Copper Canyon from El Fuerte to Divisadero, September 4-5-6-7, 2001
Wednesday, September 5, 2001 - Riding el Chepe from El Fuerte to Divisadero
by
C. Juk©; all photos property of Zihrena Systems©
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Through Julian we had arranged, the night before, for a taxi to pick
us up to take us to the station at 8am, since by the our truck was safely
stowed away behind the walls of Julian's house. While waiting, I sipped
my coffee and watched the El 
Fuerte
streets come sleepily to life. Shortly after 8 (the taxi driver thought
8 was too early - even though the train schedule said the train would
be through to pick up passengers at 8:30, no one believed it would really
be on time) a rattle sounded from around the corner and there appeared
our transport to the train station: an old and battered station wagon,
chauffeured by an grey-haired and moustached driver with a big smile on
his face. We stowed our bag in the back after our driver spent a few minutes
with a screwdriver, trying to open up the back hatch, and were rattled
away to the station.
At the station a number of people were already waiting, and several more
showed up after our arrival - a group of elderly travellers out of Phoenix,
a few adventurous couples travelling the rails on their own and several
Japanese tourists, all waiting in the still weak morning sun, sitting
on the edge of the platform or leaning against the green-tiled walls,
drinking bottles of water. And well, the taxi driver and townspeople were
right - the 8:30 train didn't make it into the small, still deserted
station at 9:20 am. 
We boarded the train, which had few passengers out of Los Mochis and everyone was able to capture good seats. We sat about halfway down one of the 3 passenger cars, where we found a reasonably clean window to look out of. The seats were surprisingly comfortable, the train clean and cared for. We were getting to the exciting part now.
Leaving El Fuerte the terrain was still basically flat and uninteresting for the first good while. We took advantage of the lack of scenery by heading down to the dining car, where we had a good breakfast. Almost everything on the breakfast menu cost $45 pesos - we thought it a pretty good deal. Besides, there's something gluttonously glorious about having a satisfying meal when you're moving, whether it be on a train or a boat.
Once
we began moving into the foothills of the Sierra Madres, I moved onto
the between-car platforms, juggling for a spot amongst the other camera-carrying
passengers, from whence to snap a few good photos. The air was getting
cooler and the breeze on the platforms was refreshing, despite the smell
of diesel fumes from the engine. I moved back and forth between one side
of the platform to the other, craning my neck carefully out the side for
fear of being hit in the head by a swiftly passing tree branch. The vegetation
grew in close to the tracks in a lot of areas. After my initial scout,
and once I found my best choice for a niche on the platform, sandwiched
slightly by some young fellow travellers - kids from Germany, it seemed
- with whom I shared my space, I decided I'd better stay there or risk
not having a photo-ready vantage point at all. John moved between sitting
and reading in his seat indoors to coming out onto the platform to snap
a few photos of his own, and to occasionally serve as my placeholder
while I used the bathroom facilities (which were, by the way, in good
repair and clean condition).
We
crawled up through mountains, with railside cliffs getting higher and
higher. Every once in a while we'd pass the remains of railcars that had
gone off the tracks and over into the river waters. The mountainsides
were green, the skies lightly cluttered with the clouds of the last
days of the rainy season. We bridged the small river a couple of
times, then approached a wide curve in the track that swung around in
front of the base of a tall waterfall that dropped towards the small
village station at Temoris. After a stop of only a couple of minutes,
we proceeded forward, moving now away from the waterfall, seeing a cut
in the mountain above us that looked strangely as though the railroad
tracks were winding up the hillside. We entered a long dark curved tunnel,
and the train chugged forward for several minutes before emerging again
into the light of day. During that few minutes of darkness, we had taken
the 180 degree turn inside of the mountain, coming out quite far above
where we had entered its gaping mouth, and were turned back totally, heading
again toward the waterfall, albeit on a path that would take us over its
top, so to speak.
Above Temoris the climate became perceptibly cooler. There was a smell
of pines and we passed small orchards of apple trees. At the San Rafael
and Las Posadas stations we saw our first brightly-clad Tarahumara
women, selling small, neatly
woven baskets and carved wooden figurines. Their dress formed a kaleidoscope
of color, from flowery, multicolored head scarves to bright blouses and
voluminous patterned skirts wound round with aprons and topped with
shawls. The women hovered between the cars sitting on the secondary
rail lines, peering out at the train as it arrived into the station then,
as the breaks squealed the train to a stop, they glided out, looking up
and down the length of the train windows for prospective customers. Some
obligingly posed for photos when asked, others turned away or hid their
faces as best they could.
Shortly
beyond the Posadas station was Divisadero, our stopping point for the
day. It was round 2 p.m. when we arrived and detrained. We looked around
the station, peered over into the tremendous chasm of the Urique Canyon,
and looked over at the Hotel Divisadero Barrancas perched precariously
on the edge of the cliffs. I had understood there was more than one hotel
in Divisadero, but when we inquired, we found that the Divisadero Barrancas was the only one, with the exception of the Hotel Posadas Barrancas a
couple of kilometers away at the Posadas station.
