Big Mexico: El Fuerte (Sinaloa)

El Fuerte's native son, Zorro. 

Our hotel in El Fuerte was lovely. In the courtyard was a statue of Zorro, with his famous whip. El Fuerte was the birthplace of Don Diego de la Vega back in the early 1800s. His parents moved when he was still a child to the Los Angeles region of California where he eventually became the "Robin Hood" of Mexico with the name of Zorro (which means the Fox).  That was the story printed out around town, explained on the metal plaque by the statue, and even his birthplace had a sign saying as much. But in truth, the whole story was just that, a novel created in 1919 by Johnston McCulley and made famous by Douglas Fairbanks in the first movie shot at his own studio. A wonderful fabrication for the tourists, and I'm sure it has put El Fuerte on the map.

It belongs on the map if for no other reason than it is one of the more beautiful towns in Mexico. I don't know how the townspeople have done it, but there is virtually no graffiti anywhere. The Municipal building, which houses every aspect of local and regional government is huge, restored to it's original splendor and seems too lovely to be a mere government building. The interior of the stair wells and other interior walls are covered with murals by a 'primitive' painter, a self-taught local. Yet, they are expressive and detailed, with scenes from Sinaloa's history and many historical characters.

The Municipal building.

El Fuerte means Fort, and like Zorro, there is a fort up on the hill, looking for all the world like a classic Spanish fort - right out of Disneyland. It was built on the spot where it's thought the original fort might have been. And inside, it is both a museum and the enormous tank for the city's water supply. The museum is full of real historical objects, guns, vehicles, photographs, and artwork. Very much worth a visit.

Some on our tour opted for the early morning boat trip down the river to see birds and other wildlife living in the natural zone on the other side of the river from town. They saw dozens of species of birds, turtles, iguanas and other indiginous species. Some went on the city tour which included the home of Zorro's birth. Several of us went on the afternoon tour of a small Mayo village. The Mayos were the people living in Sinaloa and the western edge of Chihuahua when the Spanairds arrived several centuries ago. They too were devastated by the diseases trailing after the Spaniards like rapid dogs. But they have maintained a semblance of their former lives, still celebrating many of the ancient rituals and customs, and scratching out a living from the arid soils.

Too pretty yard at the Fort.

We visited a curandero, a man who is the local herbalist/healer. He showed us various objects and plants that treat different diseases, including snake skin to ward off bad dreams. He had powdered oregano, dried mushrooms, various leaves and stems with which to make teas, and powdered rocks. He also made his living raising butterflies for their cocoons. After the butterfly is gone, he collects and dries the cocoons, then fills each with tiny pebbles and sews them together on long strips of cloth to be wrapped around a dancer's legs as rattles. I hadn't thought the noise would be very loud but with fifty or so cocoons, it made a substantial noise. Around his house were many vines and bushes with butterfly cocoons attached. They'll emerge in April and he'll have a whole new crop.

We then went to another home where the women were making tortillas and gorditas over a comal. The comal was white and very slick. Our guide showed us how they get it that way. He took a piece of dry bone from a cow and rubbed it on the surface of the hot griddle. You could smell the bone 'melting' onto the surface. After it 'fires' on, the surface is slick as teflon. We got to look around the house. It consisted of several small buildings with a single door and roof. One had a concrete front porch but the others were dirt all round. Connecting the buildings were long ramadas, branches put up over poles stretched between upright poles to provide shade. It was quite nice temperature-wise, but it was still winter. I can't imagine how much relief there will be when the temperature soars in the summer. They had an outhouse off to the side of the walled yard that consisted of some draperies over poles to provide privacy.

Our hostess, cooking tortillas over a hot fire.

After we had eaten some tortillas with chile and salsa we were given a short lecture by the home's owner about how the Mayos live now, what their economy is like, how much the government has helped them to survive the drought, and about some of their overnight rituals. Then a man came to dance for us. Another fellow played the guitar and a harmonica for the first dance depicting a coyote prowling around. Later he danced as a deer. Each dance told a rather elaborate story and during the overnight festival, the ceremonies end with the deer dance. It was quite moving, and the man did an excellent job of mimicking the movements of a deer while it grazed, drank water, and in its death throes after it was shot by a hunter. Three men accompanied the deer with rhythmic beating on a stick laid over an upside down gourd which produced an amazingly loud drum beat.

