APRIL 12 - 20, 2008

NOVEMBER 2 - 10, 2008

This tour may be chartered for groups of 4 or more any time between Oct - June.
You can also contact us at for scheduled tours - 800-776-3942

The hike from Cerocahui to Batopilas is one of the classic hikes in Mexico. Hikers pass through three different biological life-zones as they descend into both the Urique and the Batopilas Canyons. They hike El Camino Real, visit two historic mining towns, camp with friendly mountain families and spend time in a ghost town. This hike is professionally supported with top quality equipment and the best pack stock and horses in Northern Mexico. A gentle horse or mule accompanies each group to provide support in case of illness, accident, or other problem. An English-speaking guide informs participants of human and natural history of the area. This trip is available only from October 1 to June 1 as summer rains frequently make river crossings impassable.

Day One: The famed Copper Canyon train takes you from your departure point to Bahuichivo station where you will be transferred to Hotel Paraiso del Oso. Hike to Tarahumara Indian Burial Cave, time permitting, or do a historical tour of Cerocahui. Welcome cocktail with Mexican bar-b-cue and fiesta around a roaring campfire in our patio.

Day Two: Hike through the dramatic El Cajon Canyon then past picturesque Tarahumara Indian ranchitos as you climb 400 meters to Pass of the Cross for lunch and a dramatic overview of the canyons below. Continue your hike to the Tarahumara pueblo of Huicorachi. Doña Natividad, our host in Huicorachi is a charming Indian lady and one of the few who talk openly about Tarahumara lifestyle. A short hike leads to a dramatic preview of the tierra we will be hiking the next few days. A special campfire cookout accompanied by dinner wine highlights festivities with our host family as we celebrate our first successful day on the trail (4-5 hours hiking).

Day Three: Filling breakfast accompanied by hand-made tortillas. Morning visit to the primary schoolhouse where hikers can talk about their homeland and share small items they may have brought. We have a special relationship with this school having been Padrinos (honorary sponsors) of graduating classes for many years.  A visit to the humble adobe church ends our stay in Huicorachi. Mid-morning departure descending 1400 meters to Urique, in the very bottom of the canyon. Founded as a gold rush town in 1690, this friendly pueblo is now a county seat and commercial center for surrounding ranchitos. Pack trains of mules or burros and individual pack animals are a common scene on the streets. Arrive in time for a delicious meal while packs are taken to your room at Hotel Estrella Del Rio overlooking the beautiful Rio Urique. Late afternoon free for swimming or relaxing. (5-6 hours hiking)

Day Four: Follow the Rio Urique on a pleasant riverside hike through the pueblos of Guapalaina and La Laja stopping for a last cold refresco (soft drink). Take a swimming break before tackling the 350 meter climb to our exclusive camp at the ghost town of Los Alisos on El Camino Real. During the late 1800s this important trail carried millions of dollars worth of silver from Batopilas. Once a thriving community, Los Alisos was completely abandoned following a wild west shootout that split the community. We have purchased part of the town and established a base camp with running water and full facilities in a grapefruit orchard with mango, orange, chile picin, guayaba and lime trees nearby (4-5 hours hiking).

Day Five: A light continental breakfast facilitates an early-morning start on the 4000-ft climb out of the Urique Canyon. We've planned this hike to be mostly in the shade with a mid-morning snack break along a quiet mountain pool. Lunch at the most beautiful lookout in the region, bar none, then a short hike to a mesa where Tarahumara Indians distill the legendary and powerful lechuguilla. If our timing is right, we may be able to refill some bottles with the drink. Leaving the mesa we continue an hour on a pleasant hike (mostly level) to our camp at Trigo. (6-7 hours hiking).

Day Six:  Leaving the rim views of Trigo, hike past Estación, once an important re-supply stop on The Silver Trail from Batopilas to Creel.  Huge pines signal the start of rare first growth forest where you sink into deep pine needles during a break overlooking San Fernando Canyon. Soon hikers encounter a dramatic narrow trail skirting the canyon drop with majestic cross-canyon views of Cerro Colorado. Pine trees give way to scrub oak, then to towering cactus of the dry tropical thorn forest as hikers descend steeply to Los Terreros. Here they spend the last night on the trail with the Cervantes family. Their charming rancho on the edge of the Munerachi Canyon offers spectacular canyon views at sunset and especially during the full moon. (5-7 hours hiking).

