We arrive at the canyon lookout late in the afternoon and check out the scene.

The lookout affords a good view of the trail we will follow to the bottom of the canyon.

We hike down to a suspension bridge that marks the end of vehicle roads and camp for the night in a structure that was clearly built with a bigger tourist population in mind than is evident. We see no-one.

In the morning we set off, in earnest.

Missing planks make the suspension bridge slightly disconcerting.

Jason tackles it rather nervously ...

...followed by Jeff.

Our walk starts out in pine forest - over half the world's pine species are found in the Copper Canyon area.

But soon we start to descend into a magic realm of rivers, waterfalls, cactus and succulents.

Clear, cold water runs over smooth rock...

...collecting in freezing cold pools.

We head along an exposed walking trail that forms part of the route of an annual 100 kilometre marathon run.

I'd prefer to take it at a more sedate pace, myself. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

Plants cling to sheer rock walls...

...or squeeze themselves into the smallest of gaps...

A venerable fig tree wrapping itself lovingly around a boulder.

Days are short in the canyon but it is far warmer here than up above. Snow is predicted to fall in Guachochi over the next few days and clouds whizz by overhead.

We set up camp while we are still descending a side canyon.

We bed down, without the benefit of a tent, with the local wildlife.

I wake with nothing much but the sky above me...

...surrounded by towering rock walls.

Breakfast over the embers of last night's campfire...

...while the sewing project continues.

Once we get underway and continue walking more...

...and more intriguing vegetation appears...

...along with the odd sleepy cow.

The stream offers the unexpected gift of fresh water cress...

...which we harvest enthusiastically...

...before continuing through the tangled cactus.

Cactus and tree, intertwined.

We finally reach the main canyon...

...where we meet a group of four locals, fishing.

They are the first people we have seen in a couple of days.

We walk down river, crossing the tributary stream we have been following. The stream crossing results in a bit of impromptu bridge building...

...and as dusk falls and storm clouds gather, we ford the main river to reach a beach with some sheltering rocks on the other side where we set up camp.

The campfire...

...attracts some strange visitors.

Another day starts slowly...

...which we use to explore up river. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

We harvest some prickly pears to supplement our food supply with yet more wildfood.

The terrain is quite rough and contains various hazards...

... I end up in the water four times; twice by choice - and twice by accident. The water is icy and it's a cool day so by the time I return to camp at dark, in wet clothes, I am frozen to the bone. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

We start another day relaxing in the sun at our beach camp...

...before setting off down river to find our way back out of the canyon. We pass the ruins of homesteads...

...and even more terrifying suspension bridges - which thankfully we don't have to cross...

...before we finally, and somewhat reluctantly, climb back out of the canyon and back to the lookout at the top. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

Travelling with a knowledgeable and observant companion has meant I have learnt a lot about some things which I previously knew nothing. The following is a list of some of the birds that I have seen, some of which I may, hopefully, recognise if I see again.

Great Blue Heron
Western Tanager
Scarlet Tanager
Black-chinned Hummingbird
Broad-billed Hummingbird
Black Phoebe
White-throated Swift
Painted Redstart
Canyon Wren
Vermillion Flycatcher
Ash-throated Flycatcher
Acorn Woodpecker
Northern Cardinal
Phyrruloxia
Baltimore Oriole
Elegant Trogon
Violet-green Swallow
Belted Kingfisher
White-breasted Nuthatch
Northern Flicker
Shrike (unidentified)
Western Bluebird
Least Sandpiper
Mexican Jay
Stellar’s Jay
American Kestrel
Red-tailed Hawk
Swainson’s Hawk
Peregrine Falcon
Turkey Vulture
Black Vulture

Painted Redstart. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

Red-tailed Hawk. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

Ash-throated Flycatcher. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

Acorn Woodpecker

Yellow-headed Blackbirds.

Altamira Oriole.

Vermillion Flycatcher.

Black Vultures.

Rough roads take their toll on gear. Jeff's panniers start to bounce off over bumps.

