The Last Easy Day (1 of 6) – Copper Canyon, Mexico

By: Leanne Wells

The Last Easy Day
Copper Canyon, Mexico

“Want to take a walk in the woods?” he asked. The query seemed a generous invitation to a pleasant diversion but the journey he described sounded more like a hike from hell. Skip McWilliams, owner of the Sierra and Batopilas Lodges in the Sierra Madre Occidental, called to extend the invitation and paradoxically try to dissuade us from accepting. He wanted assurance that we knew what we were getting into. My husband, Mike, and I had been eagerly anticipating this adventure across Copper Canyon, deep in the heart of the state of Chihuahua, which itself is tucked securely into the middle of Mexico. We were not easily deterred.

Copper Canyon

Known simply as Copper Canyon, the Sierra Madre is in reality a huge array of five interconnected canyons, each one larger and deeper than the Grand Canyon. It lies 200 miles south of the border of the United States, and remains largely unexplored. The Tarahumara Indians, who retreated here from the invading Conquistadors 400 years ago, inhabit its 20,000 square miles of uncharted wilderness. They remain secure in their cave and mountain top dwellings, living in self-sufficient single family units without benefit of towns or outposts. They are remote in both body and spirit, passive observers of our passage through their lands.

Probably no gringo alive knows Copper Canyon and its inhabitants more intimately than Skip McWilliams, having explored its chasms and crenellations with the Tarahumara at his side for twenty years. Skip did his best to dissuade us, painting a picture of hardship and trails that forever climb 60-degree inclines over precipitous canyon walls. He detailed the pitfalls that awaited us: freezing nights and scorching days, venomous vipers under every rock (never sit without looking under your seat), Indian guides who might desert us on a whim, and the ever-present possibility of serious injury with no hope of emergency care. He also detailed the incredible beauty and immensity of the land, and the pleasure of traversing it in the company of the Tarahumara.

We had day-hiked from Mr. McWilliam’s Sierra Lodge and Batopilas Lodge two years ago and had heard that occasionally he took a notion to strike out across this vast country that he loves and let serendipity have its way with his course and destination. If one were lucky, and happened to be in the right place at the right time, it was possible to be invited to accompany him and his pals as they meandered across the folds of this vast and unexplored country.

It seemed a great lark and wonderful adventure, so Hobbit-like, we determined to attempt a crossing before health and courage failed. It had taken us two years to save the money and request inclusion in the winter’s crossing from near Creel to Divisadero. Keen for the experience, we were surprised that Mr. McWilliams wanted to discourage us. We had read the warnings of dire happenings, difficult trails, and insufferable weather. We had signed the waivers and thought that we had a pretty good idea what to expect. We felt that we were experienced backpackers, having trekked all over the peaks of southwestern Colorado with forty pound packs on our fifty year-old backs, and survived the vicious black flies of New Zealand’s south island.

The admonitions did not work. My husband was determined that we could manage the difficulties and lured by the prospect of adventure and camaraderie, he persevered for the two of us and the dye was cast.

There were seven of us who gathered at Skip’s Sierra Lodge outside of Creel, Mexico and we looked a fit and intrepid lot. Four were associated with Skip’s publishing company in Michigan: Kristen, early 20’s, fit and healthy, had been preparing for the trek by daily running; Brian, 26, prepared for the ordeal by being a strong young male, and playing endurance sports like soccer; Karen, indeterminate early middle age, teaches dance and stays fit and limber; Larry, 50, appeared strong and agile. Linda, 52, retired in Oaxaca, Mexico, devotes a minimum of 18 hours a week to fitness and aerobic activities. Mike and I, dragging along our 57 and 55 years of baggage, rounded out the seven. We hoped that his weight lifting and stair stepping and my daily three-mile jogs were adequate preparation.

We ate our last meal in civilization and Skip gave us a pep talk that included a short list of do’s and don’ts. DO: travel light, drink lots of water, respect the privacy of the Tarahumara Indians, drink lots of water, be prepared for the unexpected, travel light and drink lots of water. DON’T: take pictures of the Indians, their dwellings, or anything that is in the general direction of the Indians or their dwellings; take ANYthing that is not necessary, and don’t forget to drink lots of water. Simple enough.

He further cautioned regarding the Tarahumara’s concept of personal space. Westerners begin to feel crowded when someone stands closer than 18 inches. The Tarahumara inhabit a much larger world in which personal space includes the corrals and lands which encircle his home. Therefore, when we passed within shouting distance of an Indian’s home, we were truly invading his living room.

Last night of comfort for awhile

Skip then began to inspect our packs and set aside what he considered extra baggage, like my third pair of socks and extra pair of shoes. When he got to Mike’s pack, he could only shake his head in wonderment. The wilderness stove, fuel bottles, water pump, and various other gadgets were WAY beyond the allowable foolishness for the trip. But Mike insisted that he could pack his own stuff and would not leave without it. We were all allowed a sleeping bag, pad, and tent, which the burros would carry for us the first two days. Indians who Skip hoped to hire in the field at the beginning of the third day would then shoulder the equipment. At that point the trail became too difficult for the burros and they would be sent home.

We crawled into the Lodge’s down covered beds with Skip’s invitation to “Take a walk in the woods” ringing invitingly in our ears.

Read all six parts of The Last Easy Day
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six