CANDELA REDUX

By George J. Altgelt

 

The largely wild and undeveloped mountainous ranch land near Candela has offered up over the last five years a panoramic feast for the eyes and so many incredible outdoor adventures for me, my friends, and my family. My latest Coahuilan adventure began with the memory of the introduction of an article Robert Mendoza wrote for LareDOS , a piece that began with a campfire ghost tale about Brigadier General Jesus Guajardo, the traitorous carranzista from Candela who set up the assassination of Emiliano Zapata. In that story, Mendoza recounts an experience of his own while camping in the Sierra de los Pajaros Azules, a range of mountains that is the primary backdrop for the town of Candela .

In recounting this, I draw from Mendoza 's intro and from the narrative of the guide Manuel Roque who accompanied Robert Mendoza, Raul Santos, and Bob Garza into a canyon that is nestled in the heart of the Pajaros Azules. With the generous permission of the ranch owner, Edelmiro Tijerina, the four proceeded to climb out of the valley floor and up along the challenging, craggy trails of the canyon walls that follow the course of a 500 foot waterfall born of a mountain-made cold spring. The source of the spring is from the north face of the center ridge of the Pajaros Azules range that is laden with palmettos, ferns, and a token 20 year-old avocado tree that produces fruit in July.

Once at the eye of the spring the four found a level patch of ground a few hundred more meters up the mountain. They made their camp beneath a 35 foot tall canopy of old growth oaks and nogales . The adventurers made camp and bedded down for the evening after dinner. With the last of the beer polished off, shut-eye took hold and nightfall was upon them.

Just as the moon rose above the eastern ridge of the canyon wall, time stood still and an event began to unravel that would not be soon forgotten. The high-mountain oak forest was alive with the chirping of crickets, the rustle of ring tail cats, and the rooting and digging of armadillos -- all of God's creation oblivious to the interlopers and going about the evening's business, including one steadfast, fast paced, four legged, omnivorous, 200-pound Mexican Black Bear in search of anything left in their backpacks. According to Mendoza , the bear walked straight into their campsite.

Once inside the perimeter the bear was greeted by a prepackaged tightly wrapped manmade tamale (a dude in a sleeping bag or hominid for you hyper-technical folk). One more step forward down the mountain and our sleeping soldier was about to have face time with an intimidating creature armed with long claws and a strong jaw full of tough teeth. Our beer breathed camper woke to the bear breathed visitor and perhaps in a split second contemplation each might have wondered whose breath was most startling. Offense was duly registered by both and each respectfully retreated to opposite sides of the altercation. Roque, the guide, noted that Mendoza sat up for about two seconds, determined that all was well and that there was no further threat to life and limb. After the expiration of those two seconds Mendoza quickly drifted off to the sound of the waterfall echoing throughout the canyon. Meanwhile our seasoned outdoorsman insisted on the building of a fire to thwart future incursions. Manuel's account indicated that the heat of the fire was so intense that it was difficult to sleep for fear of spontaneously combusting. For the record, Mexican Black Bear are passive and very seldom attack humans unless cornered or with their young.

Mendoza 's account describes in detail that at the base of the waterfall, downstream from the eye of the spring, Mr. Tijerina had ingeniously terraced and hand sculpted a portion of the valley into his own personal garden of Eden. Reading that prompted me to purchase topographical maps of the region in order to identify the place he described. Mendoza introduced me to Raul Santos, a longtime Candela outdoor adventurer, and he connected me with Manuel Roque, a Candela born and raised nature guide and local champion of the environment. It was with the collective help of these three gentlemen that I was able to finally see a place that I had only heard about in conversation and script and seen on maps.

On the day I met Roque at the plaza in Candela he proceeded to show me a handful of houses that would soon become available to rent for those who want to come to Candela to enjoy its many outdoor offerings -- mountain biking, horseback riding, spelunking, bird watching, hiking, mountaineering, rappelling, and observing Mexican free tail bats which in flight are so thick that they darken the sky in their ritual evening flight from two particular caverns located a couple of kilometers away from the center of town. In the immediate area of Candela there are natural springs, several of which are thermal, all within proximity of one and other, and all responsible for the flow of the Río Candela. This emerald green riparian corridor runs north east to the Río Salado and cuts through the easternmost frontier of the Chihuahuan Desert like a beam of liquid life, giving the local flora and fauna plenty of reason thrive, and the occasional explorer reason to come back again and again. Without the organizational and logistical consulting of Raul Santos I would not have realized my dream of experiencing a place as amazing and ecologically diverse as the Timones Canyon in the valley of the Pajaros Azules.