We need to ford the river before starting the ascent out of the canyon, which passes over the walking trail we followed on the return from Batopilas. Having seen the road carved out of the hillside we have some idea of what is in store for us. In addition, Cass took this road out of the canyon and has provided us with notes on what to expect. However, even forewarned, I am not sufficiently prepared for this ascent.

Fording the river...

It is deep...

...and my pannier attachments are also dubious. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

The ferocious ascent starts without preamble. I push... (Photo: Jeff Volk)

...over difficult surfaces and merciless terrain.

Our panniers are heavy with good, but impractical, items pilfered from Keith's garden, which will be sorely missed. (Photo: Jeff Volk)

We only cover about seven kilometres on the first day, having left Urique mid-afternoon, and I only manage to ride about 20 percent of it. I will claim, without having any real basis for comparison, that I don’t believe  childbirth would be any more difficult or painful than this climb was for me.

Eventually, we top the ridge and follow the road which continues to roll through the mountain tops. The going is still not easy.

Riding the ridge... the going is still not easy... (Photo: Jeff Volk)

...but the views are splendid.

We leave Batopilas in the afternoon on New Year's Day with the band still playing and drunks strewn about on the pavement. Even here we can hear the tuba beat.

This time we stay high on the mountain ridges for several days where the nights are cold.

On the third evening we come across a hidden valley, hanging in the mountains below our camp site.

We follow a rocky trail which has existed, no doubt, for hundreds of years.

On top of a ridge, the road that we will leave Urique on with the bikes suddenly appears before us. That's one hard ascent we have in store for us!

The trail leads over rocky slabs on top of the world...

...worn down by countless footsteps...

... before descending on the other side where the trail suddenly becomes more exposed. No place for a careless footstep here...

... but Jeff drops his camera and has to find a way to negotiate the terrain to rescue it. A tricky maneuver in Crocs, his footwear of choice.

The camera rescue is quickly followed by a difficult section where the path has been obliterated by a landslide. It is far worse than it looks in this photo, with a precipitous drop below...

... but the going gets easier and we stop for lunch among the oak trees on the mountain tops.

We pass all but abandoned farms high up in remote valleys...

...and, as we descend, other plots with well tended green cash crops. The drug trade is the basis of the local economy.

Finally we reach the bottom, where we cross a rickety suspension bridge over Urique River and walk back along the bottom of the canyon to return to Keith's magic garden.

The rat trap in the corner is a nice touch.

Rough and ready.

Mirror on the wall.

Once we are settled in to our less than salubrious quarters, we head out to find something to eat. We find that all the restaurants are closed early for the festivities and the only food available are dubious burritos and hamburgers sold on the street.

Eventually we head to the village square to check out the New Year’s celebration. It’s a strange scene, somehow reminiscent of some demented dream of a diabolic music box.

Cowboys in Batopilas dancing the New Year in...

...while other drink it in...

...to the steady beat of the tuba.

As the night wears on more and more drunken cowboys lurch about and the atmosphere degenerates.* It all seems a bit surreal after three days walking in the wilderness. Sometime just before 12 o’clock the band stops so that everybody can attend an inebriated midnight mass and we retire to our sleazy hotel.

*Some time later, we heard that a woman was murdered on New Year’s Eve in Batopilas.

We tell Keith of our plans but it isn’t until we are packed and about to leave that he informs me that he actually possesses a topographical map of the area. Keith is reluctant to hand over his map but he does allow us to photograph it. He also casually recommends we avoid the route where a local bandit has robbed a number of travellers in recent months.

When Keith realised that we were serious about walking from Urique to Batopilas he let slip that he did actually have a map that might help us.

Armed with our photo map, a few place names and loads of fresh food from the garden, we set off, as the sun is setting, into a rainy, but warmish, evening. We walk about seven kilometres on the road down the river before setting up camp.

The morning brings better weather, as the clouds slowly lift up out of the canyon.

Misty mountains - Urique Canyon.

Flowering trees line the road.

Setting off along the road in the morning. Photo: Jeff Volk.

