The Ultimate List: 10 Greatest Travel-Adventure Books of All Time

 

10. Into Thin Air - By John Krakauer

Despite being a true story about a misbegotten group of tourists attempting to climb the summit of Mt. Everest, John Krakauer’s book often leaves even fine novels in the literary dust. The story he tells rises, like the great peak itself, slowly, and then builds to a remarkable climax. Each of the characters is brought alive by Krakauer’s careful and detailed descriptions as they make their way upward; their backstories carefully tossed like seeds throughout the book so that when the climax (or multiple climaxes) arrive, the effect is horrifying, sad, exhilarating and satisfying all at the same time. The research Krakauer did to write the book places him in the pantheon of great narrative non-fiction writers like Tom Wolfe and Truman Capote. If you haven’t bought it, do so now and enjoy every minute. On Barnes & Noble.

9. Seven Pillars of Wisdom - By T. E. Lawrence

In this book T.E. Lawrence, the inspiration for the epic David Lean film Lawrence of Arabia, relates his own rise among the Arab tribes to help overthrow Ottoman rule during World War I. It’s an astounding story and whatever you may say of the outcome, it stands as one of the most remarkable military and human tales of the 20th century. Lawrence describes his role in what he called “a procession of  Arab freedom from Mecca to Damascus;” a series of battles that changed the face of the Middle East and helped meld tribes into the nation states we know as the Middle East. The experience tried his own mental and emotional mettle as he endured torture, thirst, horror and personal loss as well as military success. His writing, which can occasionally be overly dramatic, is also moving and eloquent. “For years we lived anyhow with one another in the naked desert,” he writes, “under the indifferent heaven. By day the hot sun fermented us; and we were dizzied by the beating wind. At night we were stained by dew, and shamed into pettiness by the innumerable silences of the stars.” The story does not digress; it is detailed, realistic and unflinching, and it pins you to each page like a spell because the cultures, climate, locations, politics, dangers and remarkable characters are unlike anything the world ever seen. On Amazon.

8. South - By Sir Ernest Shackleton

In 1914, veteran adventurer Ernest Henry Shackleton set sail to anchor his ship Endurance on the ice of Antarctica and then walk the length of the new and unknown continent, a feat that had never been accomplished or even attempted before. He dreamed that fame and fortune would follow. He was right, it did, but not for the reasons he thought. He failed at his goal, but then went on to lead one of the most remarkable rescues in the history of human adventure. Shackleton’s team was undone before they began when ice floes destroyed the Endurance and forced them to abandon it. Though they unloaded provisions from the ship, they were without shelter, limited food and nowhere near any sort of help. For  nearly 17 months they trudged across ice floes, hauling three lifeboats with them until in April 1916, Shackleton decided to plunge the lifeboats into the sea and sail for some spit of land. Five days later they found Elephant Island, a place never inhabited by humans. It was the first time the 28 men had stood on solid ground in 497 days. But Elephant Island was hardly a safe haven. On April 24th, Shackleton set out with five other crew members into the open sea with one of his 20 foot boats. The other two he left with the remaining crew. They promptly flipped them over into makeshift cabins where the 22 men planned to live until rescued.  For 800 miles Shackleton’s little lifeboat fought heavy seas, frigid cold and Force-9 winds. Yet, somehow, after 18 days at sea, Shackleton and their skiff made it to the island of South Georgia. But they had arrived on the opposite side of help. So with two other crew members, Shackleton spent the next two days crossing the island’s treacherous landscape until at last he found a whaling station. From there, after several failed attempts, he managed to get back to Elephant Island on a tugboat to rescue the remaining 22 men. When he arrived August 30, 1916, in the dead of the astral winter, every one of them was still alive.  This story doesn’t carry the elegance and force of a masterful writer like Saint-Exupery or Ted Simon or John Steinbeck, but it doesn’t have to because the story itself is so remarkable. Drama is on nearly every page, and you can’t help but want to know, how will they make it! And the photos that accompany the book are remarkably stark and beautiful. (You can buy an e-book version of this book with original maps, pictures and drawings for $2.99 at our Vagabond Adventure store.

7. The Great Railway Bazaar - by Paul Theroux

The 1970s were a time when baby boomers were growing into adulthood and some of them did not want to spend their days in faceless factories or corporate offices. That included Paul Theroux who decided to travel from London across Europe, through the sub-continent, down Southeast Asia, then circle back to London by way of Japan and and the length of Russia, all by train. He wrote The Great Railway Bazaar in 1975  when travel books had a dirty name, and along with Bruce Chatwin and Ted Simon brought back the thrill of new cultures and dangerous deeds like Patrick Leigh Fermor and Richard Halliburton did when they mastered the form in the 1930’s and 40s. Theroux is a writer with guts and a remarkable eye for the significant detail. The pages of this book bring the story alive with beauty and insight and absolute honesty. He never shies from the truth as he sees it, which can be brutal, funny, surprising and moving, the very elements you want to see in any story. On Amazon.

6. Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors - By Piers Paul Read

British writer Piers Paul Read’s Alive is one of the most riveting escape and rescue stories yet written. In some ways it surpasses Ernest Shakleton’s South. In 1972 a jet with 45  members of an Uruguayan Rugby team and their families and friends crashed in the Andes mountains. Sixteen people, traumatized and injured, somehow survived, but their prospects for living very much longer were long. They faced temperatures well below zero at 11,000 feet with little food. The two and a half months the group lived together created a crucible out which extraordinary decisions were made. They survived storms, frigid cold, an avalanche, and the anguish of losing so many loved ones by creating a miniature social system that was an object lesson in human in courage, determination and the finest in human behavior. Daily duties were divided, and food was rationed, including the grisly decision to eat the bodies of the crash victims, often members of their own families. There were squabbles and deep concerns over the eating of the victims of the crash, and not everyone pulled their weight, but the system worked. In the end, the group agreed to increase rations for two leaders, Roberto Canessa and Nando Parrado, so they could attempt to hike out of the mountains and save the group. For two weeks, carrying make shift sleeping bags and gear created by the survivors, they scaled a 15,000 foot mountain peak and hiked for ten days and 38 miles to the valleys of Chile where exhausted they finally found help. Read tracked down the survivors when the world heard their story and interviewed all 16 in immense detail. He toyed with fictionalizing some parts of the book (he was a novelist, former writer for the BBC and the Sunday Times), but decided that simply telling the story as clearly as possible was enough. He was right. If you aren’t utterly smitten but this book, I’ll buy you dinner. On Barnes & Noble.

5. In Patagonia — By Bruce Chatwin

For shear beauty of phrase and description, Bruce Chatwin’s book is difficult to top. But even better is his remarkable story telling ability. Once you begin to read In Patagonia, the book becomes your companion. And even when you put the book down, his words reverberate.  With the publication of this book in 1977, Chatwin helped revive travel writing when publishers had lost interest in the art. Chatwin himself said he didn’t see the book as a travelogue. Instead he meant it as a series of stories he wanted to tell as he worked his way by foot and bus and thumb across some of the wildest territory on earth. And he succeeds somehow weaving in tales like tracking the house down where Butch Cassidy lived, to mesmerizing fables about unicorns and Bigfoot like creatures shared by the people he meets. As he travels, you have  the sense of movement and travel, but you would be hard pressed to know what route he took precisely though the vast land. It doesn’t matter, though because in so many ways the book is a journey, but one of the mind. You’re enthralled with geology and history and myth, and above all the remarkable people he stumbles into. In this way, the book is utterly unique and unfailingly engaging. On Barnes & Noble.

4. Travels with Charley: In Search of America  - By John Steinbeck

Not long after Steinbeck wrote My Travels With Charlie (1962), he was awarded the Nobel Prize for his remarkable and considerable body of work (The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men to name just two of his masterworks). My Travels reminds you why. The book was Steinbeck’s personal effort to reconnect and understand America by circling the nation during the 1960s in a camper of his own design with his dog Charlie. On their journey he reveals bits of nation, its people, its varied cultures and himself, one simple story at a time to create a timeless mosaic. It’s not a travel adventure in the mold of South or The Worst Journey In the World, but its is a quietly powerful adventure nevertheless, steady, engaging, always insightful in the Steinbeck’s beautiful and direct language, and his unerring ability to capture dialogue.  Don’t think that the time difference makes the story stale. As with all of Steinbeck’s work, the writing is direct, but deep. Especially in this book you feel as though you are sitting down with a close friend as he reflects with disarming humor and intelligence all that he sees and experiences with the wry and authentic eye of a true genius. On Barnes & Noble.

3. Wind, Sand and Stars - by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Wind, Sand and Stars - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s most famous book is his children’s classic, The Little Prince, but his most beautiful and exciting book is The Wind, Sand and the Stars, tales of his days as an aviator for Aeropostale (later Air France) in the 1920s and 30s. It is simply one of the most beautiful books ever written, unless you don’t care for enthralling human insight, epic vision or love of the written word put to the pen of a master story-teller. Saint-Exupery was among a group of early aviators who faced danger the way knights of old slayed dragons. A flier first and a writer later, he skated through the skies on single-wing, sing-propeller craft at a time when by-the-seat-of-your-pants was the primary way to get to and from exotic locations like Casablanca, Tangier,  Cairo, Dakar, Argentina, Paraguay and Chile. The book is rich with daredevil adventures, near death experiences, stark beauty and the wonder of flight when flight was still a miracle. A key theme is that while flying these early contraptions annihilated time and distance unlike anything else before. It also opened the world to unknown cultures and people, and forced an appreciation for nature’s stunning and awful power.  Each chapter is broad and varied, but Saint-Exupéry fuses them with common themes of courage, honor, empathy and high purpose.  They read almost like fables, but stunningly rich fables, because in the end it is Saint-Exupery’s extraordinary mind and heart and command of language that raise the book far above mere autobiography or memoir. Yet, he is always humble and modest. His love of the common man is in every word. To learn more, read my article “A Prisoner of the Sands” about Saint-Exupery’s near death experience when his airplane crashed in the Sahara Desert. On Amazon.

