people were buried, and some of the most pleasant riding scenery anywhere. After that, it was lunch, then back to the train for the too-long ride to El Fuerte, where we stayed at the same hacienda, and had a car the next morning to take us to Los Mochis for our flight to Mexico City. California Native delivered on everything they promised that was under their control. They had arranged our horses everywhere, but it was circumstance and weather that interrupted that part of our trip. Otherwise, it was great. We went in November, when the difference between the rim and the canyon bottom was extreme: 20F up top in Divisadero and 85F in Batopilas. We made our own air arrangements Keith |
#4
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Copper Canyon trip
Thank you for your thorough report. J.
"John Kulp" wrote in message ... On Sun, 10 Aug 2008 17:11:34 -0500, "K" wrote: "singlemalt" wrote in message news:C76dncZYCa8buQLVnZ2dnUVZ_uCdnZ2d@earthlink. com... I am interested in a Copper Canyon trip and ran across an agent who calls his company California Native. On paper it looks good but I would appreciate anyone with first hand, or second hand, experience or knowledge. Please reply and I will share with you the secret of eternal youth. Thanks,J. Well, he asked you the time and you told him how to build a clock, but, hey, it's a great travelogue!! Hi, We did a nearly two-week tour of Copper Canyon a few years ago, and used California Native to arrange everything for us, although we went on our own and not with a group. The company did what I can call a perfect job. Our route took us first to El Fuerte. We arrived late at night and spent the next night there. It was election day, and there was a polling place right on the front verandah of our hacienda. There were a few hours of heavy rain in the afternoon, but having the constant stream of eager voters right there kept things interesting. We had booked horses to go along the river, but the rains prevented that. We had a dry morning to look around the interesting town, and spotted a nice looking restaurant where we had our dinner. We had tickets for a 6am departure on the train, but our request for a wakeup call was laughed off at the desk, who said our breakfast would be ready at 8, then a car would take us to the train. We were still the first ones to the station, but busloads of seniors soon filled the platform. We were entertained by some schoolboys on horseback, who put on a little fancy riding demonstration, then paraded by with their hats out, and those hats were soon very heavy looking. The train finally came. The tour groups, thankfully, had private cars in the back of the train, and we found seats just behind the bar/snack car, which was just behind the dining car. The train is quite nice, with fairly new equipment, comfortable seats, and clean windows. Our destination was Divisadero that day, and it was literally a day trip to get there. The train is slow, desperately slow sometimes, but the journey is remarkable. Our gray morning became a very rainy day before long, but rather than the rain putting a damper on our enjoyment, we were rewarded with views of vernal falls everywhere. There were hundreds and more hundreds of cascades where they don't normally exist, so the already spellbinding scenery was made even moreso, despite the rain. There was a standing area between the bar car and dining car, with a long, glassless window on each side, so photography was possible even with rain streaking down the windows. We were one second late deciding it was lunch time, and were nearly flattened by a horde of seniors. It was another hour before we could get a meal. The food was good - prepared to order and not particularly expensive. When the weather cleared, we pulled onto a siding while an odd train passed in the other direction. There was an engine, followed by flatcar after flatcar, and on the flatcars were RVs of all manner and size. Since their occupants hadn't been in the rain yet, they were hanging out on the flatcars, with drinks and snacks, enjoying the scenery. I never looked into that train, but any RVers reading this might be interested enough to look it up The nearest that train could have come from is Creel, but there are roads to all the stops between Creel and Chihuahua. We finally reached Divisadero late in the afternoon. It was dark out, and it was snowing. Our hotel was down a ramp to the canyon rim, and to the left, and our room was reached by a rickety-looking wooden platform to a block of rooms perched right on the canyon rim. It was dark, so there was no sightseeing that night. We checked at the hotel desk to ensure that our horseback rides scheduled for the next day, and were told everything was set. This hotel was styled like a ski lodge, with massive beams, and great stone fireplaces everywhere. The restaurant was brighter, and the food was very good. After eating, we relaxed in a fireplaced nook with drinks, and chatted with a couple from Manitoba who we recognized from the train. The next morning, I rose early and pulled the drapes to see our view for the first time. I think it was my gasp that woke my wife. We got ready quickly and went out onto our deck, which had a dropoff of something like 6,000 ft from there to the canyon bottom. There was mist rising through the sunbeams, and light reached further down into the canyon by the minute. We finally had to tear ourselves from that to get cleaned up for breakfast We were at the appointed spot for our horseback ride on time, but a lady from the hotel came to see us, saying that our horses had been let out two days earlier because of the storm, and nobody could find them. She pointed to a small group of people nearby and said the hotel would provide a guide for a walking tour, and we could tip him a peso each if we wanted to. We went on the tour. The guide was young and didn't really speak English, and didn't want to speak in Spanish, so he was pretty mute for most of the tour, but things were self-evident for the most part. We were in some deep woods on the canyon rim when we came on a clearing, perhaps a mile long. It was the airport. The drugs airport. Divisadero isn't a town, it's a train stop. There are hotels, a store/gas station, and a few ranches. Thus, I was intrigued when we came on what looked like a millpond in New England, complete with waterwheel and a red building. I finally got the guide to speak in Spanish, and he said the building was erected 100 years ago to crush grain. It was built by the government for use by the Tarahuamara Indians (pronounce Tara-Mara) who soon went back to their mortar and pestle ways. It spent time as an illegal distillery, a school building, and the government is once again trying to convince the Indians to market products there, instead of on sidewalks and dangerous cliffside perches. We went for a second cliffside tour later that day, and stretched it until dusk. We were up on a high point when our guide pointed out a rancho in the distance and said it was his home. Then he held out his hand to shake, and fully intended to leave us there in the dark. I was bigger than this guy, and my wife