The countryside opened up as the Silver Trail left the Valley of the Churches. Earlier that day, our group of seven backpackers passed a young Tarahumara man (the indigenous people of Mexico’s Copper Canyon), and I asked him about Nacho Kino. Nacho was an elderly Tarahumara man I’d met while mapping the Silver Trail a few years before, who seemed well regarded in that area.
“He’s not at his ranchito. He’s gone to the Dutuburi in Kisochi. I’m on my way there now,” he replied. {Dutuburi- An event held periodically in Tarahumara villages to ask Oruame (God in simplistic terms) for something, such as rain for crops. After dancing the Yamari, the people dance the Dutuburi. And afterward, the feasting begins}.
I’d hoped to introduce Nacho to the group when we passed by his log house the following day. The wiry older man embodied pure happiness and a positive perspective. I’d stopped by to visit with him several times before. The experience always brightened my day, and I wanted to share that with the group. With a broad smile, he once told me how, after years of living in Chihuahua City, he returned to this valley of his youth to die. Up here, in this high and dry valley, he was surrounded by goodness and what he had decided were the important things in life. Things like daughters and sons, grandkids, cousins, a fine dog, a prolific apple tree, and plenty of friends. Since visiting with him this time around wasn’t going to happen, I told the young Tarahumara to tell him, “Saludos de David, el gringo.” He said he would, and we went our separate ways.
After the trail encounter, our group continued backpacking along the trail toward our anticipated campsite on a mesa just above Nacho Kino’s house. The next day, we planned to go from there, past Nacho Kino’s house, and to a place adjacent to the Rio Conchos called Huajochic. That section was a long haul, but I figured we’d break it up with a short visit with the older man. Now, I reasoned, we’d have that much more daylight to work with since we wouldn’t be making that stop.
As mentioned, we were a group of seven. It included five teenagers, me, and another leader, Ryan, and we were backpacking along a 40-mile section of the historic Silver Trail. We were headed north on the section of the trail that starts near the remnants of the waystation called Pilares. Ultimately, we planned to pass by the ruins of another called Huajochic. And at that point, we’d cross the waters of the Rio Conchos and head toward our final destination, the town of Carachic.
At the northern end of the rock-spire-filled Valley of the Churches, the trail sharply turned north as the creek we were following met another. Once we rounded the corner, I saw the Kino Springs mesa that overlooked Nacho’s ranchito, rising above the lower hills a mile ahead. So, I knew we were getting close. We worked our way across the valley floor and soon passed just to the side of the small and seemingly deserted village of Siquerichi before beginning a gradual climb to the mesa summit. The trail steepened as we neared the top. After crossing a rocky section, it stayed just below the ridgeline before finally dumping us out onto a flat and scrub brush-covered area on the actual top. Once there, we found a good place to camp and began setting up with just enough time to do so before dark.
Everyone put their packs down and immediately began setting up tents and fetching water from the spring. By 7:00 pm, we were all sitting around and waiting for the supper water to boil when the same young Tarahumara man we’d seen earlier in the day just appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He stood off to the firelight’s edge and obviously had something to say. I was a bit confused by his reappearance. “What’s going on?” I wondered. I’d never felt at all threatened anywhere in the Copper Canyon backcountry. And since we were in the Nacho Kino realm, I was confident that nothing sinister was going on.
Then, he spoke. He said that Nacho Kino invited us to the Dutuburi and that he, the young man, would take us there. I was immediately overcome and overwhelmed by the gesture and its prospects. “Seven teenagers from the United States attending a Dutuburi in the wilds of the Sierra Tarahumara. How could we not seize the moment? What would it mean to a 16-year-old from middle America or even a 50-year-old like me? I speculated. My mind buzzed with excitement.
Seamlessly, I went into mental rationalization mode, figuring out the logistics for how to make it work. Then, just as a plan was solidifying itself, the slightly inebriated way he slurred his words while continuing the conversation changed the situation. Visions of Tesguino (corn-beer) drinking, teenage boys getting swept into a moment they weren’t ready for, and me trying to explain it all to a parent in an Austin coffee shop suddenly overwhelmed my thoughts. And I turned down the offer.
“Thank him,” I said, “but we have a lot to do tomorrow and need to rest.”
True, it was late, and we still had a long way to go. A part of me said, ” A fantastic opportunity missed.” But my pragmatic side told me, “A profound disaster averted.” The Tarahumara shook his head in acknowledgment, smiled, and disappeared into the brush.
The offer and refusal parts were straightforward enough. Even though the boys didn’t speak much Spanish, they could pick out a few words, feel the goodwill, and ultimately get the gist of what was happening. And so, for that moment, it was a cut-and-dried event that they weren’t physically going to be a part of but could feel good about, nonetheless.
After the Tarahumara vanished, everyone in our group began talking, asking questions, and mostly trying to figure out what happened. We discussed it a bit, and I was convinced that the details of the Dutuburi and the invitation to attend had captivated the minds of the five younger people. Even though none spoke Spanish or completely understood what happened, they each seemed fascinated by the events. But then, a discussion about Sardine guts started up. And for that moment, the Dutuburi episode drifted into the background. And I smiled to myself as I thought about the time that would surely come when one of the boys would be an older man and tell the story.