Day Seven: Leaving Los Terreros descend 1000 feet to the rustic mining pueblo of Cerro Colorado for cold soft drinks before continuing the hike along historic aqueducts to the famous silver mining town of Batopilas. Cerro Colorado signals the start of gently descending trails and roads to Batopilas. Who can resist the call of a local cantina as our dusty hikers enter Batopilas. Batopilas may be in a dry county but that's another story. After washing down the dust, we continue to our hotel for a hot shower and well-deserved break before a gala farewell dinner. (3-4 hours hiking).

Day Eight: Morning free for optional activities such as a visit to the famed "Lost Cathedral." Afternoon transfer to Creel. ln the event of a group of less than six we opt for the 5:00 AM public transport to Creel. Or you may opt to stay this night in Batopilas at your own expense and depart for Creel at 5:00 AM the following morning on public transportation.

Cost Includes: All lodging, meals and transportation except as indicated . All camping equipment except for sleeping bag and pad. Any excess luggage will be transported to to Creel, up to 20 pounds of personal equipment per person is transported on our pack-stock (additional items may be carried by the participant in a day pack.) Each group includes an English-speaking guide, a back-up horse or mule in case of illness or injury, water purification essentials, and an extensive first aid kit with medications for most common ailments and injuries.

Not Included:Personal clothing and sleeping bag, alcoholic beverages except as noted. Transportation from departure point to Bahuichivo train station, transportation from Creel after the trip. Tips to staff (we suggest $6.00--10.00 USD per participant per night to be divided amongst all staff). Trail snacks and beverages, personal items and equipment. We suggest participants purchase trip cancellation and/or medical evacuation insurance.  

WARNING! This is a rugged backcountry trip where neither medical care nor rapid evacuation may be available. We are not responsible for acts of God which may interrupt the trip nor are we responsible for the inability of any participant to complete the trip. Elevations range from 1850' to over 7200'  with total elevation changes of over three miles. Conditions beyond our control may cause schedule changes without warning.
 

The following article was written by Cathy Luchetti, who visited Wa/Chahuri in 2005. Cathy is the author of several books including Women of the West.

Copper Canyon, Chihuahua, Mexico.
by Cathy Luchetti

As the moon shone down on the pebbled river bank and the campfire sputtered, a terrible sound rose up from the tangled pine hillside ¬ the squealing of wild pigs as they attacked one of our dogs. The howls and grunts splayed out into the night, then abruptly stopped.
Next morning, we were down to two dogs, five horses, three donkeys, and seven people making our way into the wilderness of an unnamed part of the Copper Canyon, a 25,000 square mile savage landscape in Northern Mexico, in a scene redolent of Klaus Kinski’s Aguierre, the Wrath of God.

We were bound for Wa’chahuri, the ruins of an old Basque settlement deep in the folds of the mysterious Sierra Madre Occidental. A crumbling homestead of limewashed adobes hidden in a grove of fragrant orange trees had sheltered the Ochoa family for nearly 200 years—they were Basque settlers fleeing the Spanish soldiers. They hid amid the caves of the secretive Tarahumaras, behind a deep river, at the end of a narrow canyon, and below impassible cliffs, attempting to escape the incursions of New Spain.

As our horses slipped and clattered down impossibly steep trails, the remaining dogs were tangled underfoot and emerged howling. One, the youngest, was unable to swim the deep pool that lay at the base of the canyon—so deep that the Spanish had given up and left the Basques alone. Assuming he would swim, we traveled on. His lonesome howls echoed down the waterway—when we returned, he was gone.

Once, the Wa’Chahuri rancho housed over 100 families. Today, the crumbling buildings, lit by kerosene lamp, with wood fires for cooking and swept dirt floors, maintain a dusty tribute to the elegant wooden chairs and keepsake bedstands of Old Spain.