2. The Worst Journey In the World - By Apsley Cherry—Garrard

It’s an unlikely title that lead National Geographic to choose  Worst Journey as the greatest adventure book ever written, but it is a classic, and absolutely true to its title. In 1911 Robert Falcon Scott, already a redoubtable British explorer, brought 11 men with him to Antarctica to become the first humans to reach the South Pole.  Scott would be racing another expedition, Norwegian Roald Amundsen’s competing party who were just as determined to succeed. Scott lost the race to Amundsen, but the story of his heroic effort lives on in this book written by one of the survivors, 23-year-old Apsley Cherry-Garrard. At least as astounding as the race to the pole, is Cherry-Garrard’s telling of another hair-raising expedition that began before the polar run with Scott. Cherry-Garrard and two others man-hauled two sledges into the teeth of Austral winter to locate and return the unhatched eggs of emperor penguins.  Nearly every day for weeks they fought temperatures 50 degrees below zero and winds of 100 mph. At one point winds whipped their tent away. Somehow, through all of this they, survived. Both of these stories, and Cherry-Garrard’s frank and powerful first person descriptions of what he and the members underwent, make for riveting reading that still stands up despite being exactly 100 years old. Included are unique maps and the stunning drawings and sketches Edward Wilson created to reveal a frozen world like nothing the human race had seen. Maps and photos of the team, even as they neared death, are also included. That alone makes the book worth reading. For me, this is truly one of the world’s most memorable adventure stories. It brought both the fear and exaltation of hazard and courage directly into my hands and I found it mesmerizing. I think you will too. (For more information read my article describing the remarkable journey in the dead of the Antarctic winter. An e-book version of this book with updated preface and original maps, pictures and drawings is also available for $2.99 at our Vagabond Adventure store.

1. Jupiter’s Travels - By Ted Simon

The last I heard Ted Simon is still alive at 90 and still riding his motorcycle. But in 1973 when he convinced the Sunday Times to back his idea of traveling the world on a motorcycle, he didn’t even have a motorcycle license. (After failing the test once, he did manage to pass shortly before departing.) The experience took Simon 64,000 miles, across 45 countries and through every adventure imaginable from being thrown into a Brazilian prison for ten days, to wrecking his motorcycle in Africa, to moments of ecstasy in Peru. He even fell in love in a California commune. Simon’s special talent (he has so many) is not simply his ability to describe what he sees, but to reflect on his experiences in profound, moving and often hilarious ways. His ability to look inside his own mind and then relate those thoughts and feelings to his readers is truly remarkable and often as powerful as any insight you might hear from the novels of Tolstoy or James Joyce. Sometimes his descriptions, internal or external, are so beautiful, that I found myself putting the book down not to stop reading, but to savor the phrases like an excellent wine.  Never egotistical, his unique and eloquent insights teach us about ourselves as much as about him and the people he meets. That he managed all of this on a single motorcycle in the span of four years is both remarkable and courageous, and you feel it on every page. The book never flags. On Amazon.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/the-10-greatest-adventure-and-travel-books-ever

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The Hunt for Butch Cassidy’s Ranch: Chasing a Wild West Legend

 The Legend of Butch Cassidy

When you’re a fugitive, with the best detective agency in the Americas on your trail, being 16 hundred miles from anywhere important is probably a good tactic.

It was 1901 when Butch Cassidy, the affable leader of the Wild Bunch gang, known for a streak of railroad heists and bank robberies in the American West, took his “winnings” to Argentina, a country that would cultivate a reputation for concealing notorious refugees. Seeking a quieter life, Cassidy and his two companions Henry Longbaugh (The Sundance Kid) and Etta Place (Sundance’s girlfriend and possible wife) settled in the town of Cholila at the base of the Andes known as the Pre-Corderrilla, near the Chilean border. There they bought a homestead and 12,000 acres of land, determined to go straight and lay low.

The Pinkerton Detective Agency, who had been after the gang in the United States, was not directly involved in tracking Cassidy to South America. Pinkerton could not close the deal to finance Butch’s capture. But by 1903 they knew his whereabouts in South America, and there was a bounty of $10,000 on the heads of the Wild Bunch.

The “family of 3” managed to scrape out a living with a few hundred cattle and a thousand sheep, becoming well-respected in the Corderrilla. But two factors made a peaceable life impossible. The first was the bounty. The second, of course, is that trouble finds troublemakers and after five years as a citizen, Butch reunited with some former “colleagues” who found their way to Cholila.

By 1905, the re-minted Wild Bunch was at it again, taking their act to a bank in Santa Cruz and two years later another bank in San Luis. With the increased scrutiny from law enforcement, it was time to go. Etta returned to the States while Butch sold the ranch and made for Bolivia with Sundance.

How the legendary outlaws died is a mystery. Historians favor the murder-suicide theory while the pair were trapped, surrounded by scores of soldiers, in Bolivia. Other legends have them meeting their fate in Uruguay. The most intriguing theory is that Butch faked his own death in Bolivia and simply went home to Utah. A credible account by Cassidy’s sister places him in Circleville, Utah in 1925 and later dying in Washington State. Unfortunately, all attempts to find his remains have failed.

