Our rickety motorboat skipped over the Pacific waves out of the harbour of the small, North Mexican fishing pueblo Topolobampo, with a light wind blowing spray everywhere and soaking my sun-indulged skin. A bulky Brown Pelican takes flight on noticing our advance, seemingly defying the work of one Sir Isaac Newton.

Riding the waves in our lancha we head out to an area of mangrove swamps, which protect a sea inlet creating calm waters. It was the home of an extremely friendly dolphin, which immediately swam up to the boat and began toying around, rolling over and flicking water up at us with its tail. It even shimmed up to the side of the boat and allowed us to stroke its flanks, which felt as though they had similar properties to rubber.

Heading back across the bay, our guide suddenly shouted out lobo marino. Given the fact that my Spanish still had not surpassed the literal translation stage, I was curious to find out what on earth a ‘marine wolf’ was.

Majestically raising its shiny brown head above the waves momentarily, I caught a glimpse of the sea lion - an equally confusing name when translated literally into Spanish no doubt. Then suddenly out of the sea an entire school of dolphins - somewhere in the region of 15-20 mammals - began jumping over the waves beside our boat. It was as though they were subtly mocking our pathetic attempts as humans to swim, with their ostentatious acrobatics.

The day at the coast was merely a case of killing some free time before embarking on the real focus of our journey: The Copper Canyon, which has been dubbed by the Mexican Tourist Board and by many travelers, as one of the most beautiful train rides in the world.

Waking up at 5:30am, stepping wearily out of our hotel into the cool, inky, Mexican madrugada we hail the first taxi to pass by. We were driven, in what would have been dubbed in the UK: “A complete write-off”. It had a boot that wouldn’t close, was minus one headlight, and had what appeared at first glance to be bullet holes in the passenger door. After my initial inspection of the vehicle however, I thought ‘meh! Well this is Mexico after all!’

We left the dirty, modern, industrial town of Los Mochis and arrived at the train station, where I bought my ticket for $400 pesos (£20). My basic bodily functions told me that I needed to find coffee so I crossed the car park to a hole in the wall, with the feel of an 11-year olds’ cub-scout tuck shop. The crumbling, white paint was illuminated by the typical, harsh and unwelcoming neon light: the type found everywhere in Mexico. The soft buzzing seemingly the only company to the elderly lady sat behind the counter, with more gaps than teeth, and a wisdom in the lines of her face that I could only hope to posess after a lifetime of experience. After being handed a tub of Nescafe, one of powdered milk and a plastic cup of boiling water, a do-it-yourself coffee concoction, I headed back to the station and my father and I boarded the 7:00am, 2nd class ferrocarril, the first class train having departed the hour before.

The first three hours were dominated by wide, flat, fertile plains, off which the American Benjamin Johnson created much of his wealth through sugarcane plantations when he founded Los Mochis in 1903. Los Mochis then became the starting point of a project that would take 36 bridges, 87 tunnels, 655km of railway track and the good part of nine decades to build, incorporating some highly advanced and accomplished engineering work in the process.

As we passed through El Fuerte three hours in, the terrain began to lose its horizontal appearance, taking on rougher, untamed qualities. Soon afterwards we passed over the first viaduct, bridging the edge of a large lake and its’ nourishing river: water trapped in by the gigantic chunks of rock, forcing themselves up through the valley floor towards the sky. From here the long climb began..

Gradually the train ascended through inhospitable valleys, scorched by the bare sun, and torn open by ferocious rivers, angry and forceful as they make their way to the sea. We passed over another bridge that led straight into the tunneled, light-shy, heart of one peak, only to emerge in a different valley, seemingly just as remote as the last. A natural V carved out in the rock. Perhaps the V stands for volatile: the nature of our terrain that seems less so only because of the relative safety and comfort of the train cabin.

Then again, the V could stand for victory: the human triumph of audacity and engineering to unlock the door to such a gargantuan maze of valleys that is the Copper Canyon. Or perhaps the victory comes from bringing the many native Tarahumara peoples who inhabit the canyon, into contact with the outside world far beyond their primitive lifestyles and subsistence farming.

Climbing ever higher to a peak of around 7300 feet, the flora became more abundant and transformed from dry scrub land to lush pine forest. It became apparent that despite the stunning scenery, we had only ever been down in the valleys, and had not yet been given the opportunity to glimpse the true expanse of the Copper Canyon.

At around 4:30pm, two hours behind schedule, as the sun was in its death throes for the day, we reached the small village of Divisadero. I instantly got the feeling that this place came to be, solely for the purpose of tourists. On leaving the train during our 15 minute break, I was confronted by fresh, cool evening air and a sprawling mass of brightly coloured stalls vending all manner of local Tarahumara hand-made crafts, and to the highly appealing smells of tacos, quesadillas and gorditas. Oddly enough, none of the other places we had passed through had been like this.

After walking no more than 100 meters, it suddenly became obvious why this place was so popular: Spread out before me was probably one of the most magnificent natural sights it is possible to behold. As the sun dropped, it played off every contour, niche and fault-line, of the hundreds of valleys that lay below me, intricately linked to form the true Copper Canyon. I found it hard to believe my own eyes, and equally hard to believe that this beautiful recess of the world was closed to the outside world until 1961.

We continued to our destination of Creel, a popular choice with many travelers, and dusted with a light snow when we arrived at dusk, two hours late. The train carried on to its final destination of Chihuahua. This was quite possibly the only time I have been glad to arrive late at a destination when traveling on a train. Just to think that yesterday we were on a deserted Pacific beach, yet now standing in the snow-capped Sierra Madre Mountains. This bears true testament to the diversity of natural beauty that can be found in Mexico.

By Paul Stafford