Canyon Country

We finished our margaritas and crossed under the stone archway to the dining room.

Cristina, clad in a flowery dress, soon appeared with trays of sliced mango and pineapple. Then came stacks of steaming tortillas, which had left the griddle only moments before. Salad and steaks followed.

Our small group of guests shared a wooden table decorated with embroidered place mats and dined from hand-painted stoneware. Kerosene table lamps provided the room’s only illumination. Their flickering light bestowed a feeling of warm intimacy, but that’s not why Copper Canyon Sierra Lodge uses kerosene. They light with lamp oil because out here, there’s no electricity.

Flanked by pines and built of logs, the lodge looks as though it belongs in the Colorado Rockies. Instead, it sits in the mountains of Mexico’s Sierra Madre Occidental, 400 miles southwest of El Paso, Texas. Nearby flows the Cusarare River, a tributary of the Urique in Mexico’s Copper Canyon, where several gorges combine to form an abyss larger and deeper than the Grand Canyon of Arizona. Power lines don’t mar the view.

Home to the Tarahumara Indians, the area seems little changed from the turn of the century when Pancho Villa rode nearby. The natives live in simple dwellings, work small patches of land and take crops to market on the backs of burros. In this time-forgotten wilderness, a pair of comfortable lodges--one above the canyon about half an hour from the rim, the other on the canyon bottom below--provide havens of rustic elegance. “Perfect for a weeklong escape,” suggests Dianne, my wife.

We check into our Sierra Lodge room. Dark varnished logs form walls and ceiling, and earth-red tiles cover the floor. The bathroom boasts modern plumbing and a tiled shower. Propane heats bathing water, fires the chef’s stove and operates a central refrigerator for chilling soda and cerveza. We share a few cold ones with staff guides Al and Joan Weiss.

“This is what ‘Future Shock’ author Alvin Toffler calls ‘an enclave of the past,’ ” Joan says. “It’s a place where people can temporarily escape the pressures of a fast-paced, technological world.”

We have no choice. There’s neither television nor telephone out here. The nearest town, the railroad stop of Creel, lies 13 miles away. In this land of forested hills, life plods by at the gait of a walk.

“This obviously isn’t for everyone,” Al says. “For example, those who don’t hike may not find much to do.”

Al suggests a jaunt to a cave adorned with painted animal figures. Our path leads down a Tarahumara trail past native ranchitos, each adjacent to a corn patch. Dogs wander the yards. Children play. Women perform chores. Men are unseen.

Perhaps best known for their ability to run for long distances, the 50,000 Tarahumara form one of the larger tribes in North America. They reside not on a reservation but in a network of independent ejidos, tracts of rural lands held in common ownership. The Tarahumara combine native ways with touches of modern civilization. We head toward a shallow alcove in a nearby cliff. Women and children scurry ahead of us, converging from three directions. By the time we arrive, they already have their wares on display.

Although the adults sit quietly, a young girl drapes several sashes over her arm and timidly walks toward Dianne. Quietly, the youngster looks up. She says nothing, but her haunting brown eyes plead.

A few pesos later, my wife places her purchases in the pack and we continue onward.

After lunch, a 45-minute stroll takes us to Cusarare Falls, where the lodge-side stream tumbles down in a 100-foot-high cataract. Here, the river has cut a gorge perhaps 300 feet deep. Twenty-five miles downstream, where the river merges into the main canyon, the chasm exceeds 4,000 feet deep. We want to see it.

Al arranges for one of the lodge’s Chevy Suburbans to drive us to the rim. After several hours bouncing over rutted logging roads, we finally stand at the edge. The majesty of Copper Canyon spreads below.

*

Although it invites comparison, the landscape bears little resemblance to our Grand Canyon. The Mexican chasm lies in a mountainous environment, not barren desert like its Arizona rival. Vegetation covers all but the sheerest rock, giving the terrain an overall greenish hue. Ridges are angular, cliffs irregular and fluted. Walls plummet in a cascade of terrace and talus. Side canyons enter from all angles. Far below, the Urique River rushes through, forming small white-capped rapids and emerald swimming holes.

We cross the Urique the next day when we motor into the depths of the abyss for a three-night stay. The lodge’s Rene drives. A lad in his 20s, he treats us to an endless tape of seemingly identical mariachi songs. The repetition eventually becomes tiresome, so Dianne and I gleefully seize the first opportunity to transfer to the top-mounted “suicide seats.”

Skip McWilliams, who owns both the Sierra Lodge and the canyon-bottom Riverside Lodge, once traveled around Mexico on cheap buses. “Often as not,” he says, “the only place to sit was on the roof, and I really got to like it.” Wanting to give his guests the opportunity for a similar experience in comfort, he mounted pairs of bucket seats atop his Suburbans, which usually make a run between lodges every two or three days. Typically, guests try to spend a little time at each lodge, although it’s certainly not a requirement.

Atop the van, we enjoy the wind-in-your-face, roller-coaster ride until the next stop, when we reluctantly yield the seats to fellow passengers. Returning to the car’s interior, I sit up front with Rene, where I discover his stash of cassette tapes. Most are Mexican, but one features American pop music.

“You like Michael Bolton?” he asks in Spanish.

“Si!’ I quickly lie.

Rene inserts the tape, and we drive off.

Our 71-mile route follows gravel roads into Barranca del Cobre--literally, Canyon of Copper--crosses the Urique, then ascends, reentering the mountains. We finally emerge from forest to drop 6,100 feet into Barranca de Batopilas, descending in a continuous zigzag of saw-blade switchbacks. The road crosses a canyon-bottom river on a squeaky bridge, then hugs plunging hillsides as it follows the stream to the bygone mining center of Batopilas, once one of the wealthiest spots in Mexico.

