By Hal Walter
Over the years, running has been the vehicle for some amazing experiences. Some of them I’ll never forget, like running the Boston Marathon or facing down a mountain lion during a trail run, finishing fifth in the 5-day 100-mile Kokopelli Supermarathon, stepping on a rattlesnake, and thousands of other experiences I’d have missed if I’d chosen a more sedentary lifestyle.
Now I have to add to my lengthy list of unforgettable adventures a recent run with two Raramuri or Tarahumara runners – Miguel Lara, 22 and Arnolfo Quimare, 32. Miguel is the recent winner and record-holder for the Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon. And Arnolfo was featured in the book “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall.
The Raramuri pair were brought here by Dave Hensleigh, a former guide at Bear Basin who now runs Authentic Copper Canyon, a touring company which guides trips in the canyons of Mexico. They were here on their way to a 100-mile ultramarathon in Steamboat Springs. I was asked to take them out for a run on the Bear Basin Ranch trails as a little warmup for the event.
As I drove into the Cowboy Camp at Bear Basin, Miguel and Arnolfo were jogging around kicking a bola back and forth to warm up in the chill and damp air. Ten years in age difference seemed like an entire generation – Arnolfo in his traditional zapeta and sandals, Miguel in Brooks running shoes and jeans.
After introductions and photos, we started down the road.
I know very minimal Spanish, and there was a little giggling as we started out that made me wonder if these guys didn’t think this old gringo could run with them. Then – wow – they started off fast.
I just went with it. Once I even sprinted ahead to open a gate. Then we hit a two-track with a gradual climb, and I decided to just go ahead and properly introduce myself. About a half-mile later – when I could hear them breathing hard behind me – I backed off the pace and looked back. I may be treading toward fossilhood and for sure I’m not hanging with these guys for 100 miles, but this gringo ain’t exactly dead yet. They smiled and I felt we had reached a point of higher understanding.
Perhaps running is a Universal language. From that point on the words were spare and the smiles frequent as I pointed out directions and we just ran.
I’d chosen for this run the steepest, gnarliest trail I know on Bear Basin. It’s a route up what we call Grouse Mountain but appears as Bear Peak on topo maps at 9,577 feet elevation. It’s a narrow rock-choked trail that is studded with cactus and yucca and winds its way to one of the highest points around here.
Soon after starting up the trail I pulled over to take photos and Miguel and Arnolfo ran on by. After putting the camera away I had to sprint to catch sight of them. Luckily that’s when Miguel spotted a rabbit and chased off into the brush after it. Just a little reminder that running for these guys isn’t even a little bit about weight management.
The rabbit escaped and we laughed and continued on.
But when they’re not chasing breakfast, fun is what running is all about for these guys and we shared many grins as we made our way up the little fog-shrouded peak. We took turns leading, and twice I had to stop to tie my shoes, producing a chuckle from Arnolfo as he glided by in his sandals.
Near the top I was taken by surprise when Miguel produced a cell phone and took photos of Arnolfo. From the summit we surveyed the landscape and I pointed out the Cowboy Camp in the distance below. It began to sprinkle. I had noticed the weather forecast indicated a possibility of relampago with the illuvia and so I indicated we should head back down.
It began to rain harder as we descended and I decided to stop and put my camera in a ziplock bag. It took about a minute and when I started running again my Tarahumara friends were out of sight.
I picked my way quickly down the rugged trail, not wanting to take a fall but also not wanting to lose the Tarahumara out there. Near the bottom I found them walking and when they saw me coming they broke into a run. On a smooth stretch of trail I caught up with them before the final descent. They stopped and I showed them my camera in its plastic bag to explain my delay.
The truth is these guys didn’t need me. They have built-in GPS. But we continued on down the last of the rough trail to a stretch of cross-country toward the road back to camp.
As we ran across the wide open, Miguel started playfully bounding over the chamisa (rabbit brush) and soon Arnolfo was also bounding over bushes and I found myself joyfully hurdling through the brush, too. I glanced over to Arnolfo and he just laughed.
It’s something I’ll never forget.
Hal Walter writes and edits from the Wet Mountains. You can keep up with him regularly at his blog: www.hardscrabbletimes.com