Early in October, on the day that I traced the footsteps of Mendoza, Santos, and Garza, I walked with Mr. Tijerina through his orchard of botanical delights. He recalled the day he noticed the rustle of leaves in the tree tops of his pecan grove. He began to walk toward the source of the commotion, only to be taken aback by the sight of a black bear in his pecan grove eating whole, unshucked, ripened-to- perfection pecans, much like a patron in a movie house consuming popcorn, only this patron was 30 feet off the ground and precariously perched atop branches of notoriously soft-wooded pecans that swayed in the wind. Rancher Tijerina politely asked the bear to leave by throwing fallen pieces of pecan limbs at the hide of the preoccupied, all-you-can-eat-branch-buffet-nut-processor. It wasn't until Mr. Tijerina began banging on the side of the tree that the bear decided the gig was up. “Without hesitation the bear dropped, tucked, and rolled onto the ground. Once contact was made with the ground the bear continued to somersault down the hillside a little, only to spring forward from the inertia into a fast paced lope down the valley into the cover of the scrub. Mr. Tijerina said, “The animals of the region where my ranch is located were there first, and therefore not the trespassers. Rather we are the ones encroaching on their ecosystem and way of life.”

I digress.

Manuel Roque organized the day trip into Timones Canyon. By 7 a.m. Saturday we were on our way out of Candela and traveling north in his ‘74 Ford pickup along a dusty caliche road that winds through an ejido at the edge of town and extends to the foothills of the Sierra de los Pajaros Azules. We were greeted at the entrance of the canyon by a Red-Tailed Hawk perched atop a century plant's expired floral spike that extended 30 feet into the air. The hawk basked a little longer in the orange glow of the warm morning light and then determined that we'd come too close. After taking flight and deciding that we had sufficient security clearance, the hawk went about his way in search of some Saturday morning monte mariachis.

We quickly arrived at the entrance of Timones Canyon which is essentially a road etched into the existing stream bed, which this morning flowed with clear spring water. Reaching the brook's headwaters would be the objective of the day. Reaching a highpoint along the canyon wall and looking down upon the valley floor of Timones Canyon and the great expanse of the Mesa Cartujano would be the reward if we were extra ambitious.

The further we went into the canyon's entrance the louder became the sonorous rumble of running water. Once we climbed out of the stream bed the source of the loud noise revealed itself. In the distance coming off of the boreal face of the westernmost canyon wall was the 500 foot waterfall that provides the life force for the southernmost tip of the Timones Valley.

It is often said that you can discern much about a man by the way he hangs his gates and organizes his corales, and Mr. Tijerina's ranch compound spoke volumes for his organization of labor and the esteem in which he holds natural resources. Displays of the symbiotic relationship of man and nature working in tandem were everywhere visible. Mr. Tijerina is truly a blessed man, caretaker of a 1,000 hectare patch of land kept in a lineage of multigenerational stewardship. A harmonious chorus of goodness born from the depths of the human spirit has found its home on this ranch deep in the Sierra de Los Pajaros Azules. The spring irrigated huerta is terraced into different levels and separated into four sections. Mr. Tijerina visits his ranch weekly on every Saturday of every weekend, and so each of the four sections is alternately irrigated for a period of seven days at a time. The dense arboretum is comprised of avocado, pomegranate, pecan, fig, and peach trees, and there is also an open field full of corn and squash. A portion of the spring is diverted into a swimming pool and what is left overflows back into the canyon. This little patch of heaven on earth everywhere reflects the gentle hand that Mr. Tijerina has used to leave his mark on this planet.

Just above the huerta is the trailhead that would take us along a relatively technical climb midway to the waterfall. Once at the halfway mark of the waterfall you must cautiously cross through a shallow pool of fast flowing water amidst slippery algae laden rocks and wet boulders. One miscalculation and the mountain's merciless rock mixed with the gravitational pull of the Earth would expedite one's departure from this life to the next.

The cool mist of the water splattering off the sides of the rocks was a refreshing break from the afternoon sun. The hardest part of the climb was now behind us and we proceeded to enter into the shaded corridors of the old growth forest. The trail was covered with the fallen leaves of autumn and traced the northern side of the stream. By now the thunder of the cascade had faded into a soft background noise, and the thorny Chihuahuan Desert scrub gave way to large stands of trees, thick bunches of fern, and lichen that were nearly luminous. The windswept hustle of the exposed canyon walls were replaced with the calls of Canyon Wren and the distant shreep-shreep-shreep of the Mexican Scrub Jay, a blue bird, that cousin of the Blue Jay, and the namesake of La Sierra de los Pajaros Azules. This was not my first acquaintance with the Mexican Scrub Jay, who are notoriously scandalous and tame at the same time, so much so that in Big Bend National Park one flew from the trees and landed on my hand in order to remove a piece of granola from my palm. The Mexican Jay is often found in six packs and is considered the alarm system of the forest. When one alerts, the rest of them do as well, and if the effort is really organized, different groups along the mountainside will chime in. Today was no exception and their early warning detection system was in full force. We were identified immediately, and a black squirrel with a red back and tail proceeded to scurry up a tree.

Amidst the commotion, however, there was one critter who did not budge. The morning was still cool and crisp in the shade and her exothermic existence had yet heated up to the point necessary for energy expenditure. In the middle of the trail sat coiled and in silence a six-foot plus Diamondback rattlesnake. Manuel identified the threat milliseconds prior to stepping on it, and then asked God for forgiveness as he took her life one stone at a time. After the snake passed on I asked Manuel why he had decided to do that. His response was, “A good friend of mine has cancer, and I skin and gut the snake, and then cut the meaty part into pieces and dry it in the sun. Once dried I grind it into dust. Two spoonsful a day is what it takes to keep him going. That is why I did it.” He removed the head with his machete and dragged the carcass with him th roughout the rest of the hike. On one occasion the headless reptile struck him with pinpoint though futile accuracy.

