Stuck between a rock and a hard place
Jenny Wilkinson, Destination Expert
This morning I watched the sun rise over the Copper Canyon. I sat on the balcony of my room, wrapped in a duvet, listening to the silence of the vast expanses all around me. As the sun pierced the jagged horizon I was filled with excitement at the prospect of exploring this strange wilderness.
After a good breakfast we began our hike through the thickets along the edge of a gorge. At equal distances along the trail, bottles of water had been left and I asked if they were markers to prevent hikers from getting lost. The age of the canyon became apparent when I was told that these were water reserves left by the Raramuri Indians, who have been walking the very same track for centuries.
Our guide took us to the famous Piedra Bolada - The Rocking Stone. The rock is balanced precariously on the edge of a precipice that juts out into the air 884 metres above the canyon floor. We nodded hesitantly as our guide explained the tradition of standing on the stone and rocking yourself for good luck. “Would you like me to show you?” We said that wouldn’t be necessary but he was already skipping away, delighted to be demonstrating his favourite party trick.
“Now it’s your turn!” He shouted to us from across the gorge. I looked solemnly at the tiny figure rocking back and forth and knew, to my dismay, that I couldn’t say no. Clenching my fists, I stepped gingerly onto the overhang, inching around a bush that had grown in the way. The further I walked into the gaping gorge, the harder it became to feign bravery.
By the time I reached The Rocking Stone I was on my hands and knees, shuffling to the edge in a truly undignified fashion. As I gripped the unstable rock and dared myself to look down, I felt smaller and more insignificant than I have ever felt before. From behind me the overwhelming silence was broken only by the sound of hysterical laughter that carried for miles across the canyon walls.
After a good breakfast we began our hike through the thickets along the edge of a gorge. At equal distances along the trail, bottles of water had been left and I asked if they were markers to prevent hikers from getting lost. The age of the canyon became apparent when I was told that these were water reserves left by the Raramuri Indians, who have been walking the very same track for centuries.
Our guide took us to the famous Piedra Bolada - The Rocking Stone. The rock is balanced precariously on the edge of a precipice that juts out into the air 884 metres above the canyon floor. We nodded hesitantly as our guide explained the tradition of standing on the stone and rocking yourself for good luck. “Would you like me to show you?” We said that wouldn’t be necessary but he was already skipping away, delighted to be demonstrating his favourite party trick.
“Now it’s your turn!” He shouted to us from across the gorge. I looked solemnly at the tiny figure rocking back and forth and knew, to my dismay, that I couldn’t say no. Clenching my fists, I stepped gingerly onto the overhang, inching around a bush that had grown in the way. The further I walked into the gaping gorge, the harder it became to feign bravery.
By the time I reached The Rocking Stone I was on my hands and knees, shuffling to the edge in a truly undignified fashion. As I gripped the unstable rock and dared myself to look down, I felt smaller and more insignificant than I have ever felt before. From behind me the overwhelming silence was broken only by the sound of hysterical laughter that carried for miles across the canyon walls.
