1 Comment »

As another season of epic annual monarch butterfly migration comes to an end here in Mexico, we started thinking about our accidental encounters with the fluttery masses last year.

And we do mean accidental.

One of the more exciting road signs in Mexico.

We were driving along  hwy 134 from Mexico City toward Valle de Bravo just minding our own damn business. Our first hint that something was in the air came when Mexican police cars suddenly veered into traffic and slowed all cars to a crawl. As a growing convoy of frustrated drivers crept around a corner the reason for the hold-up came into view: swarms of monarchs flying down the road in a slow-mo river of gold and black. These “butterfly cops” (as we dubbed them) were there to ensure that moving vehicles didn’t hit too many butterflies—or each other—in the winged confusion.

This monarch, and millions of others just like it, fly thousands of miles from the US and Canada to Mexico every year.

Most drivers kept going but we pulled over into the first turnout we saw along the highway. Soon we were hiking up a steep, dusty trail into the forest behind a handful of Mexican visitors in pursuit of what we could only hope was the home roost of the monarchs we’d just seen along the road.

Something in the air in Mexico.What looks like gently falling confetti is actually swarms of flitting butterflies.

Every year, between November and March, hundreds of millions of monarchs somehow navigate their way to the exact same areas of Central Mexico —some flying 5,000 miles or more from where they were born in Canada and the northern US. Scientists say they’re drawn to Mexico’s fir trees, but can’t provide a more complete explanation than that. Once the butterflies arrive, they rest and eat then mate like crazy before attempting the return flight home. Most never make it.

It’s one of the most puzzling, fragile and mind-boggling migrations on the planet and it gives those lucky enough to visit Mexico’s dozen or so protected monarch migration grounds the unique opportunity to see millions of butterflies in one place. There are so many of the orange and black beauties that the air is alive with the sound of their wings. Tree branches bend to the ground under their collective weight. They even begin to give off a not-so-beautiful smell, not to mention their aforementioned ability to stop traffic.

Thousands of butterflies rest in their beloved fir trees, cumulatively weighing enough to bend the branches down as if they were covered in snow.

Some of Mexico’s better known butterfly havens, like El Rosario, are becoming less of a haven as the hiking boots (and the horse hooves of those who take for the “easy” way up) of thousands of visitors churn up the hiking trails into dust bowls and encourage hillside erosion and fir tree loss.  That many humans also create noise and movement that stresses the colony.

But thanks to the Mexican police force we’d stumbled upon the Piedra Herrada site roughly 15 miles outside Valle de Bravo. This newly opened viewing area is one of a handful of migration locations in Central Mexico which attract one third of the world’s monarch population every year.

The hike was steep (prompting some potty-mouthed grumbling from a woman dressed for brunch, not for hiking) and the weather was hot. Some visitors opted to ride up on one of the handful of petite horses-for-hire, a proposition that looked even more uncomfortable than walking.

At the end of a 1,100 foot climb into the mountains there were still no butterflies in sight but we plodded on winding our way up through the thick forest and the thin air above 7,000 feet.

An hour later we were met by two uniformed local men, trained as official monarch monitors. They collected 23 pesos per person and admitted only a dozen or so people at a time into a roped off hillside viewing area roughly 50 feet from the pulsating colony. We were all under strict orders to move slowly and talk quietly and we remained under the watchful eye of these monitors for as long as we remained within the roped off area. It’s one of the few times we’ve felt grateful for being supervised as the monitors shhh’d and admonished with responsibility, care and obvious respect for the butterflies.

At the Piedra Herrada site, thousands of butterflies rest on the fir trees that they love, weighing down the branches like snow. Those dark clumps are all butterflies.

Yep, all those dark patches are monarch butterflies.

Encouraged by the good conditions and manageable crowd size at Piedra Herrada we committed to finding an area even more pristine and private. And we succeeded.

The next monarch meeting place we visited was an area called Cerro Pellon outside a town called El Capulin which is about 25 miles from Valle de Bravo. The trail here was less steep and a bit shorter than the route up to the first sanctuary and our obligatory local guide allowed us to stand within 20 feet of the butterflies.