The most popularized fiction has the men dying in a Bolivian firefight, trapped in a building and surrounded by the Bolivian Army. That’s the version told in the 1969 movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Tired, wounded, out of options, the men burst from the structure to meet their fate in a blaze of glory. If you haven’t seen the movie yet, it’s worth a watch. Ironically, however, the movie did not include the gang’s time in Argentina.

As is the nature of folk heroes, following his death, Cassidy could be found fraternizing with Pancho Villa in Mexico, driving model Ts through the American West, prospecting in Alaska, and touring San Francisco, probably with Elvis.

And the fate of the land? Although occupied as recently as 25 years ago by a Chilean family, today the Cassidy ranch is abandoned. Bruce Chatwin, in In Patagonia, described his own hunt for the Cassidy ranch in 1974. “The countryside had not changed much since the turn of the century. The cabins were in decay, but the structures still stood.” Although there isn’t much left today, fans of the movie would be enthralled by this site. That is certainly what drove me and Cyndy to track down the ranch. I wasn’t easy …

Crossing the Chilean - Argentine Border to Bariloche

The border crossing from Puerto Montt to Bariloche is 8 hours, partly because it takes a long time to get through two border crossings: one at Chile and another in Argentina. I have never seen such a border crossing. Each one takes an hour, at least. This turns out to be a more challenging passage than we originally expected. Taking a rental car across the border into Argentina is prohibitively expensive. Even “puddle jumper” service between the cities is absent. The least bad option seems to be a bus.

These are some pictures of the Argentine border with its towering mountains (and a flag), desiccated forests and motorcycle enthusiasts who drive through Patagonia. Mostly they come from Germany or France. We’re not sure why the forests were destroyed. Possibly from a volcano eruption about 10 years earlier.

On Our Way to San Carlos de Bariloche

San Carlos de Bariloche, or Bariloche, is a city in Argentine Patagonia, located at the edge of Nahuel Huapi National Park. Founded in 1902, it aimed to capitalize on the region’s natural beauty, attracting European immigrants, particularly from Germany and Switzerland, who influenced its distinctive Alpine-style architecture. The expansion of the Argentine railway system helped make Bariloche a popular tourist destination, especially for winter sports at Cerro Catedral, which opened in the 1930s.

The city also became notable during World War II, serving as a refuge for various expatriates, some with controversial backgrounds. Today, Bariloche is famous for its chocolate shops, vibrant food scene, and outdoor activities like hiking and skiing. With a population of around 100,000, it blends its rich history with a lively modern atmosphere, making it a captivating stop for those exploring Patagonia.

The bus finally got us to the charming tourist town of Bariloche. It sits along the glacial, alpine lake Nahuel Huapi. It is immense and absolutely pristine. It reminded me of Tahoe but prettier, deeper, bigger.

From there we picked up our rental car to begin the search for the ranch in Cholila, 3.5 hours south. They had bought the property with the money they made robbing banks in Montana and Utah. That was when The Union Pacific hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to bring them in dead or alive. The bounty was over $10,000 for the two bank robbers. More on that later.

Late in the afternoon, we skirted the dusty road of Bariloche and headed South with Nahuel Huapi on our right. The sun was descending as we drove and made the Pre-cordillera mountains fierce and fiery. The sky felt like passion and love.

Very soon afterward, it was dark. Nothing buy us, the winding road and the occasional 18 wheeler.

Arrival in Cholila

Cholila was founded in the late 1800s, primarily as a settlement for settlers drawn to the region’s fertile land. The town became a key location for agriculture and livestock farming, which remain significant to its economy today. Throughout the early 20th century, it developed a reputation as a rugged frontier town. The surrounding area was once home to indigenous Mapuche communities, and remnants of their history can still be found. Cholila's remote location contributed to its slower development, allowing it to retain a more laid-back atmosphere compared to other Argentine towns. This blend of history and natural beauty continues to shape its identity today.

We arrived in the town of Cholila in the dead of night.

Our GPS told us to drive across 10 more miles of dirt roads to get to the place we’re staying - La Pilarica. Mostly fisherman go there to relax and fly fish the nearby river. Bill and Vivian run the place and were there when we arrived close to midnight. Bill had hand built the hostel 19 years ago and he and his wife run it. They did quite a job!

Through bits of Spanish and English Bill told me his family had come to the region early in the 20th century. His grandfather ran a mule team (160 mules) that hauled wool from Cholila to Puerto Madryn on the Atlantic coast. Nasty work. Bill said, he was known as the best mule team operator in southern Chile. And he probably knew Butch. Everyone did, because everyone in the town loved him, Etta and Sundance though they probably didn’t know who, precisely, they were, including the mayor and sheriff. One hundred and twenty years later later the town hasn’t changed much.

The Search for the Butch Cassidy Ranch

After breakfast provided by Bill and Vivian, we began searching for the outlaws. We passed some local gauchos down the road, waved and then bounce onto Cholila. We knew to look for the police because the ranch house is supposedly near by.

