HEAL THE RIO SANTIAGO

Heal the Rio Santiago Project CLICK ON THE LINK to go to Indiegogo.com

When I first arrived to Guadalajara I took a hike in the majestic Barranca Huentitan, on the northern border of the city. As I descended into the second deepest canyon system in Mexico I saw one of the most beautiful rivers I had ever seen. At this spot the Rio Grande de Santiago confluences with the Rio Verde coming from Aguascalientes. The red rock walls of the canyon were covered in dense forest from the rainy season. I could imagine a scene similar to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado or the San Juan River-- rafts and kayaks gently floating down the river past the 3,000ft+ walls.

When I reached the bottom of the canyon my nose alerted me that this scene I had imagined could never happen. The river stank of human waste, pesticides, and other chemicals. A strange chemical white foam traced the current lines. This beautiful river was polluted beyond belief.

It's been three years in Guadalajara and with the help of my brother, Tom, and friends AJ Lawrence, John McKinley and Chris Garcia we have come up with an idea to help this potentially beautiful place. Run the river from source to sea and document it. The expedition will take the better part of a month to navigate nearly 300 miles of river. This will require lots of determination and perseverence as we overcome obstacles such as dams, unknown rapids, eutrophicated stretches of plant blockades, and avoiding possible sickness.

Please take a second to check out the Indiegogo link at the top of this post and donate what you can or share this project with friends. Thanks and wishes of good karma to you!

La Temporada de los Rios

Back to school for a third year of teaching in Mexico from a great river season in Idaho and Montana. Back to the indoors and a schedule. What better way to ease back into teacher mode than run a Mexican river every weekend.

I usually begin with scrolling over the region on GoogleEarth looking for canyons. Then I check in with Rocky Contos on SierraRios.org to see if he's run that river before and when the water level might be the best. So far this rainy season seems to be pretty low. The Rio Verde, Rio Marabasco, Rio Coahuayana and the Rio Ostula have all been painfully low. But a running a river with some water is better than running no river at all.

GoogleEarth with my markers in SW Mexico

With GoogleEarth I've been able to tag possible put-ins, take-outs, look at elevation profiles and logistical stuff. All of this information comes in useful on rivers that rarely ever get run. So far I've had two 8 hour paddling days covering 45 km+ with portages and low water. On the Rio Verde I had to pack out a nearly 80lbs. pack up about 2,000 feet up the Barranca Huentitan outside of Guadalajara. On the Rio Marabasco I inadvertently swam a class IV after my ducky slipped out of a micro eddy. On the Rio Coahuayana Chris Swiggum and I flipped and swam seven times as our overweight ducky slammed through a multitude of class III. Half the village of Ostula came out to see Mark and I off on the Rio Ostula as we floated into the Pacific in the southern state of Michoacán.

Every bit of it has been an adventure. There are no boat ramps, no guidebooks, next-to-no fellow boaters, and no gages. Just getting to these rivers is challenging. On the Marabasco a group of four of us drove up into the mountains of northern Colima. Once we found the bridge, the other three Estadounidenses in the car had to navigate out on the dirt road to Barra de Navidad on the coast. Then in 7 hours they would drive to Cihuatlán to pick me up. 8 hours later I had paddled over 40 km and was still 10 km from Cihuatlán. But I finally had cell service and was alongside a dirt road. So I called them to pick me up there. An hour later I was wondering what had happened to them. Did the police pull them over? Did some cartel hoodlums catch up with them? Did the car die? I hitched a ride in the back of a small pick-up into Cihuatlán and waited beneath a statue of a man digging with a shovel near the cathedral. Another hour later they showed up. They had taken a different dirt road, one with no cell service.

One of the best part about the rivers along the southern coast is ending up on a beautiful beach like La Ticla or La Lloronain Michoacán after paddling the Rio Ostula. Or eating seafood in Barra de Navidad, Jalisco after the Rio Marabasco. Viva Mexico.

