Adios, Señor!
As I left the town, following the pack-train after having made the last settlements with the natives, I passed a little hut, the last homestead on this side of the sierra. In front of it stood a young girl, her hand raised to shade her eyes against the rays of the sinking sun. She had watched the expedition go by, and was much excited by the strange sight of so many men, the wonderful array of animals and great quantity of baggage never before seen in those parts of the world. With her fine dark eyes, her loose wavy hair and graceful figure, she made a strikingly beautiful picture, and as she called out in a sweet, melodious voice, “Adios, Señor!” I took this kindly greeting from a pretty girl as a good omen for my journey. On the spur of the moment I dismounted and perpetuated the auspicious scene by means of a kodak which I carried fastened to the pommel of my saddle. I wish it had been possible for me to send her that picture as a token of my gratitude for her cheery greeting. She surely would have appreciated it, as all Mexicans delight in seeing their photographs. Then I turned my face to the east and soon overtook my men.
To reach the Sierra Madre from the Bavispe River by way of Nacori, two—or, as the Mexicans consider it, three—sierras have to be crossed, all running, generally speaking, in a northwesterly to southeasterly direction. The first two ranges are quite easy to climb. The third is the Sierra Madre proper, which the Mexicans here call Sierra de Nacori, as the upper Bavispe River from its source makes a great detour toward the north around it, thereby partly separating it from the main chain. Even this range does not really present any unsurmountable difficulties if the weather is fine; in bad weather, I admit, some parts of the trail we made would be all but impracticable.
Having reached the second range called the Sierra de Huehuerachi, near its northern terminus, and looking backward, we see the Sierra de Bacadehuachi lying farthest to the west. On its eastern flank tower steep-tilted broken masses of conglomerate, and the frowning row of hog-backs just north and east of Nacori are only a continuation of that range. But looking east from where we were we obtained the first close view of the main range of the Sierra Madre (Sierra de Nacori). It rises bold and majestic on the opposite side of the valley, at the bottom of which runs the little river of Huehuerachi.
View toward the Northwest from Sierra de Huehuerachi.
In this valley we camped for two days, being delayed by rains. It was early in December, but we found Helianthus ten to twelve feet high in bloom everywhere in the cañons. A Salvia with a blue corolla, dotted with red glands, was very striking, a new variety, as it proved. We also observed elders with flowers and leaves at the same time, and the Bambusa formed a thick light-green undergrowth in beautiful contrast to the darker shades of the oaks, elders, and fan palms. The latter were the last of their kind we saw on this side of the sierra.
We then went six miles further to the northeast. At first the trail followed the little river, whose clear and rapid water is about a foot deep and on an average six feet wide. Frequently its bed had to be cleared of palm trees to make it passable for the pack train, and big boulders and heavy undergrowth made travel rough. Then, ascending a cordon which led directly up to the main range, we followed for a while a dim trail on which the Apaches used to drive the herds of cattle they had stolen, and which is said to lead to a place so inaccessible that two Indians could keep a whole company at bay. The surface soil we had lately been travelling over was covered with boulders and fragments of conglomerate.
The Sierra Madre was now so close that the tilted masses of its rocks seemed to overhang our tents threateningly where we had pitched them at its foot. From this camp we had about the same splendid view as from the ridge of Huehuerachi we had just left behind; and between us and the foot-hills of the Sierra de Bacadehuachi stretched out a vast mass of barren-looking rocks and hills. The Mexicans call them agua blanca, a designation also applied to the small water course that runs through them in a northerly and southerly direction, but which from our point of view could not be made out in the chaotic confusion. Away off toward the north, at a distance of from fifteen to twenty miles, could be seen a high chain of sharp peaks.
I may mention here that I found the water of many streamlets and brooks throughout the western mountains of Mexico to have a slightly whitish colour and a dull, opalescent look, like a strong solution of quinine. The Mexicans call it agua blanca, or agua zarca, and consider it the best water they have. Many places, especially ranches, are named after it. In the locality where we now found ourselves the water had a slightly bitter taste, owing to a strong admixture of iron and other minerals, but generally it was very palatable.