Karen on the trail to see the monarchs at Cerro Pellon.

The best part, however, was that we were there along with just five other people (three of which were guides). Plus, the trail was less steep.

Monarchs warming up in the sun at Cerro Pellon.

Thousands of monarchs but only five humans at Cerro Pellon in Mexico.

Thousands of monarchs but only five humans at Cerro Pellon in Mexico.

You'd never know that thousands of monarchs were camped out less than half a mile up this hillside at Cerro Pellon in Mexico.

Thousands of monarchs but only five humans at Cerro Pellon in Mexico.

\

It’s true that the future of Mexico’s monarchs is far from certain. Loss of habitat through persistent illegal logging, insufficient funding for the 124,000 acre Monarca Biosphere Reserve which straddles two states and encompasses most of the migration points and over-visitation threatens the butterflies.

To address some of those issues Mexican President Felipe Calderon pledged to add $4.6 million to the $36.4 million annual budget for the Biosphere Reserve (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) back in 2007. However, illegal logging (it’s a felony) and even clear cutting within protected monarch habitat is an ongoing problem as a quick Google Maps overview of some areas brings into stark relief.

Monarchs enjoying Mexico's sunshine

Our advice? Get yourself to Valle de Bravo, a charming Pueblo Magico (they don’t call it the Switzerland of Mexico for nothing) in time for next year’s migration. And note that later in the monarch season (late February and early March) warmer temperatures lure the butterflies lower down the hillsides shaving distance off your hike up to reach them.

6 Comments »

Ajijic–on Lake Chapala, the largest lake in Mexico–is a typical mid-sized Mexican town in many ways. Every Wednesday a tianguis (farmers’ market) takes over one huge street and everyone comes out to buy avacados and fresh-squeezed orange juice and any of the hundreds of other wonderful and affordable goods for sale. The streets are cobbled. The town square is peaceful. The pace is languid. The sun is out pretty much every day of the year. Nobody obeys the traffic signs.

Despite a sizeable (and growing) population of gringos, Ajijic retains a healthy Mexican population and they retain a healthy regard for the Virgin of Guadalupe, especially during the festival held in her name every December 1-12 throughout Mexico. It’s a time for Mexicans to honor their own unique religious icon, also known as Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, which was tolerated by the Spanish conquistadors who figured turning a blind eye to a miracle-working Mexican version of the Virgin Mary was a small price to pay for converting an entire country to Catholicism.

It all began on December 12, 1531 when the image of what has come to be accepted as the Virgin of Guadalupe appeared on the cloak of Juan Diego, a peasant who, earlier in the day, had encountered an odd teenage girl who had requested that a church be built in her honor on the hill of  Tepeyac. Mexico’s virgin was eventually invoked by revolutionaries and honored by Popes (there’s a shrine to her in  St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome) and today she is perhaps the most ubiquitous symbol in all of Mexico (left).

December 12 was decreed a feast day for the Virgin of Guadalupe in the early 1800s by Jose Maria Morelos, a priest and rabble-rousing leader of Mexico’s War of Independence against the Spanish. Today, in typical Mexican fashion, the Virgin of Guadalupe celebration has been expanded to encompass the first 12 days of December and her festival is marked with  both the profound and the not so profound.

On the one hand you can buy a car freshener with the Virgin’s image on it and hang it from your rear view mirror (we did). On the other hand, millions of devoted pilgrims and followers swarm Mexican shrines and temples devoted to the Virgin every year during the annual festival commemorating her miraculous encounter with Juan Diego. Mexico’s Basilica of Guadalupe,  Tepeyac hill near Mexico City, is the most visited Catholic pilgrimage destination in the world. In 2009 more than 6 million pilgrims traveled there over December 11 and 12–many of them walking for biking long distances.

Ajijic’s festivities don’t include millions of people, however, those who do take part make sure they have a good time.

The faithful pitched tents for the 24 hour mountain-top Virgin of Guadalupe fiesta above Ajijic. That's our orange Coleman tent in the lower left hand corner.