On the road outside of town, we found Cholila’s one local policeman. He seemed terrified to see me. I ask if he knew where Cassidy’s ranch was and he indicates up the road to the right but I don’t understand a word of detail and he doesn’t understand any of my English. “Donde esta casa de Butch Cassidy” is the best I can do. We continue into the pampa. See the video for more.

On the search we find a small ranch. I think maybe this is it. But it isn’t. A local, quite toothless but very helpful, sits with me. I suggest a map and we work on that, drawing pictures in the dirt. Then we head off again in a new direction. For miles we bounce along until we hit a creek too deep to risk fording in our little VW. As we prepare to head back, we run into some German tourists who speak English. They give us specific directions. And we head back another way much closer to the police station!! That’s me talking to them in their car.

Found Butch Cassidy’s!!!

We made it! Signs all around saying “Cassidy” confirm our hunch. The grounds are unattended, but we are helped along by arrows pointing to the closed, but inviting gate. We pass through to wander the remains.

The ranch features several original structures, including a main house built from sturdy timber and stone, reflecting practical construction. The house is simple, unadorned, with a sturdy porch offering sweeping views of the surrounding landscape, which is breathtaking. Inside, the layout is modest, with basic living spaces that would have accommodated Cassidy and his gang. It is mostly walls and spaces, however. Little remains besides the structures.

Other buildings on the site include old barns and stables, used for livestock and storage. I cannot tell which were for cattle and which were for horses. These buildings are showing signs of age, the wood weathering and the metal rusting. The remnants of corrals and fencing can still be seen, hinting at the ranch's functional past. It is not much different, I imagine, than what Chatwin saw nearly fifty years earlier.

Please watch the video series to take a stroll of the grounds and enjoy the photos below.

Pretty nice for 1901. Here are some still interiors of the living room, kitchen and a bedroom (I think).

Departing the Ranch

Afterwards we find a bar nearby that has a museum loaded with details about the ranch and the Hole in the Wall Gang that Butch Cassidy ran.That’s where you see the color video of Butch bottom right and Sundance bottom left. The other picture gives you a view of the mountains from the ranch. Looks a lot like Montana where Cassidy grew up. It’s easy to see why Butch would have liked it here.

I am catching up on some notes about tracking down the ranch that Butch Cassidy, the Sundance kid and Etta Place bought in Argentina after they were forced to leave the United States when they robbed so many banks and trains that an elite private posse was created to them down. They bought the ranch in 1901 and lived there five and seven years give or take. They actually became real citizens in the small town of Cholila, Argentina. They knew the mayor and became friends with a former sheriff from Montana (possibly inspired by the sheriff they meet in the movie). They lived a relatively quiet life - until some of the posse began to get close. At the time there was a bounty on each of their heads of $10,000 which was an enormously high price in those days. They sold the ranch, Etta Place returned to the United States, and Butch and Harry (the Sundance kid) headed north to Bolivia. Their time living in Argentina at the ranch isn’t mentioned in the famous movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid but they did eventually work in a mine in Bolivia and they may have robbed that mine, or they finally went back and made a big bank robbery in Bolivia and that was win the Banditos Yanquees were gunned down in that country. Or at least that’s what most people think. But some say that both survived and Butch Cassidy’s sister swears that her brother came back and visited her in Montana in the 1930s.

Of course, our inspiration for taking this side quest into Cholila comes from the love of both history and western cinema that naturally includes the 1969 Butch Cassidy film. If you enjoy stories of outlaws, the wild west, gangs, and heists, it’s probably your kind of movie too. Our contributor Drew Moniot (of Drew’s Reviews) kindly agreed to review of the film for us. Read his review of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and then go watch the movie again!

Lovers of cinema, history and the wild west will also enjoy our Dispatches from Deadwood, South Dakota and Monument Valley, in particular (plus all of those in between). We talk about gunfighters and movie magic. Please check those out.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/the-hunt-for-butch-cassidys-ranch-in-cholila-argentina

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Visit Newfoundland Overview

 It was 30°F in the middle of summer and we could not be happier. We were surrounded by an endless spectrum of grays, blues, and whites. The only other colors were those we brought with us… and the red beaks of the Gentoos.

See more: https://vagabond-adventure.com/destinations

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Through the Heart of Copper Canyon: A Journey on the El Chepe Express

We were excited about boarding El Chepe Express. We had heard and read plenty about it. But getting our ticket and then getting on the train was work. It can be this way in Mexico. When we attempted to buy our tickets online while still in Baja, the Chepe website was a disaster even though we followed every rule (in Spanish) to the letter (perhaps this was the problem?).  Finally I called FerroMex, El Chepe’s rail company, and after many entanglements with our misaligned languages managed to get an email that proved we had paid for our tickets. But did we actually HAVE a ticket?  I wasn’t sure.

Nevertheless, here we were now in the city of Los Mochis, determined to board the train that the marketing brochures wrote would take us through “350 km (220 miles) [passing] Sinaloa up to Creel, into the heart of the Sierra Tarahumara, passing through the majestic Copper Canyon.” The trip would take 9 hours. We would rise 8,000 feet to the land of the Tarahumara people, famous for their ability to run extraordinary distances up and down the mountains. While researching my book Thumbs, Toes and Tears, I had learned that when hunting these native people could run deer down until the animals collapsed.

