December 22 Urique to Los Alisos

Though a sleepless night was not in the original plan, we were up at 6:00am and out the door within five minutes to take the first and most important step, to wander away from civilization. Women were sweeping the dirt street in preparation for the day. We understood the fiesta was going to be even better that evening, but we declined to stay and followed the river away from town. Gazing up at the high ridges we would traverse to get to the other side, we stumbled along a path that could have once led to the "Rain of Gold." With the sun high in the sky by 8:00am, local kids emerged from tiny houses along the river and gave chase, waving toy pistoleros, asking for dulces. We offered plumas y papel, and the little ones seemed content to sit down in the road and draw. We wondered if several blonde-haired, blue-eyed children in the group were descendants of European miners, or if Mennonites or Mormons had settled this deep in the canyon. We relived vivid accounts of Carl Lumholtz' nineteenth-century adventures in the Sierra Madre, before there were roads, bridges or rails. In a field of boulders, we reached the end of the river road where boxed walls forced a treacherous crossing of the Rio Urique. Each of us remained in the cold water nearly 30 minutes, fighting the strong current and looking for safe footing with each step. The deep middle channel required leaning forward, reaching for large boulders in the water with one arm for support, while keeping your face just above the surface and pack balanced on your back. Every muscle was required to brace for each difficult move. A Lord Ganesha pendant, given to me by a friend from India to keep me safe, dangled in the water as I looked for clear spaces to plant my feet on the rocky riverbed. I figured the spirit of the elephant would enjoy the water and I prayed it would help us past our first major obstacle. Once on the other side, we sat on the rocks to fill our canteens and I realized it would be impossible to turn back and face the river again. We regrouped our determination and draped wet clothes from our packs, as an audience of several wild burros stood silently in the shade of a lone tree. We provided good entertainment for the docile, curious beasts before remaking ourselves as pack animals and traipsing single file up the mountain. We found our way up to a ranchito called Los Alisos and purchased fruit picked from a small orchard. We continued on a narrow path traveling upward against a trickling arroyo. On the right, our path veered straight up the side. We found ourselves on a sharp knifeback where a man on a small horse said it would be a difficult climb ahead, as he pointed toward Batopilas over his shoulder in a southeasterly direction. The canyon wall looked impassible, so we decided to camp and face it in the morning. Michael and I headed down the steep trail for water, while the others set up camp. Algae in the still arroyo was hard on our water filter and we knew we would face a real crisis in the next day or two. NEXT PAGE