We were lucky enough to get invited to one of Ajijic’s celebrations of the Virgin which combined some of our favorite things: a good stiff hike, good friends (new and old) and the chance to take part in Mexican hospitality and ritual. But first we had to get there.

On December 6 At 6:00am we (along with our great friend Tom from Ajijic) met up with Renee at the local Oxo (think 7-11 but without the creepy parking lot lurkers). Renee is a Mexican resident of Ajijic, an avid hiker, a big-hearted guy and an artist and it was thanks to him that we were headed to the top of Mount Chupanya, 6.5 miles and 3,000 feet above us.

We began the steep steady climb in the dark and slowly wound our way up the desert scrub hillsides of the Sierra Madre for about three hours before we reached our destination, a saddle in the mountain with a small shrine to the Virgin that’s been hand-chipped out of a huge boulder.

This small Virgin of Guadalupe shrine has been carved out of a huge boulder on Mount Chupinaya above Ajijic.

The trail takes us past a few stations-of-the-cross markers, through someone’s small hand-worked corn field and in and out of many different types of vegetation ultimately passing a cluster of crosses, then the summit shortly thereafter. When we got there around 9:30 we were shocked to discover that we weren’t the first arrivals. Already hard at work was a group of Mexican men and it was a pleasure to watch (and try to help) as these guys, not necessarily even friends on any other day, worked seamlessly and resourcefully together to turn a narrow, lumpy bit of hill into a party pad.

It was amazing what they accomplished with a few tarps, a knife and some fallen logs. And as we watched them build a campfire, create makeshift benches, string up tarps, collect firewood and literally unearthing buried treasure, we thought MacGyver’s got nothing on these guys.

For month these men and others had been hiking up the mountain from Ajijic and neighboring communities with enormous bottles of purified water, huge soup pots and other cooking utensils,  bottles of tequila and many other necessities that were the makings of a party which was expected to attract 200 people–not to mention an entire banda band (typically at least eight musicians) which would hike up with their instruments some time in the wee hours when they were done playing at parties down in town.

The early arrivals (including us) warmed up by a never-ending campfire between trips into the woods to dig up party necessities that had been cached in the ground over the previous months.

Two vital ingredients that couldn’t be cached in the ground ahead of time were fireworks and noise makers. Virtually no celebration in Mexico is complete without setting off copious quantities of bombas (extremely loud creations that look like giant bottle rockets) and fireworks or cuteras that come with names like vampiros. During the 12 day Guadalupe Festival even priests set the things off at their churches.

It wasn’t long before other men began arriving up on Chupinaya, huffing up the hill carrying huge baskets full of bombas and cuteras on their backs. All told, about 300 of the things were ultimately amassed at the top. Almost immediately one guy began lovingly sorting, piling and covering them. Then he began lighting them–usually four or five in a row from extremely close range.

By noon it was drizzling and Tom was sorry he hadn’t bothered schlepping his tent up the hill. All said, however, he kept miraculously dry under a crudely strung up bit of plastic even after the drizzle turned to a true rain. We’re just saying.In large part due to the rain, this year’s Chupinaya Virgin fiesta attracted far fewer than 200 people and the banda band arrived late and in reduced numbers. But by dawn they were set up gamely in front of the shrine where they belted out loud, rollicking, slightly-circus-like banda tunes on their drums and cymbals and tubas.

OK, the weather kept the Tuba-man at home, but someone walked up to the top of the mountain carrying a bass drum.

At some point in the soggy night the party crew had begun simmering an enormous pot of menudo (a slow-cooked soup made with tripe) and a equally impressive pot full of cafe olla (a Mexican spiced and simmered cowboy coffee). We’ve had menudo before and have we’ve made peace with the fact that we just don’t care for tripe (cow stomach) but we do like the broth so we breakfasted on a couple of bowls of rich broth (puzzling our fellow revelers by politely refusing the tripe), then we packed up our wet gear for the hike back down.

In the morning the rain stopped long enough to allow Karen to go on a successful orchid hunt.

