Cañon Sumidero November 5, 2021
“Should we also flood the Sistine Chapel so tourists can get nearer the ceiling?”
David Brower
The Grijalva, Mexico’s other Rio Grande, begins in the highest mountains of Guatemala, less than a hundred miles from the Pacific, before making its long serpentine way to the Bay of Campeche on the Gulf. Along the route, it passes through two state capitals, one being Villahermosa, Tabasco, where the Texas Navy once held seige. The river delta is so vast that its federally protected wetland is the largest in North America.
Named after some Conquistador who visited its mouth for a few days in 1518, Rio Grijalva is a grand river indeed, and the most breathtaking evidence of this is Cañon Sumidero. Its dimensions—half-mile deep, half-mile wide, 8 miles long—form the perimeter of a small national park, but measurements hardly touch the story here. This does not stop the tour operator from reiterating, yet again, that one canyon wall reaches 3300 feet. He also mentions “Maravilla del Mundo” more than once, suggest that this place is designated as one of the 7 World Wonders. To my knowledge it is not, but I suppose Wonders can change.
We see our first “river croc” in Sumidero Canyon, and it is blue. The little rubber sandal floats by our motor boat as we approach an island created by the reservoir. The small artificial island is safe from snakes and other land predators, so its trees are packed like a Bronx tenement with roosting pelicans, cormorants, herons, and egrets. The ground is cluttered with expectant black-headed vultures, should a nest-tender ever be careless with her young. At the moment, the island is surrounded by tour boats with camera-phones ablaze.
Each of the iconic sites along what used to be the flowing Grijalva is lined with floating sightseers today—the giant stalactite resembling a seahorse in a limestone amphitheater, the mossy bridal-veil cascade on one wall that is called the Christmas Tree, and, last but not least, the dam itself, which is responsible for this canyon lake. Built along with 5 other dams in the 1970’s, primarily for hydroelectric power, the flooding of Sumidero Canyon instantly turned the river-frontier settlement of Chiapa de Corzo, at 3900 feet, into a tourist town for day-trippers, offering pricey buffets, overpriced souvenirs, and, from at least one daring vender, jars of some paste labeled peyote.
Imagine that Page, Arizona, had a population of a half-million with inadequate sewer treatment, and Grand Canyon National Park would face similar challenges to the river-managers of Sumidero Canyon, which is located at the edge of Tuxtla Gutierrez, the capital of Chiapas. Fuel for city growth comes from intense logging just outside the park, adding to a monstrous solid waste load, measured in the thousands of tons, which turns the lake yellow and must be regularly dredged to protect the dam. Overlooking the whole mess is a gigantic statue featuring proletarian workers with picks and shovels. Sometimes Wonders cease.
But for the dense foliage, crocodiles and spider monkeys (although none seen today), the weathered white walls of Sumidero Canyon recall scenes from Zion Canyon and Yosemite, in form and scale. Formed about 30 million years ago, like the Colorado River, the uplift of marine layers is sliced like a layer-cake, with sheer walls that somehow support unlikely plant growth, including hanging orchids, as well as rows of columnar cacti the size of stop signs. Thousands of feet, straight up, they rise, while vultures glide circles on thermal winds.
The canyon will surely outlast the dam. How it will look for eternity eludes us as long as this still body of water exists. In the meantime, the electrical power hums, more tour buses arrive from San Cristóbal, and river crocodiles learn how to live on a lake.