can argue quite well in Spanish, so he finally brought us back. I gave him five bucks, when what he deserved was my size 11 in his backside. The next morning we packed up, then wandered some more, finding the Divisadero ladder, which the Indians use to go to and from their villages, about 1,000 feet below the rim, and in tiers to the canyon bottom. The train came in late afternoon, so we just sat in the bar car for the short trip to Creel, where we stayed in a comfy new chain-hotel, but in lodge-like accomodations, complete with our own gas stove for heating. We had a nice meal, but apparently some toxic corn chowder. That was all we had in common, and we were quite distressed for a while, until the Imodium took effect. The next morning, a young Mexican guy in a new Suburban picked us up for our first real 'adventure' of the trip - the ride to Batopilas at the bottom of the canyon. Before the turnoff into the canyon proper, we were shown a waterfall by going off-road, and following the river IN the river until we got close, then we walked. It was a pretty place, and we enjoyed a bit of a snack there, then back to the car for our descent. The pavement ends very shortly after the turnoff for Batopilas. After that, both literally and figuratively, it's all downhill from there, and what a HILL. We stopped frequently, sometimes at our request, other times to let uphill-bound vehicles go by, and often because cars in front of us were stopped. The road is evil. The scenery is spectacular, and ever-changing as you descend The road hadn't escaped the damaging rains of the previous few days, and there were washouts where even our dark-skinned driver looked white and wide-eyed. Once at the canyon bottom, spectacular is replaced by what seems impossible. It's beautiful: green like a jungle, yet with the fantastic canyon scenery rising above, in every direction. The Batopilas canyon, and the town of Batopilas are named after the Batopilas river, which was truly raging when we arrived. We were driven through the pretty-much one road town to our hotel, Julia's, which has only two or three rooms, no phone or restaurant, and a very simple room. That room has a wide veranda, though, and it overhangs the Batopilas river as much as our room in Divisadero overhung the canyon. It was wild, and hard to leave that porch for any reason. There were goatherders across the river, leading what seemed an endles parade of goats home from wherever they'd been foraging, and just a canyon wall over there. There was a mangled jeep in the middle of the river, and it still held paint, so it was probably a storm-related wrect. It was the force and the sound of that water that was so mesmerizing. We eventually tore ourselves away to look for Maxi, the rancher who was to take us trail riding the next day. All we had was the heard name over the phone, so not even a proper spelling. However, walking through town looking for the tourist desk, we were greeted by an American woman at the door to a gift shop. Surprised by her presence, we talked for a bit, then mentioned we were looking for Maxi about horseback riding. She called to a young girl, and gave her a coin while she told her to go find Maxi and bring him there. Then we talked, mostly about how she came to be running an upscale gift shop in such a remote place. The girl came back with the bad news - Maxi was gone, and from what I could understand, she meant he was on a bender somewhere, and everyone was looking for him. Anyhow, I'm trying to answer your question, not write a travelogue. Batopilas, at the bottom of the canyon, was the high point of our trip. It was once one of the richest towns in the world, and was second to only NYC with a public electrical grid, along with one of the first public water systems in Mexico (still operating, and quite fascinating). There are no fancy restaurants, but everyone serves good food. Mostly, Batopilas has a very cheery and friendly population, even by Mexico standards. We spent another day in Creel: it was market day, and there was a festival in the square. Creel is interesting in it's own way. It's a lumbering town, and very much old-west in nature. Teenagers ride their dates double on horses down the street, and pickups and SUVs rule the parking spots. There's a little fried chicken place just off the square, and the chicken is wonderful. Not sure what their spices are, but it's distinctive without seeming foreign. Leaving Creel, going the other way, we had another long train ride to Cerocahui, where we stayed at a ranch run by Doug (Diego) Rhodes, and American of no small charm. We met up there with a group on a tour with California Native, and I was very surprised to learn that the guide was a distant relative of mine. This ranch is special in a lot of ways. The main hacienda is big and inviting, has a paperback library of books in several languages, and it's an actual hacienda. The rooms are arranged in a quadrangle, quite simple in decor, yet all the amenities are there, including a woodstove and a supply of firewood. The first day, Doug himself took the two of us in his vehicle for a tour of the area, then a descent to the town of Urique at the canyon bottom. This was all on a paved road, and not nearly as dramatic as the road to Batopilas, but that canyon is really at the green end of the Copper Canyon complex, and my best photos of the trip are from there. The scenery is like something I never imagined existed, and it was much easier to take in with a fellow American as a guide. I don't speak bad Spanish, but I do miss nuances, and that makes things lose meaning sometimes. Urique is a tiny town, and it had been somewhat brutalized by the rains. We walked around, had a nice lunch, then watched bulldozers and excavators as they pushed the former contents of the river back into the river. The ride back up, unlike from Batopilas, is more spectacular than the ride down, only because you see the scenery where you came from, and it's more varied than the other side fo the canyon. This was our last chance for riding on the trip, and we were assured that our horses would be outside and waiting when we awoke. And they were, tethered to a rail right behind our room. We got acquainted, led the animals to the hacienda, and had our breakfast. Then a ranch hand was there to show us where to go. We rode for a solid four hours, saw a little group of wild mustangs, a cave where a lot of people were buried, and some of the most pleasant riding scenery anywhere. After that, it was lunch, then back to the train for the too-long ride to El Fuerte, where we stayed at the same hacienda, and had a car the next morning to take us to Los Mochis for our flight to Mexico City. California Native delivered on everything they promised that was under their control. They had arranged our horses everywhere, but it was circumstance and weather that interrupted that part of our trip. Otherwise, it was great. We went in November, when the difference between the rim and the canyon bottom was extreme: 20F up top in Divisadero and 85F in Batopilas. We made our own air arrangements Keith |
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