As we began our descent the weather cleared and we were treated to this view of Lake Chapala and the village of Ajijic 3,000 feet below.

The sun finally came out when we were about half way down the mountain. Here Karen and Tom push on.

 A few days later we found ourselves at another Virgin celebration, this one slightly more urban, in the viollage of San Antonio next to Ajijic. It was December 12, the culmination of the 12 day festival, and San Antonio–like virtually every other city, town and hamlet in the country–was marking the day with a big fireworks display at the entrance to the church. As if to enhance the experience, the power miraculously went out in San Antonio, plunging everything into darkness–the perfect backdrop for the huge castillo or intricately built tower of spinning wheels and fancy shapes which would be brought to life with one flick of a match.

The Virgin of Guadalupe Festival in San Antonio on Lake Chapala culminated, as so many Mexican festivals do, with a castillo (fireworks tower).

The fireworks finale of the Virgin of Guadalupe Festival in San Antonio on Lake Chapala included this castillo (fireworks tower) and a larger-than-life fireworks Virgin.

Leave a comment »

We’d taken the el CHEPE Copper Canyon train. We’d used our feet. We’d even conquered two of the most dramatic driving roads into and out of individual canyons in order to visit the towns of  Batopilas and Urique. All that was left was to drive from one end of the Copper Canyon region to the other.

Many locals had assured us that it was possible to drive across the Copper Canyon region from Creel to El Fuerte (even though the region looked completely roadless on every map we looked at) and that the previous rainy season hadn’t done too much damage to the area’s network of dirt roads. Feeling encouraged, we left Creel bound for Cerocahui and the first leg of our intra-canyon road trip.

The "roads" that traverse the Copper Canyon region of the Sierra Madre mountains are simple dirt tracks. You can see one switch-backing up, down, over and around the mountains in the background.

We left the pavement behind in San Rafael, not long after leaving Creel. Many of the simple dirt roads that eventually took us all the way to El Fuerte were built to give access to the mines in the region and most were not on the detailed maps in our Gia Roji road atlas. The locals and the mine employees all know exactly where they’re going so no one ever bothered putting up any signs either.

The ever-present Virgin of Guadalupe watches over the roads--and the drivers--throughout the mountains.

The route that first day was pretty straight forward, however, and we found our way to Cerocahui via surprisingly smooth dirt roads that followed lazy streams and passed small fields of corn and beans.

After passing Cuiteco the scenery got particularly gorgeous as we drove through pine and oak forests. We were almost sorry when we reached our final destination but we cheered up knowing that we would have the chance to see Alberto and Francia at Hotel Centro Jade in Cerocahui for the night.

Unlike this doomed truck we were heading out of the Sierra Madre mountains down to the Rio Fuerte.

The second day of our intra-canyon road trip got a bit more challenging. The road itself remained in remarkably good shape (though there was still no sign of signs). However, they roads became so narrow in places and the mines create so much big truck traffic that it was slow going. It doesn’t help that the Copper Canyon is a network of different canyons, not just one big canyon, which makes it necessary to drive way up to peaks and passes, then way back down to riverbeds over and over again to get across different canyons. We averaged less than 15mph.

As we crossed over the Rio Fuerte we thought we were done with the mountains but there were still more ups and downs ahead of us before we reached El Fuerte. (Click image for full size panorama)

That faint ribbon of road visible to the right o the bank above the Rio Fuerte is what took us out of the Copper Canyon region toward El Fuerte.

The road followed the Rio Fuerte for quite a while but we passed very few villages. This one was dominated by the picturesque ruins of an old church.

All told it took almost 12 hours over two days to drive less than 135 miles (more than 100 of them unpaved) from Creel to El Fuerte through mountains, valleys and many different environments and climates–when we left Cerocahui it was 60 degrees and forested and when we arrived in El Fuerte it was nearing 90 and desert-like.

Despite the heat shock, El Fuerte charmed us. It’s the most recently anointed of Mexico’s 35 Pueblos Magicos, honored as havens of traditional architecture and religious signifigance.

The colonial town of El Fuerte was recently designated one of Mexico's Pueblos Magicos.