Back in town, Felicia and I went in search of a paleta or ice cream cone. At the Michoacan ice cream store we found paletas (like a giant popcicle) made from the pulp of the little oranges called narajitos, plus a generous addition of chile powder. They were fantastic and a welcome cooling off for what was becoming a pretty hot afternoon. Wandering around we found the produce market, various stores, a bar with a sign that said nobody in a uniform may come inside, and a Chinese restaurant called Chinaloa!

The river with city on one side, and
natural preserve on the other.

We had stored our bags with the hotel, and were waiting around till almost dark to take a bus to Los Mochis where we were destined to catch the ferry for an overnight ride to La Paz. Evan and I went for a photo expedition along the river. There was an interesting structure that appeared to be an outdoor room on the roof of a house, covered with netting for drying meat. I knocked on the door of the house. A bunch of dogs and a couple of cats dashed out when the woman opened the door. She sold me a large bag of the shredded jerky which I think is the best I've ever eaten. What I don't understand is why all those animals wanted OUT of that house!

The river walk is a nice concrete roadway that probably will be expanded in the future because it only went about half a mile. Along the way were homes with orchards of those naranjito trees, sprays of bougainvilleas, blooming fruit trees, and plenty of farm animals inside  large pens. The town seems prosperous and well cared for. There was little trash, few run down homes, even the vehicles looked fairly new. For a state as infamous for drug cartels as Sinaloa, it appeared this little town had never heard of them, certainly nobody was quivering in fear.

Bougainvilleas abound.

View from the Mayo Village

Thin slices of beef drying on the roof of a house.

Mural of the Deer Dance in the Municipal building.

Mayo man putting on his
deer head for the dance.

Deer dance and gourd drummer.

The gorgeous 'fake' fort housing a museum,
and the city's water tank.

Big Mexico: Copper Canyon and El Chepe

Our last day in the Copper Canyon system began with me knocking on the Casuare clinic door and finding the good doctor home.  I wanted to thank him, I was now so much better. He seemed genuinely happy to know he'd helped so much.

The dirty dozen, all of us who went on the
Barrancas de Cobre tour.

We headed back towards Creel, but turned west before actually arriving there. The town we needed to be in, to catch the El Chepe train was Divisidero. In recent years the government has installed a tram that runs from the edge of the canyon out to a promontory a kilometer away. Along the edge of the canyon there is now a lovely hotel with spectacular views from every room. Most of us bought tram tickets and rode across the chasm. I noticed a couple of Tarahumara kids who just hopped onto the tram without tickets and were ignored by the operator. Later on, they were on the other side willing to pose for a few pesos. I paid to photograph one of the little entrepreneurs, and got some lovely shots of her and the canyon behind.

Lovely Tarahumara girl.

The views from the canyon rim were fantastic, but from the promontory, they were even better, totally unobstructed. There was a tiny shop in a ramshackle shed selling sodas and snacks, and a sign pointing in several directions with the number of kilometers to the towns the trails led to. Many kilometers in any direction, all on foot.

Another attraction was a series of ziplines from the canyon rim to various 'landings'. I've always wanted to try ziplining, but not sure I would want my first experience to be dangling over a thousand foot drop into a rocky canyon!

After our tram trip, we walked into town on a lovely new paved path along the canyon rim. The whole area feels like a National Park with handicapped trails and railings. In town, we had an hour to explore before the train arrived. At the platform there were a dozen women with coal fires under flat metal plates, making gorditas, and stirring steaming pots of chopped meats and vegetables. Dick said the tour company didn't recommend eating anything at the station because some previous customers had gotten sick. But I've eaten cooked street food for a long time and never had a problem. As long as you avoid uncooked vegies like lettuce and tomatoes, you should be ok. I hunkered down with a fat gordita, split open and stuffed with pork and chiles. Anne followed suit, then Evan and Felicia took the plunge as well. Of all the things we'd been served and the restaurants we'd eaten in, Anne said at the end of the trip, the gorditas at the train station were the best food she'd eaten in Mexico.