Soon the road ends and we have to choose our way from the network of footpaths available. Our way takes us further along the river before climbing over the mountain tops.

Jeff questioning Alberto - one of the people we meet en route - about the correct way to proceed.

The first day we don't get far - we are reluctant to leave the river behind us.

The water is cold - but irresistible. Photo: Jeff Volk.

Jeff taking the plunge.

We camp by the river for a second night.

Dawn on the river.

Clouds lifting at dawn.

Cactii and sunshine - a different world from the mountain tops.

I love cactii.

Eventually we start to climb and leave the river below.

Finally we leave the river below start to climb... Photo: Jeff Volk.

...through cactus forests.

Higher and higher.

The third night sees us camping in a cave on the mountain tops.

Sunset from the cave...

...and dawn.

More cave views. Photo: Jeff Volk.

Camp in the cave. Jeff reading in the morning.

We wake in the morning and start the descent into the Batopilas canyon on New Year’s Eve.

A man carrying a sack heading up the mountain we have just started to descend.

I have no idea when Cass and Jeff will arrive so I set about making myself at home. I start by setting up my tent and then address myself to picking a range of salad greens, Swiss chard and green beans. Keith donates some pesto to my repast in exchange for a dinner invitation and Cass and Jeff arrive just in time for me to include them in the feast and so we end up eating Christmas dinner together.

Harvesting from Keith's abundant green garden. Photo: Jeff Volk.

The next few days are spent in a positive orgy of eating. Fresh grapefruit juice for breakfast is a daily highlight.

Fresh grapefruit juice for breakfast - one of the treats available at Entre Amigos, if you are willing to put the effort in.

Dinner options include fresh pesto made from coriander (or cilantro for the Americans in the audience) and salads with delicious dressings of Jeff’s invention.

Jeff sets to work in the communal kitchen to make coriander/cilantro pesto...

...which is a lot of work with only low tech tools at his disposal.

A green dinner from a green garden: coriander pesto, green beans and fresh salad with avocardo and grapefruit juice dressing. Photo: Jeff Volk.

We are so happy in our garden paradise that we barely leave Keith’s premises, eating and relaxing in the sun. When Cass unexpectedly has to leave for the UK just after Christmas leaving the plans for a trip to the coast in disarry, Jeff and I start to hatch an alternative plan to take a walk in the canyon. We decide to make our way to Batopolis, another small village in the neighbouring canyon, for New Year’s Eve.

An abandoned car on the road to Urique.

A roadside shrine on an otherwise undistinguished hilltop.

The following morning I set off again on Christmas day hoping to arrive in Urique before nightfall and hoping that, since I had three days start, Cass and Jeff don’t pass me on the road before I get there. After yesterdays climb I can scarely believe that there is more to do today but it turns out to be the case and it is several hours before I arrive at a lookout where I can see Urique sitting along the river in the canyon far below.

Urique sits in the deepest canyon in North America. The town has been there since the mid-1600s, with road access only since 1975.

The road descends around 2000 metres in a crazy series of switch-backs over fourteen kilometres. It is not a ride for the faint-hearted. I take the descent easy, taking care to avoid the Christmas drunks roaring up the hill in the opposite direction in their pick-up trucks.

Glimpses of the road descending.

As I descend the climate changes. The pines and oak trees disappear and cactus and mesquite appear. Best not to think about getting out of here again...

Eventually, I find myself at the bottom of the canyon and manage to find my way to Entre Amigos, an organic eco-hostel, run by, Keith, an American old-timer who has been in Urique for thirty-five years with his Mexican wife.

Urique has a long history - this decrepit, but still elegant, shop clearly has been here a while.

A corn symbol on a shop front, covering a coca cola sign.

A drunk cowboy on the streets of Urique.