The church on the plaza in El Fuerte.

All of El Fuerte’s central buildings are freshly painted, very well kept and traditional and food stalls in the market serve a mean birria and delicious tacos. When we were in El Fuerte it seemed like half the town was out scraping old paint off the iron benches and metal work in the town plaza as part of one big proud community beautification project as well.

For reasons we're still puzzling over almost all of the lamp fixtures on the outside of buildings in El Fuerte had this same gargoyle design.

El Fuerte also has a fancy Balderama Hotel which has a huge statue of Zoro who, according to a half-hearted local legend, came from El Fuerte. However, we agree with Lonely Planet on this one: a better bet is to check into the Torres Del Fuerte Hotel.

You’ll be greeted by Jesus, who was actually born in what is now room #2 in this eclectically-restored hacienda just a couple of blocks off the plaza. Jesus is dapper and charming and, along with his wife and son, has brought his family’s former home back from the brink of ruin and opened the hotel.

Parts of the property are 350 years old and by the time Jesus started the hotel project it was in pretty bad shape and most of the original furniture and fixtures were beyond help. Out of necessity, Jesus has amassed a collection of period replacements–from antique wood doors and cast iron railings to furniture and tile work–from around Mexico and the US. Jesus’ wife  then placed each piece, adding modern touches (sinks carved from solid stone, plenty of sex appeal (massive candles and plushly upholstered couches) and a little bit of whimsy (bright colors and a leopard-print wool rug) as she went.

Add in a sprawling lush garden, an on-site bar and restaurant (that’s a shocking bargain) and, of course, Jesus and we were tempted to spend an extra day in El Fuerte.

The sexy and eclectic open-air lobby of the Torres Del Fuerte hotel.

The Rio Fuerte.

El Fuerte is also known as a haven for more than 60 species of bird and for its bass fishing. We don’t fish but we did take a morning ride in a rowboat down the Rio Fuerte with local guide Chico who was quick to point out osprey, herons and kara karas (which are scavengers like buzzards, but much prettier).

Chico, a guide in El Fuerte, took us on a birdwatching boat trip on the Rio Fuerte.

We stopped along the way for a quick stroll to a collection of rocks covered in petroglyphs. Once located on the top of the highest point in the area, an earthquake knocked the rocks down and they now lie in jumbled piles not far above the riverbank.

Cerro de la Mascara (Mask Hill), near El Fuerte has many Nahuatl petroglyphs.

We were also thrilled when Chico’s son, Sergio, took us on a tour of the Rancho Chinobampo organic farm where he oversees the organic fish project. The farm also currently grows mangos, basil (some of which ends up in Whole Foods), medicinal herbs and lots of experimental plots of staples like jalapenos and cucumbers.

Rancho Chinobampo is one of just a handful of officially certified organic farms in Mexico and it’s taken a unique approach even among that rarified group. The family that owns the farm also owns successful zeolite mines and they’ve chosen to combine the two ventures by using zeolite (a natural substance commonly used in gardening but rarely on this scale) to supplement or even replace soil. Bat guano, harvested by hand, is mixed with it for nutrients.  They spray an all-natural garlic mixture instead of pesticide. They also get help from the University of Havana.

Coming soon to a Whole Foods near you! Basil growing in a mixture of zeolite and bat guano at Rancho Chinobampo organic farm.

Drive Across the Copper Canyon, Mexico from Creel to El Fuerte

Leave a comment »

People talk about the drive down to the town of Batopilas deep in the Copper Canyon as a “white knuckle” trip invoking phrases like “death road” as their eyes widen. This is because of the narrow and bumpy condition of the steep and mostly-dirt road that descends 6,000 feet in six miles–and because of the conspicuous lack of guard rails (or guard anything) between you and the sheer drop-offs into the abyss that exist all along the way.

Of course, we had to do it.

The first half of the drive from Creel to Batopilas was on a paved road with beautiful vistas.