September 15, 2013: The lower Rio Ameca near Puerto Vallarta. A nice mellow class II float.

September 21, 2013: First descent down the Rio Atenguillo, Jalisco.

September 28, 2013: Class II float the Rio Juchipila in Zacatecas.

Journey Through the Spoiling of a Mexican Watershed

The heat of late spring is starting to set in here in Guadalajara. The kids and teachers are beginning to feel the tiring effects of it in the afternoon. We will be starting our 5th and final bimester tomorrow. It's only going to get hotter and drier before I fly up to the cool clear skies of Montana in June.

At school we just finished a unit on climate change. We looked at scientific evidence from glacial retreat all around the world (one of my favorite subjects), atmospheric carbon dioxide data, and finally at what the future might hold. Students were adamant that they could change their lifestyles in order to slow the changing climate.

Students learning about alpine glaciers.

Comparing historical glacier photos with current photos on GoogleEarth.

This got me thinking about one of the most disturbing things I've seen in Mexico: The rivers. And one river in particular, the Lerma/Rio Grande de Santiago. The Rio Grande de Santiago flows directly north of Guadalajara on it's westward course to the Pacific. I go hiking in the Barranca Huentitan, the second largest canyon in Mexico, and witness the environmental catastrophe that is the Rio Santiago. It foams with brown and white sudsy pollution and reeks of chemicals and waste. I've seen the river at various other points from hiking down slot canyons.

60 meter cascade on the Agua Azul canyon near Tequila, Jalisco (April 20, 2013). This is one of the 1000s of rivers and streams that feed the Rio Grande de Santiago.

If not for the pollution (and trash along the trail) the place could rival the most beautiful national parks of the United States. And it doesn't seem like anything is being done about it.

So I'm beginning to do some research into the matter and finding that a few, far between individuals have taken note and said something about this river. While talking with my friend Chris, we came up with something that might get the ball rolling to do something about this. Get some funding and run the course of the nearly 800 mile long river system to make a narrative film about the destruction of this beautiful river. This expedition would take over a month and require hazmat suits with respirators for sections as to not contract health problems. I think this would add to the effect of how bad this river has become.

Barranca Huentitan- second deepest in Mexico after the Copper Canyons in Chihuahua

The Rio Grande de Santiago just past the confluence with the Rio Verde.  The white stuff is pollution, not white water.

This has led us to start thinking about how to get funding-- we found the site called Kickstarter.com for projects just like ours. It's going to take a few months to get our ideas fully laid out, but the basic premise will be as follows:

'Journey Through the Spoiling of a Mexican Watershed' by Sam Morrison and Chris Garcia
-An expeditionary movie on one of the most important and most polluted rivers in Mexico, the Lerma/Río Grande de Santiago river system.

The Lerma/ Rio Grande de Santiago river system stretches for nearly 1,300 km (790 mi) making it one of the longest rivers in Mexico. It lies in central mexico, providing for large populations in the states of Mexico, Michoacan, Guanajuato, Jalisco and Nayarit. 

Historically this river has been one of the most polluted and misused rivers in Mexico. Under-treated wastewater is dumped directly into the river. Along with untreated waste, the Lerma/ Santiago receives the by-products from pulp and paper mills, leather processing plants, petrochemical and chemical plants. There are also fertilizers and chemicals introduced by meat, dairy, and produce farms in the basin.

In the 1990s the federal government recognized the need to protect the natural services the river provides for its people. They built over 40 waste water treatment plants within the watershed. Although this initially helped curb the decline in water quality, since 2000 problems have only worsened. 

An increase in industry has contributed to loss of plant and animal life alongside the river. Mass fish kills have cropped up near population centers. Effluent is visible at the river's surface at many points on the river. No one dares to enter the filthy water. 

Chris Garcia and Sam Morrison have run rivers and made videos throughout Latin America and the United States. Our plan is to take a journey through the filthy and overused waters of the Lerma/Rio Grande de Santiago from source to sea and document the wonders along with the current situation. We plan to stop along the way to discuss with stakeholders their views of river and its place in their lives. 

