BARRANCA DE COBRE

Richard & Isabelle Griffith

1952

February 7 (Isabelle)

Five excited people lay awake thinking about tomorrow, the day that was to be the beginning of an unknown adventure, the day when five people would venture into the Barranca de Cobre (Canyon of Copper) deep in the Sierra Madre Mountains of northwestern Mexico.

For Lt. Col. Bill Matthews it was a dream of two years, of taking a boat down the Urique River, which cuts through a deep canyon of unknown depth.  It will be a first.  For James Gifford, an archaeologist, it was an opportunity to study the little known culture of the Tarahumara Indians.  For Sgt. Johnny Wlodarski, it was an exciting adventure to be the first people to traverse the rugged canyon.  For Dick, a geologist, it would be just another adventure.  For me, a woman who would rather explore and chase down rivers than stay home doing housework, it was a thrill to know I'd be the first  white women to even see the canyon in depth.

We spent our last night of civilization in a hotel in Creel run by the Chinaman.  He was as short and round as he was high, a funny little old man, but he had three beautiful daughters.  His hotel took us back 40 years.  It was lighted by oil lamps and made out of rough boards.  Upon retiring we were instructed, should the need arise, go outside, turn to the left, right next to the pig pen.

February 8

We got up early, all of us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to go the final 20 miles to the Urique River.  We wanted to see how much water there was, how fast the river was going, and just what we were getting ourselves into.

In the distance we saw the Umira bridge.  The Urique River!  We craned our necks but could see nothing.  The truck rolled to a stop, and we all jumped out and ran to the bridge.  Below was a 100 foot deep gorge filled with huge boulders and a clear blue sparkling river that tumbled over the rocks.  Beautiful, but here we met with our first disappointment.  There was very little water this time of the year, and the flow was slow, about 80 cubic feet per second.  There will be many, many portages.

A steep and rugged trail lead down to the river.  We packed everything down and then made camp.  The first thing I did was to dip my hands in the water.  What a shock; it was icy!  Oh Boy!  We've got troubles.

I looked around, relaxed and happy in the warm sunshine.  I saw movement on a path along the canyon wall.  Two people walked across it, a man and a woman, Tarahumara Indians.  They tried to keep out of sight and watched us through the trees.  The woman kept her face averted but was so full of lively curiosity that she would sneak a look every now and then.  She wore a full red skirt and a white head band.  The man wore a white loin cloth wound between his legs.

February 9, day 1, 2 miles

The canyon is magnificent, sheer towering walls with trees clinging everywhere, rugged terraced rock climbing straight up, clear, sparkling water.  We could see fish swimming in its depths.

We had a splendid run for about a hundred yards.  Then the river was choked and blocked by monstrous boulders as big as houses.  The river broke into rivulets and miniature waterfalls, with water running over, under and between boulders.  In some places the boats could get through, in others there was hardly room for a fish to squeeze through.  We looked at each other in dismay, but every one was game.  At one point the boulders were so big and blocked the river so completely that the boys were forced to go around on shore carrying the boats and relaying all the cargo.  The weight was terrific.

I wasn't much help to the boys so I scouted ahead.  I was about to turn back, when I heard the familiar growl of fast water in the distance.  The growl increased to a roar.  The water quickened, and the river disappeared into a chute carved through the rock.  I scrambled to the top and my heart missed a beat as I saw the river plunge down into a 28 foot water fall.  We called it Red Rock Falls.

We had barely finished our portage when the clouds closed in and it started pouring.  We made a shelter by standing the boats on end, leaning them side by side against a cliff, and stretching a tarp on top.  We made only about two miles progress today

Sunday February 10, day 2, 1 mile

The river was the same today, boulders and portages.  After a half mile we came to a terrific obstacle.  It was magnificent and spectacular, but no place for a boat or people.  The canyon walls dropped down into the river on both sides.  The river plunged down over a 25-foot falls into a second pool of water.  We immediately named it Plunge Pool Falls.