The train arrived and we said goodby to Noel and Roberto. I gave Noel a nice tip and told him it was because he hadn't let me out of the car when I was in such a panic. That was the smart thing and I appreciated that he'd done it. He just smiled and said "Nos vemos, Amica Cherry."

View of the valley from the
train high on the mountainside. A short
time later, the train went over that bridge.

El Chepe is the famous train that follows along the edge of the Copper Canyon itself, and eventually drops down into some of the western canyons. It is an incredible feat of engineering, with 86 tunnels and 37 bridges.  At one point we emerged from a tunnel and looked down the steep cliff to see rails we'd soon be on, far below us, with a bridge across the river. Shortly thereafter we entered a very long tunnel that actually curved to the left as it descended inside the mountain. When we came out, we were down there crossing the bridge we'd seen from above. The highest train bridge in the world is on this line, and crosses the river feeding an enormous reservoir. I was shocked at how low the reservoir was, at least 60 feet down from the obvious high water level.

We arrived in El Fuerte well after dark and were hustled to our hotel there in a large bus, where we were greeted with complimentary margaritas and another delicious and filling meal!

Copper Canyon viewed from the Tram drop point.

Seriously depleted reservoir.

Big Mexico: Coming out of Batopilas Canyon

Typical Tarahumara home in Batopilas Canyon

Wednesday morning, we had another of those 'stuffed' breakfasts at the Riverside Lodge, then piled into the trucks for the long ride out of the canyon. Once again, the trucks were like fish swimming upstream, most of the traffic was coming from the opposite direction. Noel proved to be a very skillful and prophetic driver. He seemed to sense when to slow down to avoid a head on collision with some big truck barreling downhill toward us on the dirt road.  Often we, or those coming towards us, could see some distance and knew that eventually an encounter would take place. Often the downhill traffic would have pulled over in some wide spot to let us pass. Sometimes we did the same, especially if what was coming resembled a gasoline tanker!

At the very top, where the road narrows down to a thread and the curves are something like snake paths in the grass with nothing but bus plunges on the downhill side, we had the scariest encounter of all.

Up ahead we could see men in camouflage fatigues, armed with assault weapons and wearing black masks that covered the lower part of their faces. They were on the side of the road. Beyond them, our fellow truck was face to face with a huge green vehicle with guns mounted on the top.

For the briefest moment, we (the tourists) thought we were about to be robbed and killed by a drug cartel, then dumped over the steep edge of the canyon to be fodder for turkey vultures. Noel was perfectly calm. He rolled down the window and chatted with the soldiers who wanted us to back up so their monster could get by. Noel commented to us that those idiots didn't know how to drive, that's why they'd gotten into this pickle. He began to back up.

Typical of the rugged terrain
through which we drove.

Now, you have to visualize this situation. We are on the curviest of dirt roads. The drop off on the left side is hundreds if not a thousand feet, and that drop off begins inches away from the tires. Noel moved the mirrors so he could see the wheels on both sides. He frequently looked in the rearview mirror to see which way the road curved behind us. It might have been fine except each time he clamped down on the brakes, the truck slid a ways on the gravel, and enough sliding would have sent us right over the edge.  Evan and Dick were buckled into the seats on top, so I imagine they had the most frightening views, though Dick's recollection of it was fairly benign and filled with praise for Noel's skills.

At one point, Judy, watching out the back window, looking straight down the cliff, gasped. Then Felicia went white, and I wanted OUT. I said very forcefully, "I'm going to get out!!" Noel just said "no". He had locked all the doors and made no move to unlock them as he continued to inch his way backwards. I could feel my heart pounding and all I could think of was how could I get out? It quickly became apparent there was no place to go. My door couldn't have opened, the cliff face was too close, and where would I stand if I did get out? The army truck coming down was even wider than our vehicle.