Cascadas en Febrero

It's still technically winter in Jalisco, but the 85-degree temperatures are no cause to stop exploring. Guadalajara is nestled between the Sierra Madre Occidental and the Sierra Madre Sur- the crossroads of two great mountain ranges. There are rivers, canyons, and mountains around every corner and most of them are way off the beaten track. Yesterday I took a few friends to explore the Cascadas de Comala about two hours south of Guadalajara in the interior of Jalisco.

La segunda cascada

 We woke up at 6am. I grabbed my camera, tripod, bottle of water and we took off beating any sort of traffic out of town. The sun came up of the Sierra de Tapalpa as we headed south past the birthplace of Mariachi music, Cocula. Two hours late we had wound our way through several other pueblos to the tiny pueblito of Comala, Jalisco. From Comala we dropped down into the Canyon Aquetzalli to the Arroyo de Jalpa.

The Arroyo de Jalpa runs through the Canyon Aquetzalli from Jalpa past Comala and the waters eventually reach the Rio Armeria (a class IV/V multi-day trip). We parked by the largest of the 6 or so waterfalls in the canyon. From here we set out to the clear, cool waters further above.

La tercera cascada

La cueva

Past the third waterfall we came upon a series of stalactites forming on hanging firn plants. From here we swam through the tightest part of the canyon to the fourth waterfall. With no ropes we were stopped here. I'd like to come back with a canyoneering rope and equipment to descend from Jalpa to Comala.

Plenty of good jumping spots. The water is so clear it's easy to judge depth.

Saltando en la segunda cascada

The Expedition to the Rio Lacanja

10 minute YouTube video. Lots of footage from 2 GoPros, Nikon D5000, and a Kodak Playsport.

Tom roaring at the jungle covered Landeros Ruins

Google Earth image of the surrounding areas

The transcript of the video narration:

Our adventure began in San Cristóbal de Las Casas a day before the end of the Mayan Calendar on December 20th, 2012. We packed Alejandro’s van with a 14 foot NRS self-bailer and other expedition gear. From San Cristóbal we wound our way to Palenque where we met the expedition leader, Rocky Contos.

Rocky Contos has explored nearly every river in Mexico and has over 200 first descents in Mexico alone. He explored the Lacanjá in 2011 and this would be the first SierraRios.org expedition to make it’s way down the entire length of the river. From Palenque we headed east passing near the Bonampak ruins to reach the put in at the town of Lacanjá.

The turquoise waters of the Rio Lacanjá flow from the pristine jungle mountains in Eastern Chiapas near the border of El Petén in Guatemala.

A quick look at a satellite image of this region reveals nothing but green, green and more green with very few access points. This is one of few relatively untouched stretches of jungle left in Central America.

The Lacanja stretches nearly 90 kilometers dropping around 700 feet in that distance. Instead of a gradual change in elevation, it is concentrated in dozens of travertine limestone drops ranging from a class II to V.
 

Landeros Ruins

This was our white Christmas…

Although the river was filled with innumerable white water treats, there were a few hardships we had to endure in the jungles of southern mexico.

Some days we needed to use the saw and the machete to hack our way through vine covered passages that blocked our way on the river.

Ancient Mayan temples and cities lay in ruins alongside the river. It felt like we were the first explorers stumbling across the strange stone structures reclaimed by the jungle for the first time.

On Day 7 we arrived at the confluence with a much larger river, the Lacantún. We paddled another 20 kilometers to reach the first river beach we had seen in over a week. The full moon shone brightly as we set up our tents for the last time and said our goodbyes to our jungle adventure.

Saving Face

While travelling around Latin America (and other places in the world) I have commented a number of times on the general lack of geographical awareness locals seem to have in their area of residence. There have been several occasions driving around Mexico that I have chosen not to ask for directions. I have come to this point for the following two reasons:      1. People generally don’t know where things are. And if you get out the map, forget about it.      2. People want to ‘save face’. Meaning they don’t want to appear to be stupid, so they give you some sort of mumbled directions even if they should have quickly responded “I don’t know”.