Arrival at the Train Station in Los Mochis (Photo - Chip Walter)

That morning, a glum taxi driver had juddered us through the dawn light grossly overcharging us before we and our bags were deposited outside the Los Mochis train depot. It was cool and humid. Brooding clouds slowly crept across the sky. At 7:15 the FerroMex-operated Estacion opened. A man dressed smartly in a FerroMex uniform herded passengers with boletos (tickets) into one line, and everyone else in another.  But which line did we belong in? We didn’t exactly have a ticket, but we had payment confirmation. The uniformed agent waved away our concerns. We would be fine; just board when we got the word.

But a few minutes later the train’s conductor, in Spanglish, clarified that we did need tickets. Dutifully, I lined up while Cyn held the fort with our bags. Six people stood in front of us. Departure in 45 minutes. 

We waited. The line was moving at a glacial pace. Evil thoughts began to arise in my mind. We had come several hundred miles out of our way to board this train and didn’t want to miss it, and if we did we were pretty sure that getting our money back would be a nightmare. I fervently wished I was fluent in Spanish. Why couldn’t I make the sounds I needed to make to solve the problems I wanted to solve? The voice in my head spoke: Control what you can. Let the rest go.

A father with two boys and his wife was in the same boat as we were.  He was Mexican, but had worked several years in Texas and spoke excellent English. He had paid for the ride and like us had the proof right there on his cell phone, but he too was told he needed tickets. Now it was 7:30 and a mere two people had moved down the line. The glacial pace, it turns out, was thanks to a FerroMex employee at the ticket counter who was regaling each buyer, in minute detail, about the train’s many amenities.

Our friend was thinking the same thoughts I was. He snagged another railway agent who looked to be in charge and urgently explained our situation. Yes, we still need tickets, she answered in Spanish. Our friend tilted his head in the direction of the ticket agent making the point that we can’t get tickets unless we get through the line before the train departs. She seemed unconcerned, but walked to the ticketmistress and told her to move things along. Six people have now joined the line behind us and four are still in front.

At 7:50 the family in front of us finally makes it to the counter. A pantomime unfolds. The father speaks to the ticket agent. Rapid Spanish ensues.  He holds up his phone. More head waggling on both sides of the plexiglass.  Tick-tock. I can feel things are getting heated. Now the man’s wife enters the picture. She offers the agent encouragement.  Heads begin to nod. Finally the ticketmistress picks up the phone and a minute later she is printing their tickets. Done! I take solace in this. Now that this nice man and his wife have plowed the bureaucratic road for us surely Cyn and I will breeze through.

I step to the counter and show her the email on my phone.

“You must forward your email to to FerroMex,” she says in Spanglish, “and then they will issue her permission to print us a ticket. I jab a finger at my watch.

"No tiempo!” I say, voice rising.

Again, I thrust my phone up to the plexiglass and point at the 8400 pesos (about $500) noted in the email when the mother of the family in front of us re-enters the conversation, earnestly speaking through the plexiglass to the ticketmistress. I love her. In my mind I think of her as “The Virgin Mother of Los Mochis.”  It's now 7:53. Seven minutes and the great Chepe will be gone.

Cyndy sits stoically 50 feet away beside our bags in the now empty train station. By now nearly everyone has boarded. The Mother of Los Mochis implores the agent in Spanish so rapid I cannot possibly comprehend it. Then suddenly, the wife turns, smiling and gives me a thumbs up.

"It's good!"  She says.

“Muchas gracias!” I blurted. I wanted to embrace her. For every difficult human, there are always several good ones.  An instant later we had our tickets in hand. I turned to thank the Virgin Mother, but she and her family had already disapparated.  Was this a miracle?

Cyn and I wheeled away with our bags, tossed them to a waiting porter and bound onto the Premiere Class coach in search of our seats. We plopped down, and then with a bang, the engine of the mighty Chepe began to haul us out of the station precisely on time.   

I grinned at Cyn. “After all of that,” I said, “this better be good!”

Departing Los Mochis

The train’s windows are broad, made to reveal the views. We watched its 12 cars pull us through an immense garbage dump. This didn’t look promising, but trains everywhere travel through the backsides of cities and the views are rarely stunning. We gathered speed and watched shanties fashioned from whatever people have been able to find — cardboard, plasterboard, tarps, plywood, plastic — parade by. White circular tubs stood outside, a flat square of dirt where people can wash. Little flags of plastic or cloth provide a morsel of privacy as the train slides by. Here and there skeletal corrals of old wood teeter in the dirt. A few chickens peck in the dust, an emaciated goat or two munches on tiny clusters of grass, while hand washed clothes hang languidly in the humid breeze and a single rooster patrols a little dirt yard, wings spread, squawking a clear message to all chickens that he is boss. I am reminded of John Steinbeck's descriptions in Grapes of Wrath of the shanty towns during the American Depression.

