Train conductor at Divisadero station.
Back on the Rails in the Copper Canyon
Train conductor at Divisadero station.
One breathtaking scene after another flashes by as we cling to mountain sides overlooking deep green valleys, plunge through tunnel after tunnel, and cross a series of bridges spanning rivers and rugged gorges. We’re on one of the world’s great train journeys, travelling through Mexico's most striking wilderness landscape.
Considered an engineering marvel when it was completed in 1961, the Chihuahua al Pacifico Railroad, or “El Chepe”, runs for 650 kilometres. From near sea level at Los Mochis, it crosses coastal plains and rich farmland, weaves through foothills and semi-tropical forest, then climbs to over 2,400 metres through the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains, skirting one of the largest and deepest canyons anywhere, before ending in the high plains near the Chihuahua desert. Along the way, we cross 37 bridges, the longest almost a half kilometre long, the highest over 100 metres. We go through 86 tunnels, the longest over 1.5 kilometres, and another that makes a 180-degree turn completely inside a mountain.
Each day two trains – a first class train, and a second or “economic” class – run each way between Los Mochis near the Pacific coast, and the city of Chihuahua. As a general rule, package tourists usually opt for the first class train, while locals who live along the route, school groups, and independent travellers often take the second class one. There isn't a significant difference; first class has newer cars, along with a dining and bar car, and takes less time to complete the journey.
This is a return trip for us. The first time we travelled first class, but this time we decide to try the economic class after someone points out that it might be better for photography since this train goes slower and makes more stops. The fact that second class is exactly half the price of first class comes as an added bonus. On our first trip, we started at Los Mochis, travelled through the most impressive sections of the route to Divisadero, then back again. This time, we start from the Chihuahua side, and take our time by breaking the journey along the way. What we're looking forward to most is travelling down into the yawning canyon.
Chihuahua is the capital city of the State of Chihuahua, the largest state by area in the country. Even in the midst of the city, there’s no mistaking that we're in cowboy country. On one street in the market area, we pass a series of shops selling nothing but cowboy boots – elaborate, high-heeled, pointy-toed extravaganzas in every colour and style you can imagine. The nearby centre square pays tribute to the city’s name-sake, the Chihuahua dog, with several colourful and whimsical statues of the tiny, big-eared mutt. Above all, Chihuahua is famous as the home of Pancho Villa, the controversial bandit turned military general, and revolutionary folk hero. Villa’s house is home to a museum with everything to do with his life and the 1910 revolution, including posters urging recruits to “Ride with Pancho Villa for Gold and Glory!”, and the bullet-ridden car from his 1923 assassination.
Heading west from Chihuahua, it’s around 200 kilometres before we reach the canyon lands. We pass through semi-arid plains, then the flourishing farmlands and orchards around Cuauhtémoc, home to most of Mexico’s German-speaking Mennonites, descendants of those who emigrated from the Canadian prairies in the 1920s.
The most popular stop along the railway, and informal “gateway to the canyons” is Creel, a town of around 10,000 people, 250 kilometres west of Chihuahua. We happen to arrive during the town's 100th anniversary celebration, which makes this practically a new town by Mexican standards. Creel owes its existence to the timber industry, although in recent years, tourism has become increasingly important to the local economy.
Creel is the largest of the canyon towns and a prime jumping-off point for trips all around the canyon lands. We start with a day trip into the nearby hills, where in a relatively small area we find magnificent waterfalls, the Valley of the Mushrooms where strange rock formations resemble giant toadstools, the Valley of the Frogs with its squat amphibian-like boulders, along with historic mission churches. People living in these hills are primarily Tarahumara who cling to a traditional lifestyle, so traditional that some still live in caves fashioned into basic dwellings.
Tarahumara Indians, or Rarámuri as they are also known, are considered among the most traditional of Mexico’s indigenous peoples. Living in these semi-isolated and thinly populated mountains, they have been able to preserve many customs. Women wearing brightly coloured clothes often set up stalls along tourist routes to sell traditional crafts, such as elaborate baskets woven from the long needles of Apache pines. The Tarahumara have a reputation as long distance runners, excelling in competitions such as ultra-marathons. We stop at one Tarahumara cave dwelling, a gaping hole in the side of a cliff. The ceiling has been blackened by years of smoke from open fires (it can get very cold). Cindercrete bricks serve as partial room dividers, and shelves made from old railway ties hold their belongings. Like most cultures trying to continue a traditional way of life, the Tarahumara have had to cope with increasing influences from the outside world. Some reports suggest that their biggest threat today comes from disruptions caused by Mexico’s ongoing drug war.
