“I’m amazed at how many people in Guadalajara have never been here,” said my hiking companion, Rick, as we took our first steps along the fabled trail known locally as La Barranca de Huentitan or simply La Barranca.
Barranca translates as ravine or even gully. But if you happen to be diverted from the normal flight route into the Guadalajara airport, as I was a few years ago, and glimpse from on high this huge and nearly impenetrable gash that defines the entire northern and eastern boundaries of this mile-high city, you may conclude that the jaw-dropping Barranca deserves to be dubbed a gorge or canyon and perhaps even preceded by “grand.”
I took my first plunge into this national park after eons of hemming and hawing. Over the years, whenever I mentioned it to a rather lazy friend, his eyebrows shot up as he explained with distaste that at first you go down, down, down and then, to return, you must climb up, up, up. I had a vision of the Barranca trail as narrow, sandy, exposed, desolate, ill-maintained and strewn with occasional rocks and lurking bandidos.
It is none of this. It is not even one, single trail. My initial exclamations as we began a relatively easy walk behind the Guadalajara Police Academy (near the Periferico and Calle Juan Pablo II) had a ring of surprise: “Oh! This is nice!” To which Rick replied with the first sentence in this article.
“And it’s only 30 minutes from five million people!” chimed in Will, another experienced hiker in our group. Will hikes in the Barranca once a week, often with Rick, and thinks nothing of walking to the trailhead from his house in the centro of Guadalajara. Rick often takes a bus from the centro, the 258D, whose route ends in the north very near the classic – and more difficult – Barranca trailhead, making a bus trip of approximately an hour each way.
Today, on my first foray into the Barranca, we are on the easy trail. I am delighted by the refreshment stands near the trailhead; the abundant leafy shade (not abundant in the dry season, Will warns); the well maintained trail paved with stones and often nearly flat, with its lookout points, plentiful garbage cans and fairly scarce litter; the occasionally breathtaking vistas of the Santiago and Verde rivers as they snake along far below and then converge in the west; the training police who work out on the trail; the flowers, birds and insects – not many – all around; the truly giant boulders strewn around; and the other hikers who provide the right amount of camaraderie and security. Coming across a mounted ranger and providing his horse with an apple is another bit of fun.
I am also delighted by the high, thin waterfall we see at one extreme of the trail, but not delighted by the smell here, which Will says comes from city effluent, such as detergents and probably hazardous industrial chemicals. Indeed, much of the Rio Santiago that I see is foamy white and even smells a bit like detergent, while the Rio Verde is green or brown in color and cleaner, Will says.
We hike – or stroll or saunter, considering how easy it is – about three hours that day, including a half-hour snack stop. No bathrooms near the Police Academy, however, and none on the trail, so Hiker Beware. As we did a fair amount of sweating, bathrooms were not urgently necessary, although one of our lady hikers posted lookouts on one stretch of the trail to devise a comfort stop.
When, with the same foursome, I did the classic Barranca trail the following week, there were a few more delights – and challenges – in store. New features on this trail were dams, cable cars and railway tracks (some no longer used), along with a greater profusion of fellow hikers, including solo women and families with small children.
At the start, the steeper angle of some stretches of this rock-paved trail, some near 45 degrees, tempted me to give up. At this point, a ramshackle house with an advertisement for massage and treatment for esguinces or torceduras (sprains) injected a little fear. But I persevered when a hiker passed, dancing effortlessly from rock to rock on his or her (couldn’t tell from the back) descent.
“They’re familiar with every stone here,” Rick explained as we plodded along. And the metal hiking stick that Will loaned me, keeping only one for himself, made things easier.
I actually found myself looking forward to the uphill return, even though I knew I’d be huffing. For me, ascents are less scary and easier on my knees. The stick helped both going up and down, taking the strain off my legs. When I again passed the hut of the esguince medic, I gave a mental thumbs up. And I was not even sore after our hike, which lasted about four hours, although the bandana holding back my hair was drenched.