La Cascada de Besaceachic

Deep in the high sierras in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico, not far from the Sonora border, difficult of access and almost unknown, one of the highest and one of the most beautiful waterfalls in North America leaps from the rim of a narrow gorge, falls 1,040 feet, and plunges smoking into a great dark pool.

Long ago I had heard of this fabulous waterfall 300 miles south of the Arizona border. Known to only a few miners and ranchers, the unphotographed as yet for the outside world, Besaceachic (Bay-sah-see-ah-cheek) River here falls into its great gorge, forming a memorable sight.

So I went to see and to take pictures, and the way of my going was as follows: By bus I went to Nogales, Sonora, and thence by Lamsa Airlines to the city of Chihuahua. From there I rode a little train with an ancient engine 125 miles to Matachic-time, twelve hours. From Matachic, I rode a cargo truck over 80 miles of wild, unbelievably rough mountain trail. Time: twenty hours to the mines at Conchiena. Here I rented a little red mule and Mexican saddle to carry both my outfit and myself fifteen miles over mountain trails to the rancho of Louis Chaberia. He left everything with his sons at the ranch to go with me down into the gorge of the Besaceachic to obtain my pictures.

Leading the mule as a pack animal and with my friend Louis, a little Mexican of uncertain age, for company, I went down into the gorge of the Besacheachic on foot.

We followed a dim old trail, washed out by the rains and struggled around fallen timber and great boulders, sliding and almost falling the 2,500 feet in two miles to the river, which, incidentally, is a tributary of the Mayo. Just before we reached the canyon floor, we broke out of timber on to a point of rock and suddenly the whole titanic vista of the chasm was before us. Craigs and cliffs towering two thousand feet above, seemed to lean as though to crash about our ears. To the east a bright vision, framed by huge dark walls, a silver ribbon shining in the sun, was our first view of the Casacada de Besaceachic.

We camped under an overhanging rock near the bank of the river and in the morning caught trout and killed a squirrel. Then loaded with cameras, gun and binoculars, we began the hike to the falls.

We crossed and recrossed the river, leaping from boulder to boulder over the torrent. Then we climbed above the stream over a high shoulder of rock and there at last at close range was the cataract we had come so far to see.

High above us the river leaped from the rim of a massive cliff whose face was vertical, and fell down and down in one long foaming smoking cascade into a great boiling cauldron below where bright rainbows wreathed the mists.

The sound of it was a strange hissing roar unlike anything I have ever heard but most comparable to a flight of P 80 Shooting Stars overhead. As it fell myriads of lacy patterns formed in the foam and spray. This was an enchanted canyon where there are turkey and bear and gorgeous parrots up from the tierra caliente far below.

Next day on our return trip we had our last long look at the distant falls while a parrot talked to himself and flew by on flashing wings. It is a place of enchantment brooded over by the White Spirit of the waterfall.

Wings in the Sunshine

Birds are things of beauty, creatures of the sun and the clear blue sky.

They announce the seasons and their merry music heralds a new day. One bird, the dove, is the symbol of peace, another the symbol of our country. I sing of spring, says the robin. I sing of peace, says the dove. And I stand for America's greatness, says the eagle, soaring the wide skies above. In truth, what a drab world this would be if there were no birds, and (a greater truth) how little we know of them. Harry and Ruth Crockett of Phoenix are with us again this month with a feature on birds-and more appropriate to the season -our winter visiting fine-feathered friends. They are also responsible for October's cover. The birds, so beautifully portrayed thereon, are our Western White-winged Doves, summer visitants to our warm valleys and southern mountain ranges. The photograph was taken near Bisbee this summer. Mr. and Mrs. Crockett have for a long time studied our bird population in almost every part of the state, and with their bird hobby is combined another consuming interest photography. Taking pictures of birds, especially in color, is no easy task. You have to know birds and their habits, where to find them, and then be as patient as a granite mountain to wait for just the right time to snap the picture. May our October cover, study of a group of gentle, beautiful doves, be a defiant gesture to all men of ill will in the world today, stomping around with clanking armor, casting long, ugly shadows over all of us! In this age of the atomic bomb it is nice to know that there are folks who will patiently wait for hours to get a photograph of doves on an Agave and to know there is a magazine like ours which thinks such a picture is important enough to print, and is darned proud to print it. Maybe there's hope for civilization, after all.

For the first feature in these pages this month we go to the high Sierras of the State of Chihuahua, Mexico, to visit (as far as we know) the highest waterfalls on this continent. Our friend, Lynn Hodgson of Tucson, brought us a photograph of the falls in color, and the whole thing sounded so interesting we decided to pass it on to you. Then, too (as far as we know) this is the first time any magazine has published a photograph of the falls in color and that gives us some pleasure. (National Geographic, Life, etc., please note.) It is a little early to talk about Christmas, but we do not think it is too early to mention Shine Smith's Christmas Party for the Navajos. You might want to take part. See story inside. R. C.

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