Impressive as it is, the landscape near the canyon rim around Creel is just a teaser for what awaits. The town of Batopilas lies on the canyon floor, not far away, but there’s over 1,800 metres, or well over a mile altitude difference, most of it almost straight down. A bus dubbed the “Dramamine Express” by travellers makes the run, but we end up making special arrangements with our guesthouse in Creel – the Casa Margaritas. Four other people staying here, a doctor and his wife from Tijuana, and a retired couple from France, are also looking for ways to make the trip. So the wheeler-dealer manager at Casa Margaritas soon comes up with a plan. They have a sister hotel in Batopilas, so he arranges for their van and driver to take us there, show us the sights, then bring us back two days later. It proves to be an ideal arrangement. With our own driver, we can make stops along the way on one of the most dramatic road trips anywhere.
It’s only about a five-hour trip, but a world away. Our driver, Salvador, greets us decked out in a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, a fancy pair of blazing red cowboy boots just like those we saw in Chihuahua, accented with matching red belt. We start off along a smooth paved highway, but soon turn off onto a rough gravel road that is more like a winding rock pile. Most of the way, the dusty road clings to the side of the mountain and is little more than a lane wide. Forget about guard rails! We bounce along a series of dizzying hairpin turns with precipitous drops where the canyon walls appear to fall away almost beneath us. Fortunately, traffic is very light. At La Bufa lookout, we stop to look down the valley at a series of switchbacks extending a kilometre almost straight down. While it feels as if we're in the middle of remote wilderness, we still see the odd isolated house perched on mountain edges – the ultimate in living away from it all.
With such a steep descent, landscapes change quickly and markedly, from pine forests along the canyon rim, to transitional forest and craggy mountain slopes, then eventually onto the desert-like canyon floor dotted with cactus and agave. Before leaving Creel that cool November morning, the heater was on in our hotel room. Later the same day in Batopilas, the ceiling fan whirs away full tilt to provide relief from the sub-tropical heat.
Long and narrow Batopilas lies sandwiched between the Batopilas River and canyon slopes. It was the discovery of silver in 1632 that led to the founding of the town that soon grew into a service centre for the burgeoning mining industry. Vast amounts of silver were extracted over the next three centuries (some estimates say close to 100 million ounces), much of it transported almost 400 kilometres by mule train up the mountains and across the plains to Chihuahua. Mines in this area were believed to be among the richest in the world. The town developed an early hydroelectric plant, giving Batopilas the distinction of being the first place in the country outside Mexico City to have electricity. Some mining magnates used their fortunes to help the community install bridges, an aqueduct, and other improvements, while others preferred ostentatious displays of wealth. The oddest story is that of a mine owner in the 1700s who invited the bishop to come for a visit, then paved the street leading to the church with silver. Instead of being impressed, the bishop responded with a stern lecture on the evils of vanity.
While those glory days are long gone, the town still retains some of its architectural heritage, with restored colonial buildings and the ruins of a silver magnate’s mansion. Walking into the old general store is like stepping back into another era, with spacious open shelves piled high with a hodgepodge of goods, and a worn wooden counter topped with an ancient cash register. We almost expect Pancho Villa to stroll in to pick up his groceries, or perhaps shoot up the place. Locals tell us one mainstay of the economy these days, unofficially at least, is marijuana production.
Travelling about eight kilometres from Batopilas along the river, we come to the isolated village of Satevo, home to the “lost cathedral” – a fairly elaborate Jesuit mission church from the 1700s, so-called partly because of its “middle of nowhere” location and its ambiguous origins. A fire destroyed all the records, leaving uncertainties as to exactly when it was built or why. Now famous for its postcard setting, the restored church overlooks the river with a backdrop of cactus-studded hills and canyon walls looking as though they've been painted shades of gold and red. Facts meld with myths, including an intriguing story of a lost treasure of the Sierra Madre. The King of Spain had expelled the Jesuits from Spanish territories in the 1760s, and the story goes that in their hasty departure, the successful and reputedly wealthy religious order left buried treasure somewhere in these hills.