            They lowered the boats into the first pool, then lowered all the cargo with ropes into the boats.  They rowed across the pool and again lowered the boats and equipment over the second drop.  It took about two hours.

Our progress was awfully slow.  All we made today was a turn around a goose neck.  Rain in the afternoon stopped us around four o'clock.  We found a cave and made camp.

February 11, (Dick), day 3, 1 ½ miles

We put eight patches on the boats, and by 10:30 we were off.  It was easy going for a half mile.  The boats glided across deep pools of green water between almost sheer cliffs.  Then we came to a stretch of water where huge boulders had rolled from cliffs into the river.  These boulders were large as houses, and it was difficult to even walk through them.  We had to portage everything 200 yards around them.

We put our boats in once more and went several hundred yards.  Then we again portaged through boulders for 150 yards.  We made camp approximately one and one half miles below the last camp.  One mile yesterday and three miles the day before isn't much

The Tarahumara Indians are following us.  We've seen their footprints in the sand when we relay loads.  They haven't taken any of our equipment.  We've left a small fortune to the Indians behind us.  They're only several hundred yards from us, but we never see them.  They're also in front of us and above us watching every move we make.  We're glad that they're a gentle race of people.

February 12, (Isabelle), day 4

The night was bitter cold.  We all burrowed deeper and deeper into our sleeping bags until in the morning we looked like big brown balls scattered around camp.  Dick and I were reluctant to get up so we waited until we heard the familiar sound of the air pump as Bill coaxed a fire with it.  Then we crawled out.  I made breakfast of cream-of-wheat, scrambled eggs with bacon, and tea.  Dick made bread in the dutch oven.

Today was one grand portage.  We came through a mass of boulders as big as houses scattered and dumped into the river bed and filling the canyon floor.  The river wound in and out, going under the boulders, dropping off into crazy water falls, forming deep, silent, gloomy pools, while the waterfalls shouted and screamed.  The sun never reaches down into this devil's cellar.  We named it Black Gorge.

The boys stuck to the river, relaying the stuff off sheer sides in the water, up over huge boulders, dropping the boat off cliffs into the water below, squeezing down through chutes of water between boulders.  At one point they took the boats through a tunnel beneath large boulders.

The way is slow and difficult, and we average about two miles a day.  Still, our group is gay and eager to see what lies ahead.  We are way behind in mileage and are beginning to speculate how we can make it out of the canyon in time.  Dick and I have plenty of time, but the rest have to be back by March 15.  The Air Force might even send rescue planes if Bill isn't back.  Bill has an important job at the Pentagon.

February 13, (Dick), day 5, ½ mile

Now we often hear drums , tombolos, a thousand feet above us on a ledge.  And we still haven't seen a single Indian.  It is kind of like a western movie; we are surrounded.

Just a half mile today.  We portaged most of the way.  These boulders are amazing.  They form weird passage ways that are dark and narrow with sheer walls rising straight up.  You can scramble up to the tops of them, but many times they drop straight down 20 feet into the river and form a dead end.

Towards evening Johnny, Jim, and I walked down the river for two miles.  It was more of the same.

It doesn't look like I'll be able to hold this group together much longer if things don't improve soon.  We're getting deeper and deeper into the canyon.  We can no longer escape by going back up river, and soon the canyon walls will be so sheer that we may not be able to climb out.  There is already talk of abandoning the expedition.

February 14, (Dick), day 6

It was so cold, not one of us slept over four hours.  It's a damp cold that seems to go right through to the bones.  Tonight we will wall the fire with rocks and sleep around it.  We'll keep it burning all night.

This morning we once again heard a tombola just above us on the cliff.  The continuous beating lasted an hour.  The beat was quite audible and could have been heard miles away.  We don't know what's going on, maybe messages are being relayed to Indians below us.  At one time we heard an Indian yell at us or to another Indian.  We are continually throwing stuff away that an Indian would prize.  A empty tin can would be a real find to one of these people.  These Indians may have never seen a white man and they certainly have never seen people with boats.  I'm sure glad they are friendly, timid people!