We were now at the eye of the spring, el ojo de agua, the very source of water that sustained this portion of the canyon's flora and fauna. It was here that we took a break to listen to the uninterrupted sounds of the natural world. Only the voice of the divine was audible, and the confusion of the modern world seemed like a distant galaxy light years away. I took a knee and made a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessings in my life -- my health, my little girl Emily, and my loving wife Rosy. Arms open, I lowered myself to the spring and drank deeply from Mother Earth. The cool, clear water was the taste of perfection, and the refreshing hydration of the body and soul reinvigorated me for the long climb ahead.

Once we had refueled it was time to climb to the summit of a nearby peak, one that was not too technical, though the elevation gain was dramatic and would be a test of stamina more than anything. We left the protection of the canopy of foliage and began our ascent. One of the amazing things about the Chihuahuan Desert it that it is truly a land of extremes and rapid transition zones. Almost immediately, the flora began to change. New aromas from different types of brush rose from the ground, smells that I never imagined existed. Manuel was quite knowledgeable about the medicinal properties of the various plant species, and he proceeded to collect an array of herbs for a number of people who had given him a “shopping list” in anticipation of his regular visits to the tops of the local mountain ranges. Perhaps the most outstanding feature on this particular leg of the trip were the palm trees atop the mountain that we were climbing. These particular palms are not quite as big as the tropical palms that we see in South Texas. In fact, they are diminutive with thinner trunks that do not grow very tall, and their fans are notably smaller. Tthis is most likely the result of the small amount of yearly precipitation.

After a solid hour of climbing, we finally reached the top of an unnamed peak that provided amazing vistas down both sides of the sierra. To the west you could see the basin that goes all the way to Monclova, and to the East you could see the entire valley below and the small patch of greenery that represents Mr. Tijerina's huerta . Most significantly, however, was the bird's eye view of the Mesa Cartujano, that 33,000 hectare expanse of land that extends parallel down the side of the Pajaros Azules range. This particular geological feature is littered with Indian artifacts and pictographs and has been the subject of many an article. I have had the privilege of exploring the Mesa on two different occasions and have only begun to scratch its surface. After a long photo-fest we decided that now was a good time to sit down and have our lunch. Manuel found a flat rock table for two in the shade of a couple of palmas . Once finished, we policed our camp and made our way back down to the floor of the valley. All along the way we observed super-sized grasshoppers, caterpillars, Monarch butterflies, and praying mantids. By the time we made our descent, my legs felt like Jello and my feet felt like I had been walking on coals.

The day was now coming to an end and so was our stay within the peaceful confines of the canyon. It was now time to head back to base camp, which once again had been generously provided by Laredoans Wawi and Omar Tijerina. For good measure I had decided that I would mountain bike the 7.8 miles back to Candela. I figured that it would be for the most part a leisurely downhill ride out of the canyon with little work for my already sore legs. I could not have been more wrong. What the ride lacked in work, it made up for in rapid technical descents, sometimes on unstable creek beds with fast water flowing across them. The saddle was the place that you wanted your rear to be, and my hands began to go numb from the vibration after the first mile. Furthermore, it was hard to stay completely focused on the road when everything around was so incredibly scenic and breathtaking. Nevertheless, I managed to make it back in good time and in one piece.

Manuel arrived shortly thereafter in his old Ford pickup and he joined me, my wife, my mom, and my little girl for dinner that evening, some hard earned steaks and Indios . From the moment that I met Manuel I was able to determine that he is an honorable and intelligent man. Over the years he has earned his living as a guide for excursions and hunting, and most importantly he has earned the respect and trust of the local ranchers who in kindness and trust allow him to take complete strangers onto their land. Throughout my years of travel to this area I have always been impressed with the warmth of the residents of Candela and the generosity of the region's land stewards, particularly Maximiliano, our guide to the Candela Caverns; Manuel Roque; Mundo, ranch manager of the Mesa; the Board of Governors of the ejidos; Mr. Tijerina of the ranch and huerta at Timones Canyon; and the progressive Presidente del Municipio Javier Tijerina who is trying to develop Candela's eco-tourism industry. Many thanks are in order to all who helped make this adventure happen, namely Raul Santos and Robert Mendoza for connecting the dots, LareDOS for providing the nominal capital to get there, and God for getting me there and back.

To this date we have only surveyed one quarter of the canyon's landscape (the southern most part of the canyon), so stay tuned for a narrative of new territory we can will cover on a weekend trip or two. The INEGI Mexican governmental maps indicate a thick green mass nestled at the base of the northernmost edge of the canyon and Manuel Roque has indicated that is a thick spring-fueled grove of rogue pine trees dense with Mexican Black Bear. Our goal is to spot and photograph one.

( George J. Altgelt is a frequent contributor to LareDOS . He is employed by the Webb County District Attorney's office .)