Our journey started off pleasantly enough with good pavement and even better views heading out of Creel. Then we traveled over a stretch of road on which our biggest challenges were the workers and huge trucks frantically widening, grading and prepping the surface for impending pavement. So far, so good.

Once the pavement ended, things got VERY interesting as we began a 6,000 foot drop to the canyon floor. From this vista point you can see the Batopilas River and the "road" still nearly 4,000 feet below us.

Switchbacks are the best (ie, the only) way to drop 4,000 feet in just a few miles.

Once the real descent started, however, the road narrowed to about 1.5 car widths in most places. Throw in increasingly tight turns around blind corners eventually culminating in an epic multi-mile stretch of switchbacks, the likes of which we haven’t seen since India and Nepal, and you’ve pretty much got the picture.

Random goats, donkeys and cows were also on the road taking up valuable space but, thankfully, there weren’t a lot of other cars. We only encountered two other vehicles and both times we were lucky enough to be on a section of road that was wide enough to allow us to just squeeze past each other.

This aerial photo (not ours) dramatically shows the road down to the Batopilas River.

Negotiating the seemingly never-ending switchbacks down to the Batopilas River.

Batopilas was the only area of the Copper Canyon where we saw Tarahumara/Raramuri men (not just women and girls) in traditional clothes.

As the road neared the river it eased out of switchback mode and adopted gentler turns and inclines.

After a few hours of extremely careful driving we reached the Batopilas River, crossed it and began a much more reasonable gentle ascent on a wider road on the other flank of the canyon. Another hour or so on and we finally reached the town of Batopilas.

The ever-present Virgin of Guadalupe watched over us on the creaky wooden bridge over the Batopilas River.

Not there yet: Once we reached the bottom and crossed the river we immediately started climbing up the other flank of the valley to the town of Batopilas.

The town of Batopilas is a former silver mining town largely founded and furthered by Alexander Shepherd who was once the mayor of Washington D.C. The richness of the area’s mines made Batopilas an extremely important and powerful place despite its remoteness–so much so that Batopilas was the second city in Mexico to get electricity, after Mexico City.

Today it’s a sleepy long and narrow town stretched out between the Batoplisa River on one side and rocky once-silver-laden cliffs and hills on the other. Batopilas manages to cram in not one but two plazas. Don’t miss the surprisingly compelling (and free) museum off the main square. The young guide on duty the night we went in read his explanations in English from a notebook with a “script” in it.

Oh, and don’t miss meals on the open-air patio at Dona Mica. There’s no sign but its right across from Carolina’s restaurant which we found less delicious and more expensive than Dona Mica. The food isn’t fast at Dona Mica, but it is home made and delicious. We had one of the best Mexican breakfasts here. It took half an hour to get our plates but there was plenty of strong freshly brewed coffee (not Nescafe!) to ease the wait.

The road followed the river into the town of Batopilas.

Besides the drive down, another major draw of Batopilas is the Lost  Chruch of Satevo about eight miles out of town. Romantic pictures of this beautiful falling-down domed church even appears on many official Chihuahua tourism posters and brochures. We had been looking forward to seeing the church and we hurried over a road so bad it made the road down from Creel seem like a superhighway just in time to catch sunset light.

Imagine our disappointment when what we found was not the crumbling exposed brick and vibrant domes shown in the tourism publications but an ugly, boring mono-chromatic church being used as a battleground by village kids playing loudly inside and a garbage dump by everyone else.

We later learned that a “restoration” in 2007 was responsible for erasing the charm and the life from the structure. Even Batopilas locals hate what was done and don’t even get professional architects and renovation experts started on the subject. If you ask us, this is one church would have been much better off if it had remained lost.

The famous Lost Church of Satevo is a sad example of "renovation" gone horribly wrong. Above is a photo found online (not ours), of the picturesque church as it used to look. Below is our photo of the church as it looks today.

The Mexican government is nearing completion of a new dirt road that will connect Batopilas with the town of Urique in the neighboring Urique Canyon, creating a spectactular driving loop. But for now, the only way out of Batopilas was back the way up the road we’d come in on–to Eric’s delight and Karen’s resignation.