Our travel mates are booked on the early afternoon train out of Creel, so we leave Batopilas just before sunrise. As we zigzag up the canyon slope, the rising sun transforms the rough rocky landscape, the warm glow making it softer and more inviting. There’s no one else on the road, except for the surprise police checkpoint around a sharp curve. They’re obviously on the lookout for drug runners who also use the route, so wave us through after a quick yet friendly “Buenos días”. Plans call for paving the road all the way from Creel to Batopilas. It will certainly make the trip quicker and easier, but definitely bring more traffic and more tourists. As we bounce along the jagged rock pile road, where we seem to have this stunning countryside all to ourselves, we can’t help but think that something will be lost as well.
After Creel, the next point heading west, as well as the highest station along the railway, is Divisadero. The train stops right beside a dramatic viewpoint overlooking the “divisadero”, or dividing point, where three canyons meet. Names can be confusing, since this isn’t just one distinct canyon, but a complex of canyons that all come together to form an enormous network that is several times larger, and deeper in places, than the Grand Canyon on the Colorado River. To add to the confusion, one of those canyons is named the Copper Canyon, but in common usage, the Copper Canyon name has also been adopted to refer to the entire canyon system.
Divisadero is normally a quiet spot, but four times a day it turns into crowded mayhem. Each trains stops for 20 minutes while passengers dash out for a quick look over the canyon. And anywhere in Mexico where there's a captive audience, there's bound to be food for sale. Food stalls line the railway tracks, with most cooking done on converted oil drums with built-in fire boxes. The flat top of the upturned barrel serves as a grill. At this stop, the most popular fast food offerings are “gorditas”, thick tortillas stuffed with an assortment of fillings. It's almost like a 20-minute race for passengers – snap photos of the iconic vistas, look at the wares that the Tarahumara women have for sale, eat a gordita or two and grab an extra one for a later snack, then dash back aboard the waiting train. Of course, this is a prime spot to spend a couple days and do some exploring, something we save for later on the return leg of our trip.
We board the afternoon train for the long run to El Fuerte, arriving late at night. This is often the turn-around point for those doing the trip from the Chihuahua end, then returning. It's still 80 kilometres or so from the end of the line at Los Mochis, but we're now out of the canyon scenery. While El Fuerte is a pleasant colonial town, Los Mochis is a big city with a worsening reputation because of the drug war.
Since the eastbound train leaves early in the morning, we decide to spend two nights in El Fuerte. We choose a small hotel in the centre of town for no other reason than the bus to the train station stops across the street. Over breakfast the first morning, we chat with the friendly couple running the hotel. Owner Enrique asks us what we have planned for the day. When we tell him not much, he says that he'll be spending the afternoon relaxing at his place by the lake. He needs a day off, and invites us to tag along. His handyman, Miguel, is also coming to do a few jobs.
Our first stop on the way out of town is to pick up beer – lots of beer – and an assortment of peanuts and other snacks. Part way out of town, they realize that they forgot to buy limes. Apparently, it’s unthinkable to eat peanuts without the customary squeeze of lime juice. “Don't worry,” announces Miguel, as he directs Enrique along a minor road in the suburbs where he just happens to know of a lime tree with branches full of fruit conveniently draping over the road.
We aren’t sure what to expect at this “place by the lake”. It turns out to be a simple tool shed on a gravelly knoll, with no trees, and the lake in the distance. Not the most appealing spot at first glance, but Enrique sees great potential. Building of the dam on the El Fuerte River created a reservoir, and long narrow lots bordering the water had been subdivided and sold. As far as we could see, not a lot of development has taken place.
Enrique pulled folding lawn chairs out of the tool shed, and set them up on the shady side. Here we sat for most of the afternoon, drinking beer and eating peanuts (with lime, of course), while chatting about whatever came to mind; a good workout for our Spanish.
Miguel did do a bit of work. A pile of gravel about 10 metres away had to be moved, for whatever reason, closer to the shed. In the hot noon-day sun, Miguel shovels gravel into the wheelbarrow, dumps it on the new pile, then retreats to the shade to take it easy and drink beer. Sufficiently rested and refreshed, he moves another wheelbarrow full, then heads to the shade for more rest and more beer. This pattern continues for the next couple hours until most of the gravel has been moved and most of the beer is gone.
