After 36 years of crawling into dark spaces in many parts of the world, naturally I’ve had a few close calls.
In fact, my very first visit to a wild cavern (Windsor Cave in Jamaica) was nearly my last because – having gone inside – I made the mistake of relying on outside sunlight and a large bat colony to help me find my way back to the cave entrance, not realizing that once night fell, neither the daylight nor the bats would be there to indicate the way out.
Over the subsequent years, my friends and I have run out of light, nearly suffocated in underground “lakes” of carbon dioxide, dangled stuck at the end of a rope 100 meters long (because of an unexpected knot in it), breathed in invisible fungus spores which cause histoplasmosis and even been attacked by angry bees for invading their space. But when asked the question, what if the cave roof falls in, I have always replied that natural caves are among the safest places to be during an earthquake, and I’ve never experienced a collapse.
Luis Rojas, a chemical engineer, outdoor enthusiast and long-time caver, Here is his story, translated from a colorful email which he sent me recently.
“Let me tell you what happened to me last Tuesday. I got a phone call from a man named Romualdo who lives in Los Yunaites (United States) and was here on vacation at his rancho, which is near Huaxtla (21 kilometers due north of Guadalajara). How he heard I was a caver, I don’t know, but he found me and told me about a ‘cuevota,’ a huge and very deep cave, from which ‘vast hordes’ of bats fly every night. Unfortunately, this was his very last day in Mexico, as he was about to fly back to Los Yunaites. I tried to contact several fellow cavers, but I couldn’t reach a soul on such short notice, so off I went with Romualdo to see his cuevota.To my surprise, it turned out there was actually a hole: a big fissure whose bottom could not be seen. It was between 1.5 and 2 meters wide and I could see it would be possible to ‘chimney’ down for at least 20 meters. Romualdo, of course, was not interested in joining me. On the contrary, he didn’t want to get even close to the edge. So I started chimneying down and I reached a depth of about 15 meters without a problem when suddenly, with a great roar, a ton of rocks started to fall from up above. Good old Romualdo, it seemed, had finally screwed up enough courage to come right to the edge of the crack and his weight had caused the fragile wall to collapse, causing a veritable avalanche of rocks and dirt to come tumbling down. Amazingly, Romualdo somehow managed not to come tumbling down as well.
As soon as I heard the sound of the collapse, I slid sideways like a crab into a hollow place in the wall, from which I could see the debris falling in front of my eyes like a cascade of rocks instead of water.
Well, the rocks just kept coming, filling up the crack above me and leaving me in darkness. All I could think was, ‘Chin! Ya me jodí!’ (Darn, now I’m really ----ed.)
The air was full of dust, dirt, bat guano and who knows what else, so I wet my shirt and put it over my face. After about 15 minutes, the dust settled and I uncovered my head. I was in a space three meters long and high, where the fissure was about a meter wide. I calculated I had about 400 hours of light, two sandwiches, 1.5 liters of lemonade and a Coke: enough to last me for three days, should it take that long to get myself out of that desmadre (hell of a mess).
At least I had space below me to put the rocks I would have to remove from above. Next followed hours of work in the midst of small rockfalls, clouds of dust and guano and mouthfuls of the same. Rocks and dirt here, dirt and rocks there, and all the while Romualdo shouting to me from up above. Well, for the first hour I didn’t answer him, figuring he ought to suffer a little for having given me all that grief. Finally, after consuming the sandwich (by eating), the Coke (by drinking, not snorting) and half a ton of dirt and guano (by breathing), while pushing and pushing like a mother giving birth, I broke through the top layer of rocks and gulped in fresh air.
And there was that daft Romualdo, jumping up and down, shouting, ‘He’s alive! He’s alive!’ – to whom I don’t know.
Off we went to his rancho, where I took a sort of baño vaquero (Cowboy bath) and by sunset I was back home in Guadalajara.
So, what were the results of this exploration? Well, one cave entrance hopelessly plugged up, one Romualdo nearly scared out of his wits and one big fat case of histoplasmosis for yours truly: The 20th time I’ve got it in my life. A hacking cough, watering eyes, chest pains and now I’m getting a fever. OK, I have to stop typing but if you’re planning any caving trips, be sure to let me know!”
On this occasion, I think I can skip the “How to get there” part – unless you’re a director looking for a good place to film an Edgar Allen Poe story.