Eventually the road behind widened out a bit, far enough for the army truck to pull aside and let us past, but the soldiers would have none of it. They wanted us to pull into that spot. Then I understood why. The huge truck went past us, then a jeep we couldn't have seen, and then another large white truck that the soldiers said was full of food and clothing for the Tarahumaras in the canyon. It was a relief caravan from the Mennonites with full protection from the military. Some of the young soldiers took our photo as they went past, others waved.

Somehow our sister vehicle had managed to pull aside way up ahead to let the caravan pass, so they were long gone by the time we got back to where the whole scenario started.

Meanwhile, a beautiful young Tarahumara woman carrying a baby in a sling and a load of goods in a cloth sack had walked straight up the hill on foot paths that cross over the road periodically. We had passed her a while back in the canyon, and we passed her again just a short distance from the little town at the top of the canyon.

The Sierra Lodge (the long building on the
left) and the Cusuare River.

Back in Cusare, at the Sierra Hotel, the same one we stayed at three nights before, Noel took us on a longish hike through the forest and over the hills to the cascada. A boy, about ten, joined us and was instantly hired by Noel to be our "guide", though I'm sure Noel knew his way around the area quite well. He pointed out numerous dead apple trees, an entire orchard that died because of the drought, and said he knew the people who owned it. Several fields simply lay fallow, with no crop or harvest in years.

La Cascada de Cusuare

The Cascada would usually be a roaring waterfall during the spring, but the river through there is only inches deep. There have been no snows this winter, so there won't be much of a waterfall this spring unless something drastic changes soon.

Three Tarahumara girls had set up shop on the hotel staircases, selling woven goods, necklaces, dolls, and other handmade things. Most of us didn't have small bills or change, and the poor girls didn't have money to make change with either. I purchased a few items so managed to spend my one $100p bill, about $8 US.

For dinner we had another lovely feast and returned to warm wood-heated rooms. Since we had self-assigned, Lia and I didn't get the same room we'd had. When I opened a chest drawer I found three of the cookies from the Mennonite village that someone had left earlier. Lia made sure each skinny dog around the hotel got a fair share of those cookies.

The path back to the hotel from the waterfall,
no OSHA in Mexico!!

Big Mexico: Valentine's day in Batopilas

Valentine's Day 2012

There are many reasons to want to go on a tour. One is that you don't have to plan the logistics of hotels or risk a taxi driver taking you to a really bad one out in the middle of some campo, figure out where and when to catch a bus, try to find a place where you can get vegetables to eat that aren't going to make you sick, negotiate with taxi drivers, miss out on seeing a museum because "everybody knows the museums are closed on Mondays!", etc. The bad thing about tours is that often there is a lot of sitting and being transported, and OMG how they feed you!! Every meal we had so far, and this was day five, was overwhelmingly good food and way too much of it. I felt bad several times at how much we left on our plates, and hoped at least some of it would be recycled to pigs, dogs, or even people, rather than just thrown out.

Tuesday, two more hikes were planned. The rough-n-ready hikers took off early for their 20 mile hike up to a remote canyon, while those of us nursing blisters and horrid colds went on the 6 mile ruins tour.

Ruins of the silver mill.

Batopilas has an interesting history. Way back, several hundred years ago, the Spanish Crown was interested in sucking as much gold and silver out of Mexico that it could. Every mine gave 1/5 of its output in taxes to Spain. It was carted across the ocean once a year in a huge armada of transport and gun ships to minimize the possibility of piracy. Silver was found in some abundance in Batopilas Canyon. There is a small museum dedicated to this period in history when bars of silver created at the mill in Batopilas were taken by burro and on men's backs out of the canyons to Chihuahua. It was a six week journey. Over the years photographs have been taken of the reenactments. In the museum are displays featuring photos of the mansions that were built, the mill in full swing, and the drinking establishments. The town's population was around 15,000, now it's less than 5000. There are a lot of abandoned buildings and ruins.