The canyon is now 2500 feet deep and the canyon floor is about 300 feet wide.  The canyon walls are becoming more perpendicular every day.

There have been several other expeditions in this canyon.  Today we came to the quitting point of two men from El Paso.  On a rock Paul Reed and Frank Lynch had painted El Paso City Limits.  This was as far as they got into the canyon, which was farther than anyone else with the exception of ourselves.

February 15, (Isabelle), day 7

We beat the cold last night, built a roaring fire and put in a reserve of firewood five feet high.  Then the boys took turns feeding the fire during the night.  Sleepily, I opened my eyes in the middle of the night.  The flames were burning low.  Someone got up and put a big log on; the flames leaped up brightly.  I closed my eyes, comfortably relaxed, and fell asleep again.  For the first time I was able to lie straight instead of curling into a tight ball for warmth.

Rough day of portaging again.  It's really rugged.  The boys' legs are raw and chapped from the cold water.  They now wear jeans instead of shorts

The canyon is very deep and the sunlight only shines down here about six hours.  The walls are becoming more sheer with each passing day.

We made camp early in the afternoon.  The boys hiked about three miles to look the river over.  They came back with discouraging news.  The river never clears itself of boulders and the whole darn thing is one portage after another.

February 16, day 8

Today was momentous.  We all had a confab and came up with these important facts.  There isn't enough time to go down the river.

But Dick is another breed of cat and isn't about to give up.  He said, "I'm walking through," and looked at me.

"Me too", I answered promptly, for I knew he would go off and leave in a heart beat. We've concluded now that the only way to traverse this canyon is on foot, and maybe Dick and I can't even do that.  We shall see.

Sunday, February 17, day 9, 4 miles, 10 miles total

Sunday always seems a fateful day.  We had a whopper of a breakfast of scrambled eggs with chipped beef, bacon, cereal, rice, and tea.  Then everyone made up their small packs.  Johnny is taking Dick's flute and my camera back.  They will walk out the ten miles to the bridge, hitchhike to Creel, and then try to get transportation back to Chihuahua.

Dick and I took our sleeping-bags, his two cameras, and food.  We took rice, raisins, dried milk, dried eggs, tea, sugar, dried soup, and three cans of meat

We shook hands all around, bid each other good luck, and parted, the boys walking upstream and Dick and I downstream.

Toiling up and down those huge boulders was rugged and slow going.  Even though we took just the bare essentials, I swear our packs had rocks in them.  I'd carry mine on my back, on my hip, my shoulders.  I haven't tried my head yet.

It was a magnificent day, warm and sunny with sparkling, singing waters and the happy song of the canyon wren.  The vegetation down here is fantastic; in fact it's downright crazy.  There are northern hardwood maples, northern pines, many varieties of cactus, orchids, and a profusion of colorful wild flowers.  There's a purple flower that is lovely.  It has a cluster of purple petals with a soft, furry pussy-willow-like center.  The pink orchids, ready to burst into bloom, wrap themselves around the branches of trees.  They are parasitic.  The canyon drops fast, about 100 feet to the mile.

We camped early, sheltered against a monstrous boulder.  After building a roaring fire we dined on rice and raisins  We covered four miles today.

February 18, (Isabelle), day 10, 3 ½ miles

What I dreaded finally happened today  This afternoon we came to a place where both walls dropped straight into the river forming a narrow impassable gorge.  What now?

Dick said, "Looks like we'll have to climb that mountain." I looked up.  The cliff rose steeply with a sheer drop hundreds of feet to the river.  "I'll swim first," I retorted.  "Might be a waterfall below," Dick said softly.

I am deadly afraid of heights, and my spirit quelled at the thought of inching our way along that cliff.  But I meekly shouldered my pack and started.  I didn't look down, just kept my eyes on my feet taking one step at a time.  When we were 600 feet above the river our trail narrowed to a ledge one foot wide.  The wall dropped straight down below us.  I sat while Dick scouted ahead to find a way down to the river.  I looked at the sky; I sang songs; I whistled, anything to keep from looking down.

