The Last Easy Day (5 of 6) – Copper Canyon, Mexico

The Last Easy Day
Copper Canyon, Mexico

Day Four

Early start

We were a subdued bunch who ate our breakfast in the dark, huddled around the fire. All of the days to follow would be increasingly warmer as we descended into the deeper canyons and we were to be on the trail at dawn. The first ascent from our riverside camp was a quad-straining and lung-bursting ordeal that had us soaked with sweat and gasping for air long before the sun was above the canyon rim. Calistro had cut a bamboo walking stick for me the night before, and I leaned heavily on it with every labored step. My tingling fingers told me that I lacked oxygen, and I was forced to stop to pant every few yards. Finally topping out, I looked back into the canyon and could not discern any way out of it. It appeared to be entirely of sheer rock walls, yet our guides had magically picked our way along its face.

Even in these vertigo-inducing spaces, there is ample evidence of Indian habitation. Here they live in caves and overhangs which they secure by walling the entrances with piles of strategically placed rocks. The number of goats that they own measures their wealth. The goats do not provide a food source, but rather are valuable in this rocky place as a source of fertilizer for bean fields. The fields are generally without soil, comprised of small rocks on a 30-degree slope. An extended drought has forced many of the Indians to abandon their aeries and we encountered many abandoned dwellings along the trail. The occasional bark of a dog and bleat of a goat testified to the continued presence of Indians, but true to their reclusive nature, we rarely glimpsed them.

Below one abandoned dwelling Paula stopped to gather castor beans, used for ornaments and jewelry and sold to the tourists at train stops. Calistro observed me stop to assist her and warned me sternly (translated by Skip) not to eat the beans, because they “will swell up your gut very ugly!” No kidding!

We stopped for lunch on a windswept ridge that provided an unparalleled view to the horizon in all directions. As far as I could see, the saw-toothed ridges marched in row upon jagged row, reaching so high that I thought they might tear a great rent in the heavens. Equally striking was the immense silence of the place, a natural cathedral lacking even the cry of a bird. I was so awestruck that I forgot my burning quads, aching feet, and screaming lungs. I even forgot that I was hungry. I spread my arms wide and slowly paid homage to all compass points. I anticipated Skip’s response to my amazement with “It gets better!” Unexpectedly he quietly answered, “Yes, this is as good as it gets”. This was the place that I had come to see, and it did not disappoint.

The afternoon was filled with heat and sweat. The mountains had become too sheer to zigzag our way up their faces, and we were forced to follow narrow, natural breaks in the wall. Above us the wall continued to rise out of sight and inches from our feet the precipice dropped 1500 or more feet in a dizzying fall to a rocky bottom. Dislodged rocks free fell for interminable, silent minutes and often landed as noiselessly as they had fallen. We inched down narrow keyholes, holding fast to tree roots and rocks, with only open space yawning below us. Sahuarepa kept silent watch over our progress and Skip encouraged and cajoled us along tracks we would never have tried under any ordinary circumstance. Knowing that we were well past the point-of-no-return forced us to continue. And still we saw Indian dwellings high in the cliffs, their owners mute and invisible.

I finally glimpsed a bit of blue deep in a canyon before us, and was assured that our camp was in sight. Eight hours after embarking on this day’s “walk in the woods”, we stumbled down a series of steep, long, treacherous switchbacks into an unexpected garden in the desert.

Garden in the desert

This unnamed box canyon is the source of a nameless river that issues from its base and provides sustenance to Indian families who inhabit the area. Benjamin, who claims this land, had agreed to allow us to camp and sell us all the fresh oranges we could eat and carry out in our packs. He cleverly diverted the river to sustain a small fruit orchard, the crowning glory of which is its orange grove. And what oranges they were! Cold and juicy, they gave my spirit a much-needed lift. We spent two nights here, using the time to rest from the effort expended getting here. We slept and ate kapok seeds and Paula’s tortillas. We nursed our bruised bodies and blistered feet. And we laughed heartily at each other and ourselves. And remarkably, Skip did NOT tell us that yesterday had been the “last easy day”. We seemed to have passed a milestone, run the gamut and emerged bloodied but not broken. And we were happy.

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

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