What is left of the mill owner's home.

Our hotel, the Riverside Lodge was one of those silver baron's homes. It had been abandoned by the original owners during the 1910 revolution when rich people fled Chihuahua. Over the years it was owned and used but was a shambles by the time an Eastern investor decided to create a luxury hotel. In the process of remodeling, three separate treasures of silver coins and paper money were discovered. One was in a floor safe, still in the living room full of silver coins, but now guarded by a 5 inch plexiglass shield. Another was found behind a wooden panel in the room Lia and I shared. In the corridor were posted details of the restoration, including a collection of old glass wine casks.

The hotel speaks of a elegant home with painted walls and ceilings, luxurious furniture, lovely outdoor spaces, and producing fruit trees. When we arrived back from our hot and dusty hikes, we were greeted with glasses of cold tart kumquat juice. Kumquats are called naranjitos in Spanish. There were at least four large naranjito trees, all drooping with small fruits. 

The rooms were elegant, the beds comfortable, and almost every bathroom had a claw-footed tub. We spent three nights at the hotel, had breakfast catered by one of the local restaurants, and went out to dinner at different restaurants every evening. We usually went to bed stuffed to the gills, but still managed to wake up to pan dulces, strong coffee, and some kind of fluffy egg dish with a variety of salsas. 

Judy peeking out her window.

The hike past the mill ruins lasted a few hours, just enough to work off some of that rich breakfast. We hiked past another large but closed hotel on the outskirts of town, past men running a water powered rock sluice filled with gold ore they'd mined in the hills. The drought has shut down all marijuana production, one of the main cash crops in the valley, so panning and mining for gold is what's left. We crossed over a suspension bridge that swayed precariously with the rhythm of our footsteps, but we were held inside by chain link fencing. Some of the boards on the bridge were missing, and in places the chainlink had large holes in it. As usual, we had to take very good care of ourselves, the nearest medical help was way up that long dirt road and all the way to Creel.  Once on the other side of the river, we followed the irrigation canal which supplies all water to the town. In places it was diverted to irrigate fields, run the gold sluice, or provide water for animals.

After the hike, some of us wandered around the town where we found an internet cafe (not open till late afternoon), several small groceries, several more bars, a lot of loose hungry dogs, and one poor old starving cow who was foraging the leaves from a tree that fell in a small park. There was no grass and nothing on the bushes.

People worked at washing clothes in the river and cutting wood out in the flats of the river bed. Some had car and tool repair businesses and there were a few stores with clothing and hardware. In general it was a small town without much going on. There was one new hotel being built. I assume the owner is hoping the new road will bring back the visitors. And the clinic was being expanded into a new hospital, so there were some publicly funded jobs to be had.

That evening we were in for a big surprise.

The hotel manager had arranged for a 4 piece band to come play for us while we had Happy Hour in the largest patio. He also furnished some locally made mescal and tequila. The mescal was exquisite, flavored and aged with raisins which mellowed it and added several layers of flavorful complexity. As it got darker, and we got drunker, we began to dance. Some of us knew the waltz, the rumba, salsa and other formal dances, but most of us simply did the monkey bouncing that we all learned as teenagers. We danced and drank for two hours. It was just delightful, and I think all of us had lost track of time, not realizing that it was Valentine's Day. Afterwards, we went for another too-filling dinner at a local restaurant. I felt very sad to leave that hotel and the sweet people of Batopilas, and knew I would really miss that luxurious bed!!

A painted ceiling in the salon.

Antique furniture is found throughout the hotel.

One of several outdoor patios, this one with a fountain.

Dining room open to the outdoors on three sides.

Part of the newer section of the hotel.
Very fanciful.

Sculptures were on display
throughout the living areas.

The hotel's lovely Mexican kitchen.

Big Mexico: Down in Batopilas Canyon

Valley of Satevo

The guides organized two different hiking options for everyone on our tour. A older man named Manuelo, wearing street clothes and regular leather shoes took the avid hikers on a very long hike up into the mountains overlooking Batopilas Canyon. Noel took the rest of us down a dirt road leading to a small town called Satevo, famous for its Lost Cathedral.

