Nacapule Canyon Hike

In the language of the Yaqui people nacapule (pronounced knock-ah-poo-lay) means earlobe. It’s also the name given to a rare fig tree that has generous knees like a Cypress tree and to a canyon that I read about in a tourist brochure.

Places that we read about in tourist brochures are often out of reach for us—for two reasons: they are either too far to get to by foot, or bus, from our boat, or they cost too much for our non-tourist budget. Then there is the fact that wild places that are populated by tourists sometimes have the magic scrubbed out of them—they’ve been made so accessible that the essence that made them captivating is gone.

But because I’m doing a story on San Carlos and need to see the things that tourists see I pay attention to the tourist brochure. And this morning we found ourselves following roads north out of San Carlos. Our guides Fernando and Miguel drive us through the suburbs, then across an arroyo and through familiar desert. Ahead of us is the Sierra Aguaje Mountain range, a string of rugged volcanic formations, where black, red, and rust-hued strata fold over each other in graceful tucks and pleats.

As we grow closer to the mountains our destination becomes clear: a deep ocher-coloured cleft carved into the cliffs. We park and Fernando leads us along the trail to the canyon, pointing out ironwood and jasmine, chichinoco squirrels and swallowtail butterflies. Miguel explains how rare and fragile the sub-tropical ecosystem of the canyon is as he leads us deeper into the desert oasis.

Along the way we pass a bit of graffiti and a few burned palms and Miguel explains that locals are only beginning to have reverence for the canyon. He explains that for the Yaqui people the canyon was sacred—that between the year-round springs-for water, plentiful wildlife-for food, large trees and obsidian rock-for tools, the ancient people found all they needed here.

We continue to make our way up the canyon, following a trickle which gives way to deep tea-coloured pools filled with rare frogs and swimming snakes. The air (which can be unbearably humid in the summer) is comfortable and cool. We scramble over blood-red rocks, through palmetto thickets and up a small cliff—until we find ourselves in the heart of the canyon where the graceful Nacapule fig grows, its bark wrinkled like elephant's but silky to the touch.

It’s hard not to fall in love with a place like this—a place so mystically beautiful I want to keep going long after the trail turns more rugged than we’re comfortable with. So we sit for a while and soak it all in. Then we head back down the trail, leaving nothing behind and collecting the small bits of garbage along the way so the next hikers might understand that this a cared-for canyon, a sacred place that can provide us with everything we truly need to thrive.

Where We Are Now—San Carlos/ Guaymas

The landscape changed when we reached Isla Tiburon—the desert became lush and green, completely different then the harsh environment we’ve grown used to. When we reached the mainland it just got greener—a sign of both a wet rainy season and the change we’d made in climatic zones. Pulling into San Carlos, with its soaring Tetakawi Hill covered in palm trees and flowering greenery, I felt like we’d come much further than 170 miles or so from the other side.

the pool where Maia has made Mexican friends and plays for hours and where it seems we might be crashing weddings...

This isn’t our first visit to San Carlos—we were here 14 years ago as well. Back then the town was barely under construction and there was no resort and pool (which we may, or may not, be crashing on a daily basis), no restaurants with waitresses who call you ‘hon’ and offer endless ice tea refills and no strip of shops and services lining the road into Guaymas.

San Carlos was built on an old cattle ranch known as the Baviso de Navarro. In the 1950s Rafael T. Caballero had a vision of developing a tourist resort and over the next 60-years his idea slowly came to fruition. Located on the edge of Guaymas, San Carlos caters to Americans and Canadians in the winter—but this time of year the majority of the town’s tourists are Mexican.

there's not much to see in Guaymas--but there is a nice church

 Down the road from San Carlos Nuevo Guaymas is the city of Guaymas—named for the Guaymas tribes who dominated the area pre-contact. The European version of the town was founded with a mission in 1610. The Seri people weren’t keen on having Spaniards as neighbours though and fought them off until 1769. After that Guaymas gradually became the industrial town and shrimp-fishing port it is today.

I have a weird love of fishing boats--and these are very similar to the ones we find at home, except for the sunken one...

 As far as a place to be on a boat—San Carlos is an easy one. There is a French word: dépaysement, that I was taught when I was last in Quebec. I was told it doesn’t easily translate to English but it refers to that sense of disorientation you feel when you’re not in your own country, that sense of not quite being part of a place. Mostly when we travel we seek that feeling—the goal is to put ourselves a little off balance. But there are some places where the feeling goes away—and the effort of travel recedes. In San Carlos with its green hills and cool breezes; easy shopping and plentiful stores; and its friendly easy going people--there are no challenges. There is no dépaysement.

we never went inside, but the Woolworth's sign was enough to make us feel at home. the brand lives on in Mexico

For a little while we’re in a place where the green hills trick us into thinking we’re close to home, the routines seem familiar and the town’s easy-going acceptance feels just right.