Leave a comment »

If you’re taking the CHEPE train and not getting off and exploring areas along the way (silly, silly) the Divisadero station is your only chance to look down (way down) into a major canyon.  For that reason the train stops here for 15 minutes–long  enough for passengers to enjoy the view from a vantage point right across the street from the station. It’s also long enough to grab a snack.

Even if you’re not hungry do yourself a favor and head for any one of the handful of food stands on the train  platform and get yourself some of the best gorditas we’ve ever tasted. Trust us, these lightly fried thick corn cakes stuffed with combinations of meat, cheese, beans and vegetables have the food on the train beat by many, many miles.

The Divisadero train station: Get your views! Get your souveniers! Get your gorditas!

The view of the Urique Canyon from the Divisadero viewpoint which is right across from the train station.

Shop with a view! Tarahumara craft stands at the Divisadero lookout.

Some of the best gorditas we've had were at the Divisadero station.

We grabbed some gorditas and headed into the neighboring town of Areponápuchi for some more canyon exploration.

Areponápuchi is a funny place. On the one hand it feels like a small town. Skinny dogs hang out in front of the tiny tienda. Dented trucks kick up dust even on the pavement. Laundry is hung out to dry on every available surface.

Sunset in the Urique Canyon from the Mirador Hotel in Areponápuchi.

On the other hand it’s got some fancy and expensive tourist facilities, including the Mirador Hotel which is, by  many estimations, the best property in the Balderama  Hotels chain.The Mirador Hotel certainly wins best location and best view as its perched literally on the canyon rim and every single one of its 48 rooms has a balcony facing the Urique Canyon–the deepest in the Copper Canyon system.

Panorama of the Urique Canyon from Areponápuchi. (click for full size panorama)

An almost-full moon rises over the Urique Canyon as seen from Areponápuchi.

Urique Canyon from Areponápuchi.

There are some very steep, very windy and very narrow roads around the Copper Canyon. Some hairpins were so tight that we had to back down sections in order to make the next turn.

The next day we met up with Gustavo Lozano, a rare combination of expertise, passion, humor and an excellent grasp on English. Oh, and he doesn’t conduct his tours in an obnoxious Hummer like they do from the Hotel Mirador.

Anyway, Gus took us and our companion, Dave Hensleigh from Authentic Copper Canyon (who gets more and more excited as our expedition gets further and further off the beaten path) on a day trip out to a section of the Copper Canyon, just off the Urqiue Canyon, that few visitors ever see.

It happened like this. The previous morning at dinner Gus showed up and asked if we’d ever been to the Oteviachi Canyon–one of the six canyons in the Copper Canyon system. We all shook our heads and said nope. He said he’d pick us up at 9 the next morning.

None of us, except Gus, really knew where we were headed and that was  just fine. We drove through San Rafael but quickly turned off the pavement onto a dirt road that lead to a Tarahumara village called San Alonso. Gus had business here. Namely an SUV full of donated books, toothbrushes and athletic equipment for the school children.

Children at a Tarahumara school in San Alonso.

San Alonso was the last village we saw. From there the terrain became pristine–just trees (including 18 kinds of oak according to Gus) and canyons and circling buzzards and and wacky rock formations and the odd, faint footpath to mark the passing of human feet.

A side canyon off the Urique Canyon near Oteviachi.

Odd rock formations, possibly lava, atop the rim of the Urique Canyon near Oteviachi.

The Urique Canyon from Oteviachi.

There is a road, of sorts, through this area and that’s because a spectacular lodge was built out here. It’s called the Hostal Oteviachi and Gus used to manage it. These days it’s mostly empty and that’s a real shame since the place has a spectacular location that rivals the Hotel Mirador–right on the canyon’s edge.

Panorama of the Urique Canyon near Oteviachi. That's Gus on the left. (click for full size panorama)

The Tarahumara are talented and creative basket weavers. This Tarahumara woman rarely looked at what she was doing while her hands moved with practiced swiftness.

Areponápuchi's Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebrations were low key but the small cemetery was still filled with color as locals paid their respects to dead loved ones.