About an hour later Dick came back muttering, "Damn, we can't get down."  So we turned back and I inched my way down

We are right back where we started.  The only solution is to build a raft.  Distance 3 1/2 miles.

February 19, day 11, 3 miles

          This morning Dick built a raft from five logs that he gathered from far and wide.  He tied them together with his belt, shoe strings, fishing line, and twine.  Then he put the air-mattress on top and balanced all our equipment on them -- a pack, a duffel bag, a shoulder-bag, the camera bag, and our boots.  We stripped down to our underwear and packed our clothes in a bag.  Then we pushed the raft out into the river and, before we lost our nerve, slipped into the icy water.  The shock was momentarily stunning.  We had to hang onto the raft lightly so as not to upset its precarious burden.  We kicked hard with our legs and guided the raft across the river.

          Dick looked at me and asked, "Think you can make it?" I nodded as each limb became numb. Suddenly my feet touched bottom and we dragged the raft to shore.  What heavenly relief to climb out into the warm sunshine.

          Two miles down we came to another point in the river where the walls plunged down into the water.  The river was actually dammed by large boulders, forming a lake between the vertical walls.  Yes, we had to build another raft.  This time it was twice as hard to sink down into that icy river.

          There are many canyon wrens in the canyon.  Their clear liquid notes suddenly cascade through the silence.  Dick and I always stop to listen.

          Dick did a little scouting after we made camp.  He found a big, square rock weighing about 200 pounds, propped up by a stick with a lot of grass around it.  His bump of curiosity made him poke around it, and WHOSSH down smashed the rock.  It was an ingenious trap set in a figure of four by a Tarahumara Indian.  Distance today, three miles.

February 20, day 12, 2 ½ miles, 25 miles total

Today we made only 2 1/2 miles  This country is the roughest terrain Dick has ever seen.  The rate of progress is brutal..  We struck a narrow neck in the river that required two crossings on a raft.  Dick scouted around for a Tarahumara trail.  He found one on the left side of the river and followed it over the edge of a cliff while I waited below.  The trail ended at an lndian's house, a shelter of stones perched high on the canyon wall

               Dick scouted the right side of the river.  He found the beginning of a trail marked with a long pole.  It climbed up into the sky and over the cliff.  About a third of the way up, the trail got steep and edged near drops of 200 feet straight down.  We lost the trail on top.  I sat on a broad ledge in the warm sunshine while Dick scouted ahead seeking a way back to the river.  He came upon the trail again, and it led us safely back to the river

               After we hit the river again we had to cross and recross five times.  At one point we waded through water over our waists, and another place I had to drop off an eight-foot boulder while Dick caught me below.

               A half mile down we reached a bend in the river where both walls dropped straight into the water.  We couldn't even see around the corner.  The river is dammed, forming a large lake between the vertical walls.  It means another raft.

February 20 (Dick)

We can no longer get out of here safely.  Going up river is doubtful because of the large, dammed lakes and river current.  Coming down river we jumped off several boulders, and I don't think we can climb back on those boulders from this side.  Climbing out is no good because lz is not a rock climber.  It appears that we are 3500 feet below the rim.  The only water that seems to be available is from the Urique river, which we are following.  There is no water coming out of the side canyons.  We have only a one-quart canteen that would last the two of us for only a short time.  Even if we did get out on top we would be hard pressed to find water.

If we ever get any rain in here we would surely be trapped.  I suspect that this canyon can be a raging torrent.  There are large boulders many feet above the canyon floor with logs lodged in them.

Almost every day we hear the drums beating above us on the cliffs, but still no Indians in sight.  We see their foot prints everywhere.  The Indians use the river for a short distance then go up the side of the canyon.  I have learned how to spot their trails --they mark the spot where the trail goes up by a long skinny log.  I have also become adept at following their trails, which most of the time just go to the rim.

We will be out of food in a few days.  I was hoping to get food from the Indians, but they are so unapproachable.  We have come maybe 25 miles in 13 days.  Not very impressive!

