When Karl Henry was a young explorer he had the good
fortune to have Frank Hatch as his explorer leader. Frank was young
and had a lot of experience in camping and hunting in the Sierra Madre
Mountains. He also had an adventurous spirit and could inspire the
boys to do something that had not been done before.
Karl came home full of enthusiasm and invited me to go
with them on a raft trip down the Bavispe river beginning at Three
Rivers and ending up in Huachinera Sonora. I had often thought of such
a trip but had not quite made up my mind to do it. Now here was the
opportunity to explore the fabled Bavispe river through the rugged
Sierra Madre.
Frank invited me to come and talk to the boys about
backpacking equipment and food and help make plans for the trip. I
tried to impress upon the boys to take what they liked to eat but to
try and get it in the lightest form possible.
We then went about the business of learning about rafts
and decided that each boy or pair of boys should get their own raft so
that it would be small enough for them to handle and carry if
necessary. Karl and I went to El Paso and looked at the different
sizes of rafts and decided on a good inflatable three man raft. It
came complete with plastic paddles and we were all set to get ready
for the awaited trip. We carefully made our check list and began to
load our backpacks. Naoma constantly reminded us of things that we had
not thought of and all of the family were helping us prepare for the
great adventure.
One day Jenene came driving up the highway and just
north of the school and saw a young man painfully limping along under
the weight of a backpack piled high above his head. She stopped to
talk to him, curious about him and his unusual presence here in
Dublan. She found out that he was Kenneth Storm from Minnesota and was
a student at the University there and had been fascinated by the
writings of the early explorer Lumholt and had decided to follow his
trail and wanderings on foot. That morning while he was swinging on
his heavy backpack he had twisted his knee and it was giving him a lot
of pain.
Jenene true to family tradition invited him home for a
meal and to rest his painful knee. We all gathered around to hear his
story and enthusiastic telling of the adventures of the great explorer
Lumholt who had mentioned his travel through the Mormon Colonies on
his way through into the Sierra Madre.
After a couple of days rest at our house Ken decided
that his knee was getting worse and that he needed to return home and
have it repaired before continuing on his journey. He asked if he
could leave his backpack here and pick it up when he returned to
resume his travels.
He took the train home and after about six weeks he
returned eager to continue on the trail of Lumholt. His knee had been
operated on and was repaired as he said, "As good as new".
We were full of preparations for our raft trip down the
Bavispe. We told Ken about it and he said that he would like to go
along. The trip was about ten days away and he said that it was just
enough time to get as far as Madera and return by train in time to go
with us on our adventure. I drew him a map of the way up through Cave
Valley, Pacaheco, and Chuhuichupa and gave him names of people who
would be able help him along the way.
Ken Storm came back on the train from Madera and spent
Sunday with us and said he was ready to go with us on our River
Trip.
Monday morning early we traveled in a ton truck to the
Three Rivers bridge on the Bavispe River. We all eagerly unloaded our
equipment and went to work inflating our rafts and loading all of our
stuff in them. Karl and I put our backpacks down in the bottom of the
rubber raft and pushed out into the river current and our journey was
begun.
We were making good progress around the first bend at
the Tarango ranch when we saw to our disgust that the bottom of the
raft was awash with water and our backpacks were wet. We immediately
pulled over to the bank and opened our packs and took everything out.
We salvaged nearly everything except our Book of Mormon, which was
ruined being soaked with water. We cut two poles and laid them across
the top of the raft in the middle and put our backpacks on the poles
where they would be high and dry for the rest of the trip.
We were making good progress and came down to Ojo
Caliente and stopped to gather a big bunch of peppermint growing along
the little stream that flowed out of the warm spring. We were behind
all of the rest of the rafts so we hurried on down river taking
advantage of the deep pools and good current. We came around a bend in
time to see Harold Bowman reeling in a big Black Bass. Suddenly he
threw down his pole and jumped into the deep pool to retrieve his
broken line. He caught the line and was carefully pulling in the fish
when the line broke again and his big prize was gone. I dug into my
pack and gave him some good strong Nylon line and a lure to put on his
pole. While we were thus engaged a Señor Grajeda came along driving
some cattle up river to his ranch. I went over to visit with him and
got acquainted with him. He told me that his ranch was just across the
river and up the Taraises Creek about a kilometer away. He was very
interested in our trip and wished us well and a safe trip.
