The herald., 1895-10-04
A RIDE DOWN A
CANYON IN MEXICO A MILE
AND A HALF WIDE

the way OF SenSaSlOn, 10 CROSS beAioah
barranca, or canyon and If they wish one
of the widest of the wild, come to this
| one, where the Ell Puerto river cuts its
way through the highest range OF noun
tans in Mexico. There are many bal
rancas on this river, as there are on our
own Colorado, bit, as there is only one
Grand canyon there, so there is only one
Barranca Mucho Grande on the FL Puerte.
1t is on the trail from Nononoava to
Raborigame, near the southwest corner
of the state of chihuahua. For days my
packers have been talking at the campfire
of the terrors OF crossing this terrific
cash in the earth, of getting down to the
river across it and up again; of the
mules that have fallen down from the
trail and disappeared forever in the
gloomy depths below; OF mountains, pre-
cipices and waterfalls on grander scale
than anything we have yet seen. They
succeed in making each other shiver with
the descriptions that always end with the
adiectie, un diablo. After long expert
ence with the canyons of the Colorado,
the Virgin and other rivers in Colorado,
Vi tab and Nevada, l was inclined to di-
vide their stories by nine to allow for the
Spanish temperament and the tropical
atmos phere, and felt little inclined to
laugh at any canyon that trail for pack
mules ran through.
A start at daybreak, ride of a couple
of hours through the open pine forest,
and the train is stopped and the guide
comes to my mule and requests me to
dlsmount. what for'' ''El barrancal
wish to fix the cinch of your saddle. 3"
The barrancal Where is it The great
plain apparently Stretches in every direc-
ton as before. In front. Yes, it does
look little lighter there, hundred
yards ahead, but what of that. little
ravine, may be. We have crossed han
draIs Of suph EpfOre
NO senior; FL barrancs, mucho grande
mucho alton' There does seem to be
something up, after all. The men are
critically examining each pack, carefully
arranging the loads and lightning every
lashing. They even adjust and retie
divided up. only few mules in charge of
one man, so that the foolish brutes may
not'crowd each other off the trail at the
bad points.
The first division moves ahead little
ways and drops out of sight then the
next, and so on until my guide ca Is me
to come on. l go forward, less than 100
yards. Then-but who can describe the
scene below? am standing on the edge
of gigantic precpice. My barometer
reads 10, $50 feet. That little thread of
white down in the bottom of the terrific
depths is the Puer:e river, and beside its
waters the barometer reads 2475 feet
above the sea.
Thee barranca is s175 feet deop-nearly
a mile and half straight down. Where
is the other side? Close at hand; it looks
as if the Winchester could surely send a
ball across to the other bank. AS mat
ter OF fact it is about four miles across
from top to top. There is q valley at the
bottom the rocks wedging at the waters
edge, leaving only an acre or two here
and there that can only be reached by
paths that would make goat dizzy to
climb. 1t is grander, wilder. more
terrific than the great canyon OF the
Colorado. 1t looks like an utter impos-
sibilty to get down there by ropes let
alone getting heavily loaded mules down.
l am looking down on hills that will
look like mountains from below; on
places that look fiat, but will seem as
steep as the roof of house when we ride
over them.
1t is bewildering picture; an indie
scripable chaos of rocks, peaks and preci-
pices. Some of the huge cliffs remind
me of the great towers along the Green
river. Others with their vivid green,
brown and gray formations, recall the
canyon of Ell Virgin, in Utah, but there
the canyons were smaller and more at
tractive in their perfect loneliness. They
seemed like fairy parks shut in by the
mountains that close above and around
them, like so many good-natured protect
ing giants. He nature is at war with
itself. The great gashes seem to be the
result of wrath or terrific strife, as if
the granite pinnacles. towers, shafts and
mountain masses, with their eciplces,
gorges and gulches, have been created
during war between the spirits OF in
ferno.
Looking down on this side is terrify-
ing, awful; looking across at the other
side is terrific, grand, awe-lnsplring.
There peak is piled on peak, precipice
on precipice, crest on crest, pine clad
Pelion piled on oak-covered Ossa. We
are satiated with scenery and feel as if
there cJuld be no new surprise on the
way down, yet scarcely has a depth of
1000 feet been gained when, turning a
sharp corner, there before us are water
falls leaping solidly, massively over the
precipice. but soon floating down like an
exquisite veil of mist waving back an
forth across the moss-grown granite cliffs
as charming, as perfect, lovely picture
as the Bridal Veil falls of the Yosemite.
And this is only one of the many that
claim your eyes at every turn.
l feel like lingering long at the brink
simply to enjoy the sublime picture. but
il is i'm possible to avoid thinking of the
interest gravity will take in the $50
pound man and 5-pound saddle when
placed on 900-pound mule, and the
whole placed on a trail dipping down
ward at angles from "a to 45, yes even 50.
degrees. The guide gives encouragement
by saving, as the plunge is made, Don't
fall off the trail, for if you do it is adios,
for we could never get to YOU" That
trail is not laid where white man would
think, even mule could go or ought to
go-but where Indians have said mules
could and should travel.
Within fifty feet after leaving the crest
I was lying back on the launches of my
mule, wondering how near the dip was
to 80 degrees; few minutes later cling
ing to his neck most aIfectionately, as we
scrambled up little rise to get ready for
another plunge down.
When the trail turns squarely across
the face of a precipice your mind is busy
commenting on the habit of mule has
CT walking on the outer edge of the path
so as to keep from striking his pack
against the rJcks and topping him over.
You wish that he would move in a few
inches. yes, even one inch. the edge is SO
bly, and broken. There are moments
when the soul is dead to the poetry and
beauty OF nature, and one of these mo-
ments is when your mule stumbles on
sigh for absence of body, not presence of
mind. The pack train is directly below
us, winding down that almost perpendic-
ular face by series of shelves that are
utilized as switchbacks. only the turns at
the end OF each switch are nerve-destoy-
rug, for the mule simply turns his feet
slowly and carefully In space the size of
ones hat. His head and neck are over
the edge of the abyss and his tail brush
ing the rocks behind. Al such places you
dare not touch the rein, quirt or spur;
you sit Just as still rs you can and gasp.
There Is the stairway. sheer descent OF