And so I've learned that asking for directions in Mexico is not a straight forward process. Often to overcome this dilemma I will ask for the same set of directions a handful of times from different people. I have noticed patterns in age, occupation, etc. that increase the chance of receiving correct directions from someone.

Puerto Progreso, Yucatan, traveling with Tom and Taylor

Example:

Just yesterday, while wondering around the rainy lowland city of Villahermosa, Tabasco I had an opportunity for direction inquiries. I had no guidebook, no map, just wondering around downtown sipping coffee and petting stray dogs. At some point I decided I should check out a museum or two. I had glanced at a Google Earth map before heading out and I knew within a few blocks there was a regional history museum. I ducked into a shop selling a variety of cheap plastic goods to ask where this museum was located.

In the shop there were three attendants and no customers. “Buen dia,” I said, “conoces donde esta el museo de historia?” The girl closest to me was about 17 and she gave me a blank look as she finished hanging a set of plastic combs on a hook. I didn’t really expect her to know as 17-year-olds don’t know much about anything. She redirected the question to the two middle aged women sitting behind the cash register. They discussed the question for 30 seconds or so and finally came to the conclusion that they had no idea there was a museum in the neighborhood and no idea where it was.

I smiled, said thank-you, and walked out of the shop. By luck, as I turned the corner, I was immediately faced with a large blue colonial building with “Museo de Historia” inscribed in the bricks above the door. Of course the shop attendants had not been in the museum before…many people don’t visit the museums in their hometown. Museum visiting is something you do when you have ample amounts of free time to wonder aimlessly and not for someone economically obliged to work. However, I still find it incredibly interesting that you can spend hours, weeks, months… years in a shop and have so little idea of the buildings immediately surrounding you. At least they didn't give me false directions!

....

San Francisco de Campeche (Campeche), Campeche

Mural in front of Campeche

Comalcalco Ruins north of Villahermosa, Tabasco

The Rio Lacanja trip I had been planning for so long has finally come and gone. It was an unforgettable 8 days spent in the middle of pristine Chiapas jungle over the end of the Mayan calendar. We passed jungle covered ruins, crocodiles, multitudes of travertine waterfalls, and had to machete our way through vine covered passages. I have tons of video footage and I will be spending the next two days when I get back to Guadalajara compiling it into a 10-15 minute video. I can’t wait to get back!

The Deceptive Iztaccihuatl

Last Friday I left Guadalajara at 4pm after spending four days with 90 sixth graders at a camp outside of Guanajuato. I was tired, but I knew that one of the other two teacher/climbers would be able to drive the 7 hours to Mexico City. Scott and Swiggum were excited to have their second chance at a big mountain after last year on the Pico de Orizaba.

Iztaccihuatl from the Paso de Cortes

In D.F. (Distrito Federal a.k.a. Mexico City) we stayed in La Condessa, one of the hip neighborhoods. We enjoyed our last hours of civilization before driving from 7,500ft in D.F. up to 12,200ft. 12,200 ft is the elevation of the Paso de Cortes. In 1519 Hernan Cortes and his conquistadors crossed here between the volcanoes of Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl to get their first look at the lake of Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec empire and soon to be capital of New Spain.

Sketch of the west side of Iztaccihuatl

Without anywhere to stay the nice people at the visitor center let us camp out for the next two nights on their floor for 2 dollars a night. We spent the next day acclimitizing to 12,000 ft and above by hiking around the foot hills of Iztaccihuatl, the Nahuatl word for 'white woman'. Iztaccihuatl looks like a sleeping woman from the west or east. In fact, the names of the climbing routes and features refer to the anatomy of the sleeping woman.