A few moments more and I witnessed an image that will always remain with me: a solitary young man, maybe 21-years-old, tall, slim with dark hair, raggedly dressed. His paper COVID mask was strapped on his ears as he stood unmoving and unmoved amidst 100 yards of garbage and tumbling plastic bags, gazing blankly into the wreckage. What thoughts, I wondered was he thinking? What dreams did he dream? What dreams was he allowed to dream? And then the train moved on.

As we gathered speed the level of homes upgraded. Slowly the boarded slats and plywood houses we had been looking at morphed into small enclosed yards with porticos and cement walls and proper rooms capped with red corrugated roofs. Ranches began to appear as we came into the foothills, small brick buildings among scrub, rock, cactus, dry arroyos, dust and hard chunks of grass. A cowboy on his horse clopped through a flat plain of dry prairie grass, his battered straw hat swatting at a few horses and brahmin cows as he herded them into a nearby corral.

In time we broke into broad rows of corn filling the plains through which the train resolutely passed. Before the day was done, the train would haul us into canyons the guide books told us were five times the size of the Grand Canyon. It swayed left and right, but its progress was steady as we moved towards the beckoning Sierra Madre. I thought if there was one set of tracks that would be carefully maintained, it would be this one. The express was the most popular attraction in northern Mexico, and it brought tourists in by the hundreds of thousands each year. Now that COVID seemed to finally be abating, the income was deeply appreciated.

Life On Board Chepe

El Chepe’s Premiere Class passenger coach offered a startling counterpoint to the world through which the train passed. It was indeed first class, recently renovated we were told. Leather chairs throughout, brown leather cloth and metal scones for lighting, a linen like ceiling with more recessed lighting, tan with valances recalling the fine Spanish architecture of the old days, and an entire car devoted to anyone who wanted a drink in the first class section. In the bar car all of the big windows had been opened and the train now chugged up the mountains through fresh, cool air while the patrons helped themselves to drinks and had the party going strong by 10:30 am.   

The interior of El Chepe’s Premiere Class coach, and the packed bar car

In all of our experience in Mexico, we had never run into anyone who was unkind or the least bit bad-tempered. That changed on the Chepe. The surliest people that we came across were those riding in Premier class. Many of them considered themselves wealthy, entitled to be loud, rude, insistent on their constant care for the battalion of servers on board, seemingly unaware of the poverty around them or even feeling superior because of it. They would order drinks and food and toss away their trash and expect someone else to take care of it which the servers dutifully did.  I wondered if sometimes I acted like this, being just as thoughtless, entirely unaware that I too was a jerk. If so I could only hope this trip would help humble me, help me realize how truly we are all in the same boat and at least deserve an equal shot.  But everywhere it was so clear that so many did not get equal shots and yet they seemed to continue with a smile on their face, working hard, themselves humble and perfectly happy with the state of their lives. Had I been born into those circumstances, I wondered, would I feel the same?

Climbing Into Copper Canyon

Now the views of the river plain below became stunning. We crossed over one of the highest train trestles in the world, the river valley gaping hundreds of feet below. Onward El Chepe rocked, always higher; we rose amongst cliffs of hanging trees and flowers of vivid yellow, pink and periwinkle. We were leaving civilization. In time a broad snaking river appeared, tumbling out the mountains, the Septentrion, which means “going to the ocean.” It seemed to be in a hurry.

For a few hours the rails followed the channel the Septentrion had formed over the epochs. The higher we ascended green rather than brown became the color of choice - pine (Tule) and White Stick trees, Huisache and Jute bushes. The river became a chasm filled with rocks the size of small homes, igneous domes toppled from the ragged cliffs above.

Copper Canyon’s monolithic cliffs

Despite rocking and rolling upward, a small battalion of waiters with perfect, gleaming teeth glided through the aisles carrying platters of snacks and wine, mojitos or tequila from one car to the next. The service was impeccable and we were often asked if we needed anything. Lunch would be served in the dining car around noon and we chose chicken soup with light Seminola and three small roasted pork chops in green sauce.

Higher … now the turns grew sharper, twisting the train into taut switchbacks, and El Chepe made every noise a machine could make, cracking, clapping and rattling, screeching and hissing on its beds, but it never wavered in its journey. Soon the canyon walls approached like closing, volcanic hands, sometimes no more than 10 feet from our window.  Rail workers had had to blast through every one of the railway’s 27 bridges and 86 tunnels to take us on this route. It was truly one of the world’s great engineering feats. The idea for the railroad was inspired when Mexico granted a rail concession to Albert Kinsey Owen, founder of the Utopia Socialist Colony in New Harmony, Indiana. Owen’s goal was to build a socialist colony in Mexico and he needed a way to get people there. Owen’s dream didn’t come true, but Arthur Stilwell who ran a company called the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway began construction in 1900. The route was so rugged, so challenging that last rail wasn’t laid to its terminus in Chihuahua until 1961.

Now the train’s big blue engine began snaking us through fresh stands of pine, and as we approached late afternoon the train seemed to level off a bit. We didn’t see the immense canyon walls you see in the Grand Canyon, there are too many trees, but the canyons are there, and we would catch glimpses, thick with forest hanging along the immense ravines.