As we paddled along a stretch of river that was about
three feet deep we could see some large carp about thirty inches long
gliding along with the raft looking curiously up at us. Karl tried to
hit them with his paddle but of course they darted away only to return
and glide along with us again. Karl got quite annoyed and tried to hit
them again yelling, "go away fish"! We came into a stretch of river
where the bottom was more covered with moss and debris. Here we
noticed that for about a mile there were no fish. Even though the
water was very clear and there were some nice deep pools we could not
see any fish of any kind. I was puzzled and wondered why the fish
avoided that stretch of river.
Coming around a bend into a beautiful deep pool against
a towering cliff of rock, we received a reception committee of big
black bass coming out to meet us curiously swimming around our raft.
We pulled over to the bank and got out our fishing gear and Bass lures
and cast them over near the cliff into the deep clear water. After a
few casts we each caught a big one for our supper that evening. We
soon caught up to the rest of the group who were waiting for us before
going into camp for the night. We camped on a beautiful grassy bank
with towering trees around making an ideal camp spot with plenty of
wood and water. Karl and I had a good supper of Black Bass fillet,
potatoes pearls and gravy to finish off with some delicious Peppermint
Tea. Ken Storm came over to our camp and visited with us a while
saying that this trip was a photographer's dream and that he had taken
many beautiful shots. Our first day's journey was behind us and we
soon went to sleep remembering that we still had many miles of river
to traverse in order to meet the truck to pick us up on Saturday
morning.
The next morning as we started out I saw that Russell
and Lee Robinson had taken off their shirts and just had on short
pants. I warned them that they would get sunburned, especially on
their legs but they assured me that they didn't burn. That evening
their legs were bright red and so painful that they could not put on
their long pants. We could hear them groaning in their bed they were
so burned that they could not sleep from the fiery pain. They really
suffered all during the next three days.
When we started out that morning Kelly Jones and Dwight
Wagner in their raft, Harold and Rhett Bowman in theirs, Russell and
Lee Robinsn in theirs, and Marion Call and Phillip Belnap in theirs
all took off as if competing for first place in the line of paddlers.
Frank Hatch fell in behind them paddling easy to keep them in sight.
Ken Storm was busy taking pictures but soon fell in behind Frank. Karl
and I brought up the rear again since we had the biggest raft and did
not go as fast. Soon after the river turned West we came to a stream
that came into the main river which I had been watching for. I knew
this must be the Nutria Creek coming into the Bavispe. We pulled over
to the bank and Karl waited while I hurriedly went up the stream to
explore the lower end of the Nutria. It soon became rather rugged
confirming my findings of a few years earlier when I had come down the
Nutria to see where it joined the Bavispe. I had turned back where the
canyon became so rugged that I would have to travel in the water.
After seeing what I wanted to see I hurried back to where Karl was
waiting and we resumed our paddling down the river.
We soon came to where the canyon deepened and big rocks
loomed up in the middle of the river completely blocking our passage
accept for a tunnel through one big rock that was just wide enough for
our raft to squeeze through rubbing on each side of the smooth walls
of the tunnel. Just in the entrance of the tunnel I looked up and saw
a birds nest on a ledge inside the tunnel. The water was deep here and
we could not see the bottom.
That second day we made good time even though we had to
pull our rafts through some shallow rocky places. That evening it
clouded up and began to rain. Luckily we came onto some shallow caves
in the side of the cliff near the river and found a nice dry place to
camp and spend the night. Inside the caves we found some curious
drawings where they had been preserved for probably over a thousand
years. Ken storm took photos of each drawing and said he would study
them when he got back to the University.
The next day was Wednesday and as we started on our
journey again the river turned east in big bend for many miles. I
became a little worried for fear that we would not make our
destination by Saturday. As we traveled along it seemed that the
current increased and we went through some narrow, shallow rapids
which Karl and I enjoyed. We had decided not to get out and wade
through as we had seen Russell and Lee do just in front of us. We just
sat tight and went bobbing through with no problem. After that we
didn't get out except when it was necessary to pull the raft where it
was not deep enough to paddle.
Going east we came into a long stretch of river that
was narrow with high cliffs of rock on each side. About fifty feet up
on the cliffs we could see water marks that had been left when the
river was in flood. Seeing how high that river could get we were
grateful that we were traveling in the dry time of year and the river
was low and no danger of flood.
Toward evening the river turned back West again and
opened up into a wide valley. Here we found a high cropping of rock
that divided the river in two. Up on the rock about 40 feet up we
could see deposits of debris that the river had left when it was in
flood.