*

The town stretches along a narrow strip between mountain and river. Its cobblestone streets, narrow sidewalks and 1890-vintage buildings make it look like a dusty Mexican village from a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western. When we reach Riverside Lodge, however, we enter another world.

Completely rebuilt, the lodge covers a square block. White-painted stucco, trimmed in blue and green, covers cool adobe walls, and hand-hewn beams support wooden ceilings and tiled roofs. Resident guide Aine Roberts offers lemonade in the salon, a room that features a plush collection of antiques, paintings, crystal chandeliers and a ceiling mural depicting the area history.

Each guest room has its own unique design, decor and appellation. “Skip named most for old girlfriends,” Aine says.

Ours, Lupe, contains an iron-framed bed with feather comforter. Its claw-foot bathtub and pedestal sink have antique brass fixtures. Lace curtains cover street-side windows, and French doors lead to a sunken, lime-tree-shaded courtyard.

I find the retreat so inviting, I read there all morning. Dianne prefers to hike, so she and Aine walk to a mine above town.

Although the Spanish found pure silver here in the 1600s, the area didn’t peak until the 1880s when an American, Alexander Shepherd, bought a mine. His Batopilas Mining Co. ultimately owned hundreds of claims that produced 20 million ounces. The silver magnate managed his empire from the rambling Hacienda San Miguel, which now lies in ruins across the river. In the afternoon, we tour the site.

That evening, we pour wine and climb to the lodge’s rooftop terrace and gaze into an unpolluted sky burning with stars. Others join us, and we exchange accounts of local hospitality while trying to identify heavenly constellations.

*

On our final day, Dianne and I hike to the village of Satevo to see the Lost Cathedral. We walk through town as residents sweep sidewalks and spray water onto the dusty street. They invariably smile and say, “Buenos dias.”

Clearing Batopilas, we stroll by a few farms. A man, his face as wrinkled as the canyon, leads a goat down the road. He flashes a toothless grin, and we exchange pleasantries.

The road parallels the stream, which gently flows through the canyon. Walls peak a mile and a half above. After four easy miles, we round a turn and catch our first glimpse of the cathedral rising like an apparition from the pastel desert floor.

Manuelito meets us at the church in his well-seasoned pickup. He attempts to secure keys to the cathedral’s locked doors but is unsuccessful. We peer inside by peeking through a breach in the ancient portal. Not in a hurry to leave, Dianne and Manuelito share a translating dictionary and sit on the steps, learning words from each other’s language. Whatever she says, it gets us a ride back to town.

The following morning, we leave in the Suburban for the return to Sierra Lodge and ultimately our trip home. As we drive out, the early morning light grazes the slopes, making the chasm look even deeper and more mysterious. The others ride inside, leaving us uncontested possession of the seats on top.

And the next morning, we pack our own car for the drive back home. As we start down the road, the radio pops on, somehow finding a mariachi station. I turn it off and put in a cassette. It isn’t Michael Bolton.

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GUIDEBOOK

Copper Canyon Gleam

Getting there: By train: Copper Canyon Sierra Lodge is 14 miles from Creel, a popular stop on the Ferrocarril de Chihuahua al Pacifico, the famous Copper Canyon Train route from Chihuahua to Los Mochis. Passengers board early in the morning and reach Creel about noon. Call Mexico by Train, (800) 321-1699, for more information.

By air: Chihuahua has a major commercial airport. From Los Angeles to Chihuahua, there’s connecting service only on Aeromexico (change planes in Hermosillo). Round-trip fares begin at about $350 including tax. Connecting flights are available from other U.S. and Mexican cities.

By car: Sierra Lodge is a day’s drive southwest of El Paso, Texas. Excellent divided toll roads connect the border town of Ciudad Juarez with Chihuahua, and well-paved, two-lane highways continue through Creel to the Copper Canyon Sierra Lodge. Mexican automobile insurance is necessary. Sanborn’s Mexican Insurance Service, telephone (800) 638-9423, can arrange coverage and provides a highly detailed “Mexico Travelog” with mile-by-mile route information. Or check with the Automobile Club of Southern California.

When to go: Winter brings prime hiking conditions to Batopilas, which at an altitude of 1,650 feet, features temperatures reaching into the 70s. At 7,600 feet, light snow occasionally falls at Sierra Lodge, but melts quickly. Spring offers wildflowers and moderate temperatures, with April and May being the driest months. Summer reverses winter hiking conditions, with pleasant temperatures at higher elevations, but occasionally reaching above 100 below. Autumn temperatures are dry and pleasant.

Rates and reservations: Copper Canyon Lodges, 2741 Paldan Drive, Auburn Hills, MI 48326, tel. (800) 776-3942, fax (810) 340-7212. Daily rates at either Copper Canyon Sierra or Riverside lodges run $250 per couple, $175 single, with discounts after six days. Price includes meals, guides, vehicle excursions and round-trip transfer from the train station in Creel or from the Chihuahua Airport. Transportation between the lodges costs $130 per person, round trip.

Packages offer special pricing, including hotel accommodations in Chihuahua, transportation to Creel on the Copper Canyon Train, rooms, meals at the lodges and round-trip inner-canyon transportation. Eight-day trips start at about $1,000, double occupancy, depending on departure day and whether by train or air.

Other places to stay: Creel features hotels ranging from backpackers’ establishments to reasonably comfortable accommodations. Rates and facilities vary, so it’s best to contact a knowledgeable travel agent. Batopilas offers several primitive hotels, most with shared, cold-water baths.

For more information: Mexican Government Tourism Office, 1801 Century Park East, Suite 1080, Century City, CA 90067; tel. (310) 203-8191, fax (310) 203-8316.