September 20 - 21st  Creel -Copper Canyon
WOW. WOW. WOW! Before I talk about my last two days let me clear up two issues - the pronunciation of the state, its as per the dog - Chee- wow - wa. The people are locally also called Tarahumara and this is also the same as the language they speak.
If I was to say to you that no photos does the Copper Canyon justice and no words can accurately describe the majesty and beauty of the place then it will give you some idea of the awe and wonder it left me with. I cannot believe that the Grand Canyon tops this, this place must be its equal. It is not one canyon, but a number of canyons that converge but also run parallel to the more famous Copper Canyon.
I was told to be at the shop at 7.30 am to get an early start, I suspected that this was Mexican machismo  so turned up at 7.45am after my fitful nights sleep. Upon arrival the gates were locked and nobody was around. At 8.10 Chito (pronounced ch not sh - although at 8.05 am I used the sh form as it seemed more appropriate)! turned up. At 8.30 Enrique arrived and then both Enrique and Chito disappeared for half an horror so. I was entertained by a German teacher who had booked onto another trip, and we discussed Brexit which we both agreed neither of us could believe!! Eventually we were on our way at around 10am. The German guy went with Chito in his smart Nissan 4wd and me with Enrique in a 1997 GM 4WD. Apparently the delay was because they couldn't get the American dream wagon to start.We climbed for about 40 minutes on sealed road with many switchbacks and eventually reached our turn off onto an unsealed track. Seeing this made be wish I'd brought my bike and followed Enrique. The track however got increasing more treacherous with steep rocky ascents and descents, until the track appeared to run out altogether and we were just picking our way across open wilderness - or so it appeared to my eyes. This continued for about 10k when suddenly Enrique said 'There's my sister' and came to a sudden halt outside a hut which was commonly referred to as The Mission. Enrique got out the car and I tried to but the door didn't work, Enrique cam around to open my door. His sister he said was a Doctor and came frequently to look after the health needs of the Tarahumara. Outside was a collection of women who lived some miles from this mission and had travelled on foot from the numerous individual homes that pepper these isolated mountains.

These lovely ladies have had to walk from their primitive homesteads to visit the local health professional.

When i first saw this collection of huts I thought this was their abode but I later discovered that nothing was further from  the truth. The mission is a place where the indigenous population come for their healthcare. 

We eventually finished up at  the end of the line, at least as far as four wheels are concerned. Enrique spoke very little English but we managed to communicate in a rudimentary way. After sometime I realised that he reminded me very much of Colin Richardson. In looks not his ability to speak English I mean (sorry Colin)

From the very off, the walk was stunning and I couldn’t stop myself from taking photographs. But at every turn the views just got better. It had now got hot and the going underfoot was hard. The track was only noticeable once Enrique had started along it. It was not marked or really self evident where one went. For the non walkers the best way I can describe it was like those children’s find the 'hidden objects' picture books, only when you found the object did it become obvious.

Our first stop was when Enrique realised he had no matches for a campfire and had spotted in the distance a very simple hut with a small elderly Tarahumara women attending her bean crop. The hut was delightful, but it must have leaked terribly in the rains and it really was very rudimentary - more of a shelter through European eyes. Enrique managed to gain some matches under the promise that he would return them the next morning. I thought nothing of it and was just grateful for the short rest to admire the views and drink the last of my water.

I asked Enrique later that day if we would be returning the same way as we entered and he informed me no -  I was then saddened because he must have known that, when he promised this lady to return them. He went down in my estimation and I made in my own mind conclusions which would later be challenged. The scenery was magnificent and even with sore feet, dry mouth and damp sticky clothing I was completely in love with the place- it was spectacular. 