Sleeping in the visitor center at the Paso de Cortes (12,200ft)

On Monday morning we set out from La Joya (12,800ft) to the Refugio (a shelter built about 30 years ago by the Grupo de los Cien climbing club of D.F.). We carried all our food, water, sleeping supplies up to 15,500ft to stay the night with the plan of summitting the following day. As the night fell at the Refugio we ate tuna sandwiches for dinner and set up our sleeping bags in the silver lunch box shelter.

The Refugio 'El Grupo de los Cien' at 15,500ft

Ascending just outside of La Joya

Near the Portillo before Los Pies (the feet)

As soon as I laid down for sleep I began feeling signs of AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). My head started pounding, my body was gripped with extreme nausea and spinning, and overall weakness. I knew that if we went down it meant the summit would be out of the picture for me and Scott and Swiggum. I also knew I couldn't risk going up any further. I laid there for another 2 hours and the symptoms continued to worsen. This was only the second time I had experienced AMS, the first time was on Mt. Hood 3 years ago.

At 9pm the decision was made to go down. We picked our way back down from the Refugio back down to La Joya using the light from our headlamps. Back down at 12,800ft I immediately began to feel better. We slept for 5 hours in the car and then descended down to the town of Amecameca at the base of the volcanoes.

We were tired and defeated. There was a sense of disappointment among us and I felt guilt for being the reason we had to descend. We checked into a hotel in Amecameca and began pondering our options. I had no intention of returning to Guadalajara being utterly defeated. So I threw out the idea of going for a single push for the summit on Thursday. The guys looked disgusted. We had just spent three restless nights up there. Scott, a intense athlete, responded that if we went up Wednesday, meaning no sleep at low altitude, he would do it.

View of Iztaccihuatl from our hotel in Amecameca

The decision was made that Scott and I would attempt a single push for the summit at 2am Wednesday morning. So we rested a couple hours in Amecameca and drove the Geo Prizm back up to La Joya for the night. That night we watched 'Lars and the Real Girl' on Scott's iPod before sleeping for five hours in the car again for our early morning wake up.

My watch alarm woke us up at 2am and we threw on our clothes and packs and started trudging up and waiting for the sun to hit us. We reached the Refugio at 15,500ft by 5am. The sky was still black and the stars shined brightly above the city lights from Mexico City to the west and Puebla off to the east. We gathered ourselves and then began the ascent of Las Rodillas (the knees). Las Rodillas was a time consuming class 2-3 rock climb to 16,300ft. Scott, having never done any rock climbing before, felt extremely exposed through this section.

Pico de Orizaba at sunrise

Popocatepetl erupting beyond the Paso de Cortes

The sun hit us about 20 minutes from the summit of Las Rodillas. Popocatepetl began throwing out puffs of black smoke as the sun lifted from behind Pico de Orizaba out in the distance. The orange sunrise gave us new energy as we arrived at the top of the knees and looked out at the arctic landscape in front of us.

Crossing the Glacier de Ayoloco

From Las Rodillas there are 3 hours of traversing, ascending, descending amongst snowy ridges, glaciers, and steep rock faces. We crossed La Barriga (the belly) which contained the melting Glacier de Ayoloco. The mix of climbing forced us to put-on and take-off our crampons 3 times before attaining the summit ridge (La Arista del Sol) near 17,000ft. The summit (17,180ft) turned out to be a snow bowl with three separate 'summits'. We picked the one that appeared to be a meter or two taller than the others and lethargically trudged onwards.

The summit (17,180ft), El Pecho (the breast), third tallest mountain in Mexico (Orizaba is tallest, Popocatepetl is second)

At the summit we snapped a couple photos, hugged, and then began the long descent back. As we came back down Las Rodillas the clouds began rolling in from the east like clockwork at noon. We carefully worked our way down the section traversing Los Pies (the feet) and back down to La Joya. We reached the car at 3pm, making the entire day a 12.5 hour day with very few breaks.

Scott and Sam at summit overlooking La Cabeza (the head)

A 3.5 minute video from climbing Iztaccihuatl: YouTube link for Iztaccihuatl from Guadalajara