Copper Canyon - Mexico Pt. 2

Creel to Batopilas

They say that to truly conceptualize the vastness of the Copper Canyon, you need to descend from its highest elevations to its lowest depths. One of the more popular ways of doing this is to take a bus from Creel to Batoplias via an auxiliary road that starts at the top of the Canyon rim and descends more than 6,000 ft to the bottom of a river valley. During this jittery 5 hour ride, you pass through three separate micro-climates, go from temperatures in the low 40s to the high 80s, and get some of the best views of the canyons. It would turn out to be one hell of a ride... in more ways than one.

I boarded the bus at 7:30am. There, I met Dr.Zongo (not his real name), a fellow gringo who lives in the states, but owns land outside of Bato and makes the trip back and forth often. He's a wiry guy of 45, but has the stamina of a 25 year old, and possesses a travel resume that puts the Ramblin's to shame. Just think of the most obscure country at an obscure time and he's probably been there.

We set off, paving our way across black tarmac through mesas of Ponderosa Pines, and scattered Granite boulders. 75Kms later we left the pavement for a single-track dirt road that petered through some more Pine and Juniper before opening up over the side of the Taramauca Canyon rim, offering us our first views of jagged monolithic peaks that fell swiftly to sweeping river canyons and also view of the trepidous decent that awaited us.

We slid down a steep set of dusty switchbacks, the terrain transforming from thick sub-Alpine forests and Granite to sparse desert outcrops of Mesquite, Cacti and lose chalky Sandstone. The air temperature was changing too, rising from a crisp mountain cold to dry desert heat. The bus driver, who must have done this trip a 1,000 times before, didn't bat an eye as he took tight hairpin turns at alarming speeds cusping the sides of the road and sheer 1000ft drop offs.

We fell further into the depths of the canyon, passing through another climate zone, now sub-tropical, Redrock surrounded by wildflowers, mango trees, and a thick stagnant heat. Bato is a small hamlet that stretches down along the river in this valley. It was once a silver mining community in the late 1800s, but now passes as sleepy cowboy town, where the dress code is crocodile boots and white straw cowboy hats. It's also an outpost for the local Raramuri Indians who live in the surrounding hills. After over 400 years of being chased off their land by Spaniards and then the Laditos, have settled in this unwanted and unvisited region. This interesting mix usually makes for a relaxing and engaging time, however, as soon as the Dr. Zongo and I disembarked from the bus, we could both detect a uneasy tension in the air and this place was anything but sleepy.

I should mention here that this area is one of the biggest Cannabis growing regions in Mexico and almost everyone that lives here is connected to it in some way. Even the Raramuri, who wear their traditional multicolored frocks and loincloths and sport baseball caps with big marijuana leafs across the front. And we had just arrived during harvest, a tense time when growers come down from the hills to make deals with buyers from the boarders and outside cops and army patrols are brought in to try and catch transporters.

Even the good doctor, whose been coming here for years, felt uncomfortable. I checked into a local hotel and after a delicious lunch we sampled some other local flavors before heading off to the river. Everything seemed to mellow out after we got out of town, things slowed down, and it became a stress-free afternoon.

After a siesta in the arvo, Dr. Z and I headed down to the bar to grab a couple beers. Fast forward twenty minutes. I'm sitting at a table with a bunch of the biggest growers in the area asking me if I might want to transport some 'items' back to the states for them and a guy from the Juarez Cartel is asking the doc if he wants to 'join the family.' As thrilling as a life in the drug trade might sound, we both declined and made a discreet exit before the beer cans really started to tip and things got really hairy. Cholo's in low riders were cruising the streets and yelling 'Pinche Gringos' as they road past. Great, even in the deep recesses of the Copper Canyon I can't escape it! I went back to my hotel and Dr. Zongo hitch-hiked to his ranch house up in the hills.

Despite the mayhem that was unfolding outside, the land around us peaceful and soothing. I walked back down to the river at sunset, and watch the glow of the evening sun radiate in the cannons; the Redrock cliffs ablaze like embers in a fire, the Sandstone a cool, bone-white luminescence. I watched the twilight shadows of dusk chase the sun from the valley walls as wildflowers peddles sailed by in an evening breeze. I was instantly at peace again.

The following morning I set out, determined to enjoy the day and find the peaceful, welcoming side of the town. It was not to be had, all I found were cold scornful stares, diverted eyes, and closed doors. The place seemed so dead it was like walking through a ghost town. I decided to spent the rest of the day by the river, at least it wouldn't look at me with contempt. Sometime in the mid afternoon, Dr. Z reappeared, having trekked out 6 miles from his ranch during the hottest part of the day. He had figured out why the place seemed so hostel and filled me in.

Apparently, just the week before, a local shopkeeper had been kidnapped on the road leading up to Creel and the whole town was in a state of shock and fear. Kidnappings, so common in Mexico City, are virtually unheard of up here and it had turned the whole community upside down. Now, no one wanted to make deliveries to Bato and it has flooded the area with even more police and military (all during harvest time remember).

That explained it, the colds looks were not of score, but suspicion, the diverted eyes were not malevolent but saddened. Even though I had found the true motive behind the unwelcoming vibe it was unwelcoming all the same, and I caught the morning bus back to Creel the next day; a town that, despite its rough first impressions, seemed warm and welcoming after the dramas in this place.