A couple of centuries ago, all records of this church were lost in a fire, and apparently even the Catholic church forgot about it. The people of the town have kept it up and it was recently updated, painted, and repaired. It sits like a little jewel above the river.

The hike led us past the sewage treatment plant (a particular interest of mine, best not to ask why...) for Batopilas. Sewage is piped to a rectangular concrete containment basin full of sand where it percolates through. The water dribbles out through cracks in the side and down into the river. It's a major step above the usual Mexican practice of dumping sewage into the nearest ravine or river, and probably does a pretty good job due to the Mexican practice of not flushing toilet paper. There were many trees and bushes growing in that basin.

One of many goats along the path.

Noel says the fuzzy things will ripen
into very delicious fruits.

Felicia looking into a capilla.

Rudimentary stock pen.

Unfinished home on the side of a hill.

We went past stockades for livestock, many native plants and trees which Noel was exceptionally good at identifying, and the homes of local Tarahumara people. Often families would walk past us, dressed in their usual colorful clothing, the men sometimes bareskinned in loincloths and tunics. They were always friendly and Noel addressed them in their native language. His grandfather is Tarahumara and is still alive at 96 living way up on a hillside with one of his daughters, near Batopilas. Noel said it takes four hours to hike up to their house, so he and other family members go there only a couple times a year.

Satevo is a survival town. There is no market and just a tiny tienda selling staples and junk food. It was a relief for us, after three hours of hot hiking to down a cold soda. There were many abandoned homes and some well-cared-for small houses, but no sign of a business other than growing food in orchards and small plots. Donkeys, goats, chickens and sheep were more numerous than people. In the school yard a teacher was drilling some boys in basketball.

The Lost Cathedral

The church was locked but Noel asked around and got a key so we could go inside. It was simple and white, benches pushed aside, with hand crafted saints and primitive ladders leading up to the choir loft and bell tower.

Back in town, some of us went to Carolina's, a small restaurant in the old plaza that served up the best seafood soup many of us had ever tasted. The town seems so depressed, and Carolina's husband, who is running the place while she works in Chihuahua, said they are barely staying afloat. There are so few tourists anymore, some days they only have two or three customers. Business is down more than 75% due to the drought and lack of foreigners. It's a clean beautiful town and has such potential, it's awful to see it going downhill.

Inside the church, signs of devotion.

Abandoned homes in Satevo.

Looking up into the tower of the church.

Friendly donkeys looking for a scratch.

Big Mexico: Batopilas Canyon

The Tarahumara ladies, who made such a delicious dinner the evening before, outdid themselves with breakfast. Their biscuits, made-from-scratch and baked in a wood stove were some of the flakiest, most delicate I've ever eaten. (No offense to my mother!)  In addition they served up some delicious huevos rancheros. 

After that hearty start, we headed further down towards Batopilas Canyon, the deepest of all in the Copper Canyon system. This system is larger than the Grand Canyon and deeper. However, it's not as wide, and therefore not quite as dramatic....until you're driving on a single lane dirt road with huge trucks barreling around the corner, coming your way, and the only way around is down a 2000 foot drop off. Ah, but that's a different kind of drama.

Dick on top!

Our day started out with Dick Opsahl, our fearless leader, climbing up onto the truck. He was ready to go an hour before any of the rest of us. When you're approaching 80, you have to keep moving, and in his case, keep everyone around you moving too!

We visited another Tarahumara village called Bisihuare that featured a number of cave homes. It reminded us New Mexicans of Bandelier National Monument, where the Puebloan ancestors lived in villages partially embedded in natural caves along the south facing walls of Frijoles Canyon. 

It was Sunday and people were on their way to Mass at noon, walking into town from miles around. It is a Tarahumara tradition to run, they are famous for their ability to go long distances running barefoot or with leather and old tire sandals. But mostly the people we saw were walking, usually carrying babies and loads of goods. 