In the meantime, Jason and Jeff decide to visit Recowata Hot Springs, 22 kilometres outside Creel, and since the hot springs are in the direction of Urique, I decide that I shouldn’t miss them either. I set off somewhat earlier in the day than the guys and descend into Tararecua Canyon at dusk. The road out of Creel rolls up and down. The dirt road which leads to the springs is innocuous to begin with but the final three or four kilometres drop straight down over 600 metres to the bottom of the canyon on a crazy set of roughly cobbled switchbacks. By the time I realise that I am an idiot to take my fully loaded bike all the way to the bottom it is too late to change my mind and so I continue into the gathering gloom trying to put the thought of tomorrow’s return journey out of my mind.

I get to the bottom after the sun has definitively set. I investigate the springs, which are not so much hot as warm, and I am busy rekindling a dying fire left by a day visitor when Jeff and Jason arrive sensibly carrying their things on their backs, having stashed their bikes halfway down the descent. We cook, eat and set up camp before taking the plunge.

It is cold out and the water, at around 37 degrees, on initial contact is hot but after a few minutes, when our bodies adjust, it seems barely lukewarm. However, it is certain warmer in than out, and the steam gives at least the illusion of heat, so we spend a few hours soaking in the tubs watching the stars turn in the sky above. Jeff and Jason point out Taurus and Gemini to me, welcome additions to my stellar knowledge.

Descending into Tararecua Canyon at dusk to the Recowata Hot Springs.

The final three or four kilometres are ridiculously steep and roughly cobbled. If I'd had any sense and a better backpack I would have left my bike at the top and only carried what I needed down with me to the springs.

In the morning we wake to a grey chilly day. The luke-warm waters have no further appeal so we hike up the canyon along a footpath admiring the rocky wilderness which is our first real taste of the Copper Canyon complex.

Sadly, the hot springs are only warm and developed in an insensitive manner. A couple of workmen repaint one of the pools an unnatural blue.

However, a walk in the morning reveals a gorgeous canyon to explore.

Jeff and Jason looking out over the canyon.

I am endlessly fascinated by the infinite varieties of cactus. I find the patterning on this one intriguing.

Jason taking a relaxing break from the arduous business of walking.

The nights are pretty chilly and it is very hard to set off early when it is below freezing: ice on the tent, ice on the sleeping bag, drinking water solid ice. Breaking camp is a dismal affair, the tent packed away with ice crystals slowly melting, a cold soggy mess waiting for the evening, and my sleeping bag promises to be damp once the day’s warmth thaws the icy ring around the opening where my breath has condensed during the night.

The sun comes up giving a feeble warmth but even after sunrise the fog persists and riding to the nearest town for breakfast is a painful business with icicle fingers and toes.

A cold camp in a farm field.

The cold foggy morning reveals...

...fields of icy grass...

...and a frozen helmet, forgotten outside the tent.

We are keen to get to Creel without further distraction and ride over the mountainous roads as fast as we can.

The landscape is spectacular but the road steep and unforgiving.

We lunch in a sunny field where we spread out our tents and sleeping bags to dry.

Mexican roads are liberally dotted with shrines and religious images.

An image of Guadalupe painted on a roadside rock-face approaching Creel.

Creel is the centre for tourism in the Copper Canyon area and we decide to make it our base while we gather information. Once we finally arrive we rent an apartment for a few days but, in general, find Creel to be a town without a vibrant heart and reliable information and maps hard to come by.

Studying maps in our telenovella apartment - the fruit bowl centre piece on the dining room table is an astonishing piece of interior decorating that amuses us for our entire stay.

Sunset over Creel - a town without much grace...

...however, we do discover a local cafe with some charm and a wi-fi connection.

After a few days in Creel, we start to make various plans for escape. Jason is spending New Year on the beach in southern Mexico, Jeff and Cass also have a vague plan for a New Year coastal escapade via the Copper Canyon Express to Los Mochis, while I am thinking, despite the temptations of beaches, sunshine and fish, that I would like to visit Urique at the bottom of North American deepest canyon. Earlier research has uncovered, Entre Amigos, a eco-garden hostel there that sounds appealing and I am foolishly undaunted by the 2000 metre descent to reach it.

The Copper Canyon Express train is way most people see the Copper Canyon complex. It passes through Creel and is probably the reason for Creel's popularity with tourists.