This place is remote. Even in the reaches of the Copper Canyon—a series of five plunging barrancas in Northern Chihuahua that are deeper and longer than the Grand Canyon, this is one of the most isolated places imaginable, one of the hundreds of unmapped, unnamed canyons that lie below the rim. A six-hour train ride from Los Mochis on the Chihuahua Al Pacifico second class train landed us at the lonely train station of Temoris, with the village itself an hour away by rickety bus. After that, an hour by cattle truck brings us to Batosegachi, a village so small it has only five houses and one burglar—everyone knows who, but won’t tell. Along the way we meet various trucks coming and going—they all stop and chat, wondering, as did the ancient Basque, where are the soldiers? The soldiers are looking for marijuana and the young men are growing it. The cat-and-mouse game continues daily, with soldiers chopping up the tiny, telltale hoses that snake up into the pine filled canyons. Usually, the terrain is so rugged they can only chop up the hoses and move on—a hose vendor’s bonanza.

At the bottom of the canyon, the temperature rises. Guayabas dangle from trees, succulent and seedy. Plump orange berries glimmer from nettle branches, delicious to snack on but hard to pluck. Limes flash green from the trees, and in the path, a huge boa, its head crushed by a rock, curls up like a lasso. Don’t the Indians want the skin? The meat? But the Indians eat only what they want. Often, they will harvest an entire field of squash and save only the seeds, throwing away pounds of nutritious flesh. Wa’Chahuri lies outside the realm of communication—no phone, no mail. Yet Lico and Mercedes, the caretakers, have known for hours that we are coming, thanks to the Indian runners who have spread the word. By the time we arrive, tortillas are baking and oranges sliced up for juice—the mainstay of our food for three days. Added to this are occasional eggs, continual beans, and tufts of spicy machaca, a pulverized dried meat that looks like tree bark and tastes like fiesta. The water, which we begin by filtering and treating with iodine, runs so clear that we finally drink it straight from the stream, despite the many cattle lurking behind trees. Copper Canyon cattle are used exclusively for rodeos. They are full fleshed bulls, inquisitive, nimble, massively horned, and used in Texas rodeos until exhausted, usually about two years.

The hacienda nestles atop a steep hill, the only access is straight up a thinly running waterfall that cascades over the stone path. Chickens roost in a spreading oak and fall straight to the ground with a “thunk” each morning. Half of the buildings are deserted, and the rest are museum pieces, complete with 19th century carved furniture, ancient Indian metates, and stone tools. Buried in the attic are piles of schoolbooks used by the 30 or so children who once lived here. Printed during Mexico’s Socialist period, they hail “Socialismo” and the rights of the workers. Half turned to dust, tattered and ridden with rat dung, they are abandoned and shoved aside—no schools are here, and only a few children.

Nor are the Tarahumara Indians visible. Secretive and remote, they consider themselves superior to the gringos and mestizos who have invaded their canyons. They rarely socialize, and when they do, it is usually around a tesguinada—a corn liquor ceremony that lasts for several days, in which tesguino—a corn brew thick as oatmeal and fermented with baby feces—is drunk.

“Imagine creamed corn cut with grass clippings,” said our host, Skip McWilliams, owner of the Copper Canyon lodge, who takes private tours down into the canyons.
“The first swig, your teeth are filled with grass. You want to throw up. But this is rude, so you spit out the grass, take a second swig, and realize that maybe you’ll live. By the third gulp, you think you like grass. And after that, it’s all good.”

A full moon floods the canyon as we sit around a roaring fire, shivering in the October chill. The dark nights are filled with flickering recollections. Martin, raised by the Jesuits, with an engaging giggle and so much business savvy he now runs 3 hotels, describes his brushes with the spirit world. Gregorio nods seriously—his world is mules and horses, and he keeps his musings to what he knows. Everyone feels the mysterious presence of the canyon looming overhead, and especially, the vastness of the unexplored.

After three days, it’s time for the 20-mile ascent on horseback. All interest in walking falls away at the upward thrust of the Camino Real, designed for pack trains in the late 1800’s but so steep and rock-ridden it seems impossible to traverse. The horses somehow manage, despite one that wilts like a soufflé on the trail and lies stunned, as if dead, for about half an hour, then with much eye rolling and protest is pulled to its feet and continues. For novice riders, the precipitous 7000-ft upgrade is nightmarish—but not half so bad as was the staggering descent. Horses unused to the trail would simply have keeled over, every knee broken. Ours somehow kept going until our safe arrival at Batosegachi. I had practiced the Tarahumara word for hello, cuira, but never got to use it.

Perhaps next time.