Suddenly we came to a solid wall of rock with no
visible passage for us or the water. Over on the right side of the
river we could tell that the water was funneling down under the cliff.
We rowed over to the left side where we could see a place where we
could climb out of the boxed in river and pull our rafts up over the
smooth rock that was about ten feet high above the water level on the
upstream side. When we got on top of the rock we could see the water
down about fifty feet on the other side. We finally found our
precarious way down onto a sandy bank pulling of rafts after us.
>From there it was easy to launch our rafts and get on our way
again.
We came into a beautiful protected place where the
group were already in camp and were happy to pull over and find just
the right spot to set up our little camp. Harold and Rhett were
swimming in a deep pool in the river. Harold was climbing high on a
cliff and jumping off into the deep pool below. Ken hurried over with
his camera and caught Harold in mid air as he jumped from the cliff
about 40 feet up.
I looked over and saw Lee Robinson cleaning a big Black
Bass. He commented that this was his first fish since he had not been
able to catch any trout on any of the other trips we had made to Trout
Creek or other streams. Karl and I had stopped earlier and we had our
fish for our supper.
Thursday morning we traveled on down North West and the
river canyon began to open up and we saw an occasional ranch house set
back in the trees against the hill. About mid morning Karl and I came
into a beautiful, deep pool and found Harold and Rhett sitting
dejectedly on the bank. They said that they had rowed ahead and had
decided to take a swim to cool off. They had pulled their raft up onto
the bank out of the water and left it there while they swam. The hot
sun hat heated the air in the raft until it exploded bursting a big
hole in it. We talked it over and decided that we would put their
useless raft in the bottom of ours and they would take their back
packs and proceed on foot. I suggested that at times they would have
easier going if they climbed to the top of the ridge and went along
the top keeping the river in sight. They shouldered the packs and
strode away saying, "we will see you tonight in camp".
That evening we chose to camp on a grassy bank covered
with trees this bank seemed to be under an overhang of rock that came
out over it about two hundred feet up. >From the bank where we were
the rock swept back in a steep incline ending in a big dark cavern
high up in the smooth mountain of rock. Just at dusk, while we were
all busy around our little campfires, a big black cloud of bats came
streaming out of the cave. This stream continued, it seemed to me, for
about 20 minutes. I was filled with wonder at the thousands upon
thousands of bats that must live in that deep cavern in that mountain
of rock.
The next morning Ken Storm persuaded Harold to trade
places with him since he, Ken wanted to go up high on the ridge with
Rhett to get some good pictures of the scenery and the country. Ken
and Rhett left their back packs with Harold and climbed out onto the
high ridge where they took many pictures, some of the river like a
tiny ribbon down in the deep canyon. In the pictures on the river one
has to look very carefully to see the tiny rafts, just a speck of
color on the ribbon of water in the deep canyon.
That day Karl and I had to work double because our
paddles had gradually worn down from breaking bits of the plastic off
when striking a rock or the bottom of the stream. That evening a weary
bunch of paddlers faced our last night in camp. As if to raise our
spirits we camped on a beautiful grassy cove with different kinds of
trees around us. With plenty of wood and water we decided to prepare
an exceptionally good meal and plenty of it. We had eaten our fill of
fish so we concentrated on Potato Pearls and refried beans with two
freeze dried meat meals thrown in. We invited Ken to come and eat with
us for we knew he was very tired of soups, since that is all he had in
his pack. As we were eating contentedly Marion Call came over looking
very hungry so we let him finish up what was left.
The next morning as we worked our way along the river
where the country began to open up and we new we were coming into the
valley of Cóbora and Huachinera. We came to a temporary irrigation dam
across the river and Karl and I lifted our raft to carry it over the
dam. I guess we slipped or something because we punctured one of the
compartments in our raft on one of the sharp sticks that were sticking
up in the dam. To our relief we discovered that the other compartment
was enough to float the raft without us in it. For the next hour we
pulled our raft along the shallow sandy river until we came to the
pick up truck that was waiting for us to take us back home. On the way
back we met Herman Hatch who was coming back from Hermosillo with a
load of grapes. He gave us grapes to eat on the way home. I remember
how good those grapes tasted to a bunch of tired, hungry explorers. We
had rafted down the Bavispe river and were content with that once in
life time, wonderful experience.
As I put this in my journal I will include a page or
two of photos that Ken Storm sent me and that I have as proof of this
wild tale.