Enrique tells us about his ambitious plans – building a cabin, getting a boat, and maybe starting a sport fishing business; the bass fishing is said to be quite good. But judging by how fast things are happening, there doesn’t seem to be any great hurry. We get the impression that the simple pleasures of the here and now are every bit as important to him – just having a quiet getaway where he can sit in the shade of a tool shed, sip his favourite brew, munch on peanuts (with lime, of course), and dream about possibilities.
The eastbound train leaves early next morning, allowing us to enjoy the best part of the train journey, the section that we missed travelling in the dark on the westbound trip. It isn’t long before we leave the coastal plains, enter thick forest and rocky foothills, and soon cross the El Fuerte River. The engine grunts and groans as we slowly but constantly gain altitude. Out the window one eye-popping scene passes after another with a succession of mountains, lakes, valleys, tunnels, bridges, rivers, and gorges. The train slows to a crawl as we cross the Chinipas River. Leaning out the open window between the cars, we look straight down at the water over 100 metres below. The highlight of this section comes near the village of Temoris, where towering vertical cliffs and waterfalls line the deep valley. A series of spirals take us climbing ever higher, first making a U-turn on a bridge across the river valley, then completing another 180-degree turn through a tunnel inside the mountain. At one point, we can see three different levels of railway track.
We bought our ticket as far as the Posada Barrancas station, near the small town of Areponapuchi (Arepo for short), and just five kilometres from the next stop at Divisadero. The train lets us off at the platform then immediately pulls away; we’re the only ones leaving the train. After walking the half kilometre or so down the lonely dusty road into the village, we find a simple motel-like room in a guesthouse. It’s clear that this place is a work in progress. Other rooms are in various stages of completion, to be finished we later learn, when finances allow. We’re the only guests.
The owner, Rojelio, drops by in the evening after a long day’s work. Like many people here, he's a jack-of-all-trades, and does what he has to do in order to make a living. Mainly, he is an artisan, making jewelry and crafts that he sells to tourists. His specialty is copper bracelets, a nice tie-in with the name of the canyon. Never mind that the canyon name was derived from the copper colour of sunlit cliffs rather than the metal. Most days he follows a circuit, setting up his wares based on the train’s schedule and tours from nearby hotels, then rushing back home to take care of the guesthouse. Rojelio’s wife balances raising their five children with duties at the guesthouse, such as cooking our breakfast, then sometimes takes the short drive to Divisadero station to help her mother who runs a food stall making gorditas for passengers.
From Arepo, it's not far to the canyon rim with magnificent views. Another 20 minutes or so along the scenic path and we arrive at Divisadero. Along the way we pass the famous Posada Barrancas Mirador Hotel, that literally clings to the cliff face, with balconies looking straight down into the canyon. Visitors spending the night either stay at one of the few first class hotels nearby, or in Arepo. Our village accommodation lacks the view, but comes at a fraction of the price, plus there's the added bonus of getting to know local people such as Rojelio and his family.
Everywhere we go it's one dynamite view after another. At one spot on the rim, an observation deck juts out from the clifftop, its floor made of clear plexiglas so that you peer straight down into the abyss. The sensation is almost like floating in the air suspended high above the canyon floor. If you’re exceptionally brave, or totally lacking in sanity, you can try your luck on the balancing rock right on the cliff’s edge. The idea is to rock the boulder back and forth, which looks like it could topple over the edge, but never does…at least not yet.
More paths lead into the forest through stands of distinctive Apache pine, its wispy yet strong needles growing up to a foot long. A labyrinth of other trails wind down into the canyon, dotted with isolated Tarahumara buildings and cave dwellings.
As we walk back to Rojelio's guesthouse in late afternoon, the tourists are gone and the last souvenir hawkers are packing up for the day. The low sun just clears the rim of the canyon, flooding the multicoloured cliffs with bright bronze and coppery tones. Canyon depths fall into shadow while the pure light illuminates the hilltops. We’re so glad that we allowed ourselves more than just the 20-minute train stop.
The Copper Canyon railway makes two 180-degree turns including one entirely inside a tunnel near Temoris.
The cliffs of the Copper Canyon near Divisadero.
Train approaching Divisadero station.