February 21 (Isabelle), day 13, ½ mile

The river isn't negotiable by boat, and now we are wondering if we can make it on foot.  Every day we make less mileage and meet more and more obstacles.  At this rate it will take months.  Something has to give, and I'm afraid it will be us.  It is a big, relentless, harsh, rugged country and not for the faint-hearted.  For the first time in my life I'm facing the absolute unknown and don't know what is around the corner.  There are hundreds and thousands of corners we have to go around.

Dick made a drastic decision this morning to climb out and see if we can make mileage on top and then drop down to the river miles ahead.  Something has to be done.  The danger up there is the lack of water.  But we will try anything rather than swim in that icy water again.  We filled the water canteen and started climbing.  I'm glad I had my hysteria yesterday because today there is no time.  A short way up the mountain we found an Indian shelter of rocks and logs.  We found baskets and pottery and also a sheep pen.  A tree was growing right out of the canyon wall, its roots exposed to the open and clinging tenaciously to every crevice and crack until they could dip into the ground below.

It was rough going without a trail.  The underbrush tore at our clothes.  In some places we crawled over loose rocks and rubble starting landslides.  In other places the rocks were larger, making the footing more secure.  We were panting and sweating from the climb.  It took all day to get three-quarters of the way to the top.  Our water was gone.  Dick left me sifting under a tree while he scouted ahead looking for water.  No luck!  Had he found water, we would have continued on top looking for a trail.  But we couldn't take the chance without water.  So we wearily turned around and dropped off the mountain, very unhappy because we now had to build a raft and swim that river of ice.

Dick scouted far and wide to find logs.  He built a large raft of seven logs so I could ride on top.  I would have never been able to swim so far in the cold water.  We braided the line so we'd have more rope.  We slid the air mattress under one end of the raft, where I stepped and gingerly kneeled down.  Then Dick gave a hard push and sank into the cold water.  It was a long stretch, longer than either of us realized, about 200 yards.  Dick was blowing hard from the exertion and the cold.  I crouched tensely as our craft swayed gently, holding and balancing our duffel and guarding the camera bag.  Just when both of us thought we couldn't take anymore, Dick's feet touched ground and he dragged the raft to shore.  He was hypothermic and shaking uncontrollably.

            He gasped out between chattering teeth, "lz make a fire, QUICK!"  I scrambled around for matches and wood, and in a short time had a fire blazing.  I put on milk to heat.  Dick drank the scalding liquid and soon felt human again.

We avoided building another raft by sneaking across on a ledge.  We were beat-up and dead-tired so we camped.  Dick built a big fire and we slept warm.  Distance 1/2 mile.

February 22, day 14

First thing, 75 feet from camp, make another raft.  Dick found three flat boards, built a sturdy raft and in a half hour we were across the river.  He is getting quite good at raft building.  I sat on top and kept dry.

We resumed our trek across the boulders and crossed and recrossed the stream, sometimes wading, sometimes leaping from rock to rock.  Some of the rocks were so far apart that my short legs barely made it, but Dick grabbed me and pulled me up safely.

In the distance we could see a broad trail winding up the mountain on the right side of the river  We climbed a huge boulder for a better view and saw a waterwheel.  The whole works was made out of wood and logs and operated by a directed stream of water coming through log-chutes down the mountain side.

Our first sign of civilization!  We hungered for the sight of people.  We trudged on and saw many adobe dwellings built along the river.  At long last we saw people, many people, Mexicans and Tarahumara Indians.  They gathered around us, friendly and very much interested in the man who seemed to come from nowhere.  In his halting Spanish Dick explained how we came down the river.  Dick put sticks together and balanced a stone on them.  OH -- they comprendo.  They were amazed.  Then they told us Creel was one day away, up the trail on the right side of the river.  On the left side the trail led to Urique, two days' travel, about 65 miles.  Creel was about 22 miles.  A Tarahumara would carry our pack for 5 pesos a day, roughly 60 cents!.  Which trail did we want to follow?  Dick and I grinned at each other.  Urique, of course