We
lugged our stuff over the that only hotel, then, and found that we could
either get a room at $760 pesos a night without meals, or pay $1,300 pesos
for a night including meals. We decided on the bare-bones night, thinking
that we would be able to catch a bite to eat at the railway stations stands,
if nothing more. The room was cozy, contained the all-important coffee
pot for the chilly morning, and faced out over the spectacular spinelike
ridges of the Urique Canyon. Upon checking in, the hostess informed us
that two walking tours were included in the price of the hotel: one was
leaving shortly, at 3, to view the Tarahumara caves houses nearby, and
the second would leave tomorrow morning, taking in a series of lookout
points along the lip of the canyon.
We
hurriedly left our stuff in the room and went to catch the first tour.
The participants were few: only John and I plus one more woman, a Dutch
lady who currently lived in Mexico City, and the guide, who was not really
the guide but rather a hotel security guard. He said the real guide was
out with another group and hadn't yet returned, so he was delegated by
the hotel to show us the trail.
As we set out it began to drizzle a bit. The sky was lightly overcast but it didn't look like it would rain hard. We crossed a small bridge, went past a few cliff side houses and followed a path that took us below a cliff-face - that's when the guard pointed up to the top, towering above us, and told us that THAT is where we were going to end up before this little trek was over.
It was intimidating. I'm not a person for even short heights at the best of times, but I plunged ahead with John and Ms. Dutch, feeling so overwhelmed by the fabulous views and sense of space that my acrophobia didn't have a chance to set in. We circled the cliff, rising higher and higher, past a cave dwelling that was hung with fresh blankets and wood. The guard told us that in that cave the fellow who was supposed to be guiding us at that moment had been born. But there was no one home.
We
finally made our way around the mountain, past a small Tarahumara school,
and made our way to the flat-topped pinnacle, from which we could
look way down onto the hotel from where we'd started. It made me nervous,
yes, to see John and Ms. Dutch go out near the rim - I stayed a good 2
or 3 meters away, finding myself needing to fight off small waves of dizzying
desire to go straight over. After snapping several photos and doing a
basic exploration of the mountaintop, we make our way down a much easier
track on the other side, passing on the way a couple of women with a child
who were again offering baskets, textiles and wooden carvings. There was
one of a cute little mountain cat that I figured would fit perfectly into
our present collection of crafty odds and ends. It cost 20 pesos.
We approached the Tarahumara houses we'd passed on our way up the
mountain, but on the other side. Here the guard ushered us over to one
of several cave dwellings carved into the cliffs, and called out for one
of the inhabitants. A man appeared out of one 
of
the doors, small and dark-haired and slightly bleary-eyed. The guard told
us he made and played the violin, and asked if we wanted to hear some
of his music. So we sat on a small wooden bench while our maestro pulled out a small, hand-crafted instrument and began to play a lilting
tune that rang out and reverberated well against the rocky walls. He played
two or three songs, and allowed Ms. Dutch and I a peak into the doorway
of his small abode: it was diminutive and dark, a small space with pallets
covered in thick, woolen blankets, pots and pans and clothing and personal
items hanging from pegs and beams, everything permeated by the smell
and grime of wood smoke. Dutch and I were about to slide in a little further
for a better look when we heard a rustle in the corner, and realized the
hut was inhabited by others, as well. We turned back out and left the
residents in peace.
We returned to the hotel, hungry, now, after not having had anything
but breakfast, and exhausted by almost two hours of walking at high
altitudes after our years of living on the beach - it was about 5
pm. John and I went over to the train station to see what we could scrounge
in the way of sustenance, only to find that the savory gorditas and tacos
had disappeared with 
the
passing of the two afternoon trains. There was nothing there to eat. One
small stand was opened still, and we looked around helplessly at the small
selection of packaged cookies, candy and canned chiles, spotting about
the only thing that we'd be able to effectively deal with: instant Oriental
soup! Happily our room did come with a coffee pot, so I told John I'd
whip up a couple of soul-warming soups once we got back "home".
First, though, we took advantage of the dying light and the bar of the
hotel to watch the sky change to pink and golden and see the clouds wafting
between the peaks below us. Humming birds whirred around the lamps outside
the window in the last of the sun, and a small, striped furry animal skittered
back and forth along the path 
outside
as we sat over a couple of pre-dinner drinks. The group the Phoenix who
had accompanied us on the train were sitting down to dinner at the upstairs
restaurant when we finally retired to our room. We just couldn't bear
to watch them eat.
And anyway, our soup was fine. I heated water through the coffee pot,
filled two mugs with 
soup
and we sat on the bed, spooning it into our mouths with a pocket knife
and the handle end of a toothbrush. It was followed by a delightful
dessert of roasted, salted peanuts which I just happened to have stashed
in my bag. Our room was large and cozy with a beautiful wooden-beamed
ceiling and a heater, though we didn't need to use it. Though the night
was turning chilly, we were comfortable cuddled up under the covers with
our books and the silence of the wilderness around us. I was dead asleep
at 8:30.
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