Basihuare is a substantial town with a large boarding school, church, some small stores, and a large area of scattered homes surrounded by fields and orchards. An almost dry river runs through it which is used for irrigation and laundry. 

We hiked around a bit, saw the church and visited with a few locals before reboarding our trucks and heading on down towards Batopilas Canyon.

We'd been told we would have lunch at a scenic spot, so we all expected to hike down some trail and be given a sack lunch with a burrito or a sandwich with some potato chips and a bottle of pop. Imagine the surprise when both trucks suddenly turned off the paved road and headed down a single-lane rutted dirt track for half a mile to arrive at a beautiful spot set up with a long table, white table cloth, cutlery, dishes and wine glasses! We were amazed and delighted. And our lunch was a sumptuous feast cooked over a wood fire on a specially made metal grill. The meat dish contained bacon, sausage, beef, onions, peppers, tomatoes, and lime juice. In addition the men baked quesadillas with cheese and chile on the flat part of the grill, and served guacamole with totopos (corn chips) and a good Chilean wine. 

Our little picnic spot featured an amazing vista out into Batopilas Canyon. The day was cloudy with fog hanging in the lower valleys giving the view the sense of depth and distance that it deserved. 

Looking down into Batopilas Canyon.

Back on the paved road it wasn't long before we could see the latest government efforts at widening and improving the road. Huge machines were removing pieces of the mountainside shoving the tailings out and down to create a wide smooth path. We were routed onto a narrow dirt passage with a spectacular drop off on the passenger side. I mentioned the phrase "bus plunge" and was promptly asked not to use that term again!  The view down, straight down, way down......about 2000 feet, was spectacular. A tiny stream trickled through the bottom of that deep canyon, but in fact the whitish ripples were rapids on a fairly substantial river. "Bus Plunge" really was the perfect descriptor. 

Our little dirt track widened out slightly to become a winding, twisting single lane road that inched its way down the side of the steep canyon. I asked Noel "What happens if a car comes in the other direction?"

View from the top of Batopilas Canyon

"We work it out." is all he said. He was calm and in full control. We all had seat belts, not that it would do us any good if we rolled over the edge. The road was dry and a bit rocky. There was good traction, so really, unless the brakes failed, we would reach Batopilas in about six hours. 

The long and winding road.....

Many opted to walk or run down the first couple of miles.

That silver sliver is a rather wide river.

Evan and Dick about to ride to the bottom
on the top of the truck. 

Century plants were everywhere.

View into the upper portion of Batopilas Canyon

The vegetation was dry, but seemed
to be surviving the drought.

Our adventure was just getting started. Apparently morning is when many vehicles enter the canyon and in the afternoon many leave to go back up.  In some places the road was wide enough for one or the other to move over to the side but a couple of times the vehicle facing us was a large commercial truck, and we had to back up. Once we rounded a curve and were almost hit head-on by a truck. Rarely was there less than a 200 foot drop on one side of the road or the other. 

Noel had explained that the crosses on the sides of the road, called descansos, are for people who died in an accident. The little structures with saints inside are capillas (little chapels) and are erected to say thank you for the survival of someone in an accident. I noted there were far more descansos than capillas. 

But we made it without a scratch. Batopilas is an interesting Mexican (as opposed to Tarahumara) town. Everything there has been carted down that treacherous road, yet the prices of food, dry goods, and gasoline was not exceptionally inflated. It has a small military base, a substantial river though drastically reduced by the drought, and a suffering economy due to both drought and fear on the part of tourists to visit Mexico. Batopilas has always been a major center of activities for tourists to Copper Canyon. Runners from around the world come here to run with the Tarahumara, take part in their annual super marathons, and the canyon is genuinely photogenic and spectacular.  People are hoping that the road widening will be completed within the year and will result in stimulating the economy. I suspect that it will line the pockets of quite a few people, and may indeed help the locals in the long run. On the other hand, I'm grateful to have experienced it in its primitive state. Next time I visit here, it just won't have quite the same thrill.