Tarahumara Trainside Vendors

Fifteen minutes out of Divisadero, a favorite tourist stop on the route with Alpine-style restaurants and hotels dropped among the Sierra Tarahumara, the train slowed. From out of cluster of small homes a mother, teen daughter, little boy and even younger girl emerged like apparitions. I suspected they were Tarahumara; the mother and children were dressed in bright pink and deep blues. They ran desperately carrying brightly colored hand-made baskets of all kinds. I wanted to help, but couldn’t find a place to debark because the train moved continuously a few feet at a time perhaps to give these people a chance to sell some of their wares to the hundreds on the train. I finally remembered that in between the train cars there was a window. But would it open? I ran to it from our seats and found I could unlatch it. Immediately the family flocked to me, holding out their beautifully woven baskets. Cyn and I had no room for any gifts but I had 100 pesos in my pocket and handed it to the little boy running along side. He leapt with joy and showed me his wide, white teeth. Immediately his mother held out a variety of baskets.

“Regalo!” I called out. A gift and I waved my hand.

After I closed the window the train moved slowly away.  Back in our plush seats, I wondered why is anyone this poor? I knew the stock answers. Political corruption, skewered capitalism, poor education … but those answers still begged the question: Why had this family been dealt these cards and why had I been so fortunate? It wasn’t as though I had earned my good fortune any more than this family deserved the cards they were dealt. The simple luck of a grand lottery placed me in the United States, white and entitled with a far bigger shot at success than these folks. The same lottery had placed this hardworking mother and her children on these tracks in the middle of Mexico’s mountains and there wasn’t much they could do about it but make these baskets, and hope.

Arrival in Creel

When we arrived in Creel, our final destination, it was a chilly 47°. The sun would soon set among a sky of scuttling white clouds. When the train clattered to a halt, people poured in droves from its coaches. Of the 12 cars, only a handful were Premiere class. The rest were second and third class. Cyn and I debarked but the narrow depot left no room for egress or ingress or progress. Cyn held her ground and I battled my way through the crush to the baggage area, hauled the bags onto our backs and began to head we knew not where.

We were looking to find our hotel, the Villa Mexicana, but had no idea where it was or how to get there. Cell signals are in short supply in the land of the Tarahumara.  I figured somewhere we would find a local taxi and figure things out. Then among the throng, I saw one man with a baseball cap hold a sign aloft: “Villa Mexicana.” I waved to him and he gestured toward a kind of parking lot, and headed that way. We were still stuck, but finally we broke out onto battered cement steps and found the man – Xavier, slim and whiskered with soulful eyes, and we followed him to a serviceable white van with four others already inside. Just dumb luck. Xavier rammed the clutch into reverse and soon we were on our way. In the low light, off to the right, I saw El Chepe Express sitting on its rails and gave it a salute.

Quick Tips for El Chepe

If possible, arrive early, bring a printed copy of your ticket confirmation.

Consider learning a few key Spanish phrases. A little preparation—and a bit of luck—can go a long way.

Train windows may be scratched — grab clean spots or open windows early for photos.

Sit on the left side when heading east for the best Copper Canyon views.

FAQ

Q1: Where does the El Chepe Express route begin and end?

A: The El Chepe Express runs between Creel, Chihuahua and Los Mochis, Sinaloa, passing through the heart of Mexico’s Copper Canyon. Most travelers ride from Creel to El Fuerte, or vice versa, to capture the most stunning scenery without committing to the entire 9-hour journey. The full El Chepe Express route between Creel and Los Mochis takes approximately 9 hours, though it can vary depending on the number of scenic stops and dwell time at stations. Shorter segments, like Divisadero to Bahuichivo or El Fuerte to Divisadero, offer gorgeous views in 3 to 5 hours.

Q2: What kind of travelers ride El Chepe Express?

A: You’ll find a mix of Mexican families, older tourists, and intrepid travelers, especially in Clase Turista (Tourist Class). The vibe is more low-key than luxury trains in Europe or Japan — but it’s authentic, unhurried, and social. Passenger behavior varied sharply by class. While many travelers were quiet, kind, and respectful — especially the servers and working-class passengers — those riding in Premier class were often loud, entitled, and dismissive of others.

Q3: What is the experience like on board El Chepe Express?

A: On our ride, the train was comfortable, clean, and modern, with huge windows, friendly staff, and surprisingly smooth rail. The food and drink options were solid (think sandwiches and beer), and the onboard vibe was relaxed — part transit, part sightseeing.

Q4: Is getting tickets for the El Chepe Express complicated?

A: It can be. Even with a payment confirmation in hand, travelers may still face confusion and delays when converting proof of purchase into actual tickets — especially at the station in Los Mochis. We had paid 8,400 pesos online but were still asked to line up again and submit the email confirmation to Ferro Mex before tickets could be printed. The process was glacially slow due to a chatty agent and unclear protocol.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/riding-el-chepe-express-through-mexico-copper-canyon

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