After 6 hours of walking and some amazing views of the canyon Enrique said this is where we camp for the night. It was sublime, there was a rocky mossy overhanging canopy which had water dripping of its rim down into a hollowed out log. Never has water tasted so sweet. Places like this are used by the native Tarahumara as they tend to their free roaming cows and goats,. Close by on a very steep scree slope was planted neat rows of what i was informed were beans. This really was subsistence farming. After drinking lots of this water we put up tents and began gathering wood from the nearby slopes - this was really hard work in the muggy heat and difficult terrain. After what seemed an eternity Enrique said we had enough, which surprised me as I would have made that call after the first 1/2 hr. The bonfire was easily and quickly lit and then we heard the distant sound of thunder which with each passing minute seemed to be getting closer.From his bag of tricks Enrique conjured up the most wonderful food which tasted all the better as I hadn’t eaten properly at all that day. We had Tortilla for starter followed by a baked spud with a cheese filling, with a lovely bowl of soup to finish it all off. By this time it was dark and the increasing black clouds made it darker than normal for this time of day. We just finished our meal and the heavens opened, thunder and lightning. A primitive washing up of dishes and we both went to our separate tents.

This was only the third time I had put up my tent so I was unsure if it would keep the water out - it did much to my relief and before long I was woken by Enrique’s alarm going off at 6.30am. Quickly packing up our wet tents and other paraphernalia we off and on our way by 7. I had to be back at the Hotel for 11, so as not to have to incur the cost of another days stay. We climbed very steeply for 45 minutes and the effort reminded me of climbing up was Yew Barrow dale on the Bob Graham Round- hard work. But  having seen such amazing landscape I was reminded of Nick Buxton’s famed mantra from our trips on the Polaris - We had to graft for it!

The walk out took us just under 3 hours and would have taken less for after about 1hr we stopped and Enrique told me to wait there while he ran back to the old lady to return the matches. I felt pleased and embarrassed all in a split second. My horrible thoughts I’d had the previous day felt mean and hasty when I saw this 37 year old mountain goat head in the direction of where we’d been the day before. He told me he’d be 10 minutes, he was near 40 mins, but it didn’t matter as the view was better than any tv screen or painting for that matter and his sincerity was re assured in my mind. Eventually arriving back at the car was such a relief, my motorcclye boots were beginning to blister the soles of my feet and again I was a little dehydrated, just to sit in that car seat was a joy. it was a joy that was extended  well beyond  what was reasonable. THE BLOODY CAR would not start. Enrique proceeded to clean and disconnect the battery terminal. Still it wouldn’t start, I thought this was strange as the lights on the dashboard were still on and I told him this, intimating that I thought it might be the starter motor. Enrique went back to his diagnosis and cleaned and rubbed the terminal numerous times with no success. He even resorted to the last chance saloon - he started bashing it with a stick. I found this hilarious and half expected him Manuel style to say 'Que'. He eventually put the car into gear and let it roll down the slope and instantly the car started - as  i expected the starter motor had been freed and operated properly. By this time we had wasted a further hour.

The drive out was as scary as it was coming in, though it was made more pleasant by the addition of a Tarahumara family who we picked up as they walking the 10 miles to the nearest village to sell their beans. Mother had a small child of a few months wrapped in a cloth and stung around her shoulder and neck.They would have already walked miles from some tiny outpost somewhere in these remote hills. Typically these huts have no running water, electricity or the luxuries we associate with the 21 century. But they looked cared for and well tended which is more than one can say for their urban neighbours. Theirs is a primitive lifestyle but they looked happy and at peace with the world.

Arriving back at the hotel late was no problem, but I quickly packed up and headed out of town. My previous plan to drive to Guachochi settlement went out of the window for two reasons, firstly I didn’t want to see the abject poverty of native peoples in a village environment where alcohol and hopelessness ruled, when I'd just experienced a more positive image. and secondly it was 1pm and I had 256 mile to get back to PARRAL.

The journey back was uneventful but turning into the hotel was like entering a bikers rally there were 17 BMWs and Ducatis with Mexican riders. They embraced me wholeheartedly and I joined them for a hard earned beer (happy hour here meant 2 hrs and free drinks). I just had the one, because I hadn’t showered or changed my clothes since the 2 day hike. I went back to the room, showered, changed my clothes and washed all my dirty clothes before going to meet my new best friends for dinner and of course another drink.

A MOST ENJOYABLE 2 DAYS THAT WILL STICK IN MY MEMORY FOR EVER.