Good luck if you can pronounce it, much less remember it
By: John Pint
We had long been interested in searching for deep pits in the limestone hills above the rancho known as Fortín in the Pihuamo River area of Jalisco. Pozo Fortín hadn't led us down to the "big system" we're sure is under there somewhere, so it was time to look for a new connection. One day in October of 1995, Claudio Chilomer, Chris Lloyd, Susy Pint, Nani Ibarra and I decided to take a look.
"Before we go, why not call up Ramón Barajas of Tecalitlán?" I suggested, hoping he might be free to show us at last a cave he'd mentioned about two years ago, located near the road between Tecalitlán and Pihuamo. Next day we found Ramón waiting for us in front of the bee hives near Side of the Road Cave (famous for its friendly little "talking" bats). He and his son then led us up into the lush green hills below La Tigra peak.
"This is not the best time to go looking for a little hole I haven't seen since I was a kid," commented Ramón, swinging his machete vigorously. Indeed, the vegetation was luxuriant and we came upon all sorts of vines and plants we'd never seen before, including several that coat the passing visitor with tiny, hairlike needles called ajuates.
Eventually, whitish karst outcroppings began to appear and at a spot called Puerto del Tabaquillo, we fanned out to search for the hole. "Fanning out" in a thick tangle of thorns and vines growing around and above great chunks of "prickly rock" means we all took one step forward and found ourselves nose to nose with a seemingly impenetrable wall
"How in the name of Zotz do we get through this?"
Claudio, however, must have learned a trick or two as a Brazilian Bush Baby for he managed to squeeze a whole two meters into the tangle, whereupon the old Chilomer luck struck again: "I found it!" shouted Claudio.
Practically on my belly, I crawled over to Claudio's find, picking up plenty of new ajuates along the way.
Just then Chris and Susy shouted from even deeper in the thicket. "Forget Claudio's hole, Ramón just found the real one!"
But I had already joined Claudio and had little desire to forge a new path through the "jungle," so I climbed down to the landing a few meters below and discovered that Claudio's hole showed plenty of promise. The walls were covered with flowstone and off to one side was a downsloping crawlway. There was also a curious formation on the floor. It was cylindrical and hollow inside, something like a petrified tree stump, but apparently a genuine stalagmite of some sort.
Chris, meantime, had downclimbed Don Ramón's hole and was shouting up news about a big chamber and plenty of formations.
Claudio and I were not ready to give up on "our" hole, however, even though it was so hot inside that I had to spend more time wiping off my glasses than wearing them.
About the time Claudio, on belay, had reached the end of the downsloping passage and was peering into what looked like a black abyss, we heard Chris's voice coming from farther down below. Connection! Soon all three of us were gawking at the surprising number of formations that decorate this cave. Although it is basically one big room, it really takes hours to have a good look around. Besides the two entrances we had found, there are two "skylights" in the ceiling, one of which would be ideal for photos of someone rappeling into a forest of lovely stalactites.
As far as living creatures go, we found several large canclos (whip-tail spiders as big as your hand, with black fangs and scorpion-like pinchers), one chinche osicona (a "big-mouth bedbug" an inch long with a long needle used for sucking blood) and more of the chattering bats seen in Side of the Road Cave.
As we crawled out, we were amazed to see Ramón busy talking on the telephone, apparently as comfortable with a telcell in his hand as with a machete.
Ten minutes later we were down at the roadside, trying to wash off the ajuates and güinas (chiggers) in a cool and delightfully refreshing, spring-fed brook, after which we headed for our favorite caving grounds near the little settlement of Fortín.
On a subsequent visit to this cave, our mapping endeavors got us into several dusty passages and everyone present ended up with histoplasmosis, even I, who was supposedly immune. For Luis Rojas, it was histo case number eight which may the reason why he suggested the name "Cuachalalate" for this cave, a name so difficult to remember (supposedly it refers to a tree near the entrance) that it immediately suggests "forget this place" to the would-be visitor.
Any place with nineteen pits sounds like Cavers' Heaven, but I've cheated a bit because we began counting from "Pit Fortín" that wonderful hole we hope connects with the Pihuamo River caves. Fortín is pronounced just like fourteen, so naturally we gave the name "15" to a pit shown to us by Jesús, son of Don Rafa, the morning of October 8. After a brisk, ever upwards walk, there we were peering down into a pitch black maw, when Susy leaned against a "tree" which happened to be a tall Nopal (prickly-pear cactus) which happened to be rotten and which immediately fell right on top of Chris, who standing at the edge of the pit slid halfway in before a couple of us managed to grab his arms.
We then convinced Chris it might be safer (but admittedly slower) to climb down the cable ladder, which he did. Unfortunately, neither this cave nor the next had going passages and we went on with Jesús to Pit 16 which proved too long for the cable ladder. This one is 15 meters deep by the old Rock-on-a-Thread measurement and looks worth a rappel.
Next we found ourselves in the middle of a cornfield, looking down a hole whose entrance was also home to a swarm of small wasps. Our guide Jesús immediately (and without warning) applied the traditional WASP DISPERSAL MANEUVER universally practiced by country folk: whack 'em hard and knock 'em on the ground. Of course, all the rest of us gasped and dove for shelter, but Jesús' technique worked fine and the wasps departed. This hole also proved too deep for the ladder, so we'll be seeing Cornflakes Caverns (Susy's name) again someday.
Hole 19 was quite different and is located on another hill, only three minutes from a convenient dirt road. A little two-meter drop brings you to a sloping floor that leads to a big, beautifully decorated room. There are plenty of large Canclos, too, but no sign of our dream passage down to the river caves.
So, in a few hours we visited five pits in the hills above Fortín and suspect there are many more: another fine caving area not unlike the famous Cerro Grande.
After a cold beer with Don Rafa and Jesús, we drove off, all of us crossing our fingers that the gasoline dripping from beneath Chris Lloyd's recently purchased "seminew" truck would not take us to the Great Beyond instead of Guadalajara.
Well, by the time we reached Pihuamo, the drip had become a trickle. But neither food nor a mechanic could be found in Pihuamo that Sunday, so we drove on to Tecolotlán, trusting in those same supernatural beings that permit Mexican drivers to pass semis on blind curves overlooking 1000-foot drops, with impunity. And sure enough, we reached Tecolotlán our trickle now a gush and immediately sat down for a long overdue lunch (first things first!) after which we sought out and found a great mechanic who just happened to like working on Sundays. He replaced the truck's thoroughly rotten gas lines and patched one particularly bad connection with a kneaded mixture of laundry soap and sugar, claiming this was better than epoxy.
Lo and behold, no more drips and no more fumes and like most "this- oughta-getcha-there" repair jobs, it lasted just long enough for us to reach home and then went to pieces.
Published in the AMCS Newsletter, Vol. 22, 1997
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