Thanks to a tip from the owner of Killer Bee Cave, we were led, late in 1993, to a corner of Jalisco we had never seen before. "There's a bottomless pit not far from La Estrella," mentioned our informant as we breakfasted among the cow pies in his barnyard, "... throw a rock down that hole and it just keeps falling forever."
So far we have managed to get to the bottom of every bottomless pit we've come across, so one day we loaded 250 meters of rope into our truck and headed down the road toward La Estrella. A brand-new INEJI Geology map showed us that there were both large and small deposits of limestone all over this area and we decided we'd inquire about caves whenever we could.
The very first time we leaned out the window and talked to a man walking down the highway, we hit the jackpot.
"Dispense, señor, what's the name of this place?"As we walked back up the road, flashlights and assorted gear dangling from cords around our necks, a light drizzle began, which apparently infuriated the local flies and urged them to bite us mercilessly. Cursing, clanking and shooing away flies, we climbed up to a hole which apparently had been broken open when the road was constructed. The breaking must have continued after that, because every readily reachable stalactite had been snapped off in this 20 by 30 meter single room. Nevertheless, the cave is still very beautiful, with flowstone covering most of it. Besides formations, there are quite a few bats (for a change, not vampires).
As far as exploration goes, this cave took up no time at all, but it did show us what kind of limestone is found in these parts, so when our informant described another nearby cave, we listened carefully:
"It's a very steeply inclined tunnel that soon becomes a horizontal passage. We only went a few meters and then turned back, even though the passage continues. I'd be happy to show it to you next time you pass this way."
We took the man's phone number and drove on to a town called La Estrella (the Star) where we saw a very expensive conveyor system in operation to bring ore down from a mine high in the nearby hills. We were reminded of the cable cars that take you up mountains in Europe, but this teleférico only carries powdered rock, no passengers.
When we asked what was being mined, we were told "minerals," and decided not to probe any further. After all, we were there to climb down a bottomless pit and didn't want to appear nosey.
The owner of the gas station had heard of the legendary hole we were seeking and sent us up a wide dirt road to a place called El Fortín, which means "the little fortress" and which turned out to be a two or three family settlement halfway to Navidad (Christmas) where the mysterious mine is located.
A resident of El Fortín was leaning against an old (and grounded) Jeep as we approached. The Jeep turned out to be a Willys, no doubt a valuable antique in the USA. Here it was a means of transport that had broken down and hopefully would soon be up and running again.
The pit was just a few minutes walk from El Fortín, conveniently located right alongside the mine road. However, we soon discovered that this was a bit too convenient, because apparently every visitor who comes to gawk also brings along a bit of the family trash and adds it to a heap that lies right between the pit and the road.
Thus it was that we approached the place with mixed emotions. The black hole about 8 meters across is definitely impressive, but who knew how much garbage (and what kind) might be piled up at its bottom, if it happened to have one after all.
The question of a bottom was quickly solved. Falling rocks hit it after nearly three seconds, indicating a depth of about 30 meters on the "corrected" Draco Falling Rock Scale... and sure enough, the old weight-on-a-string method showed it was about 28 meters down to something that sounded like a bottom anyhow.
So it wasn't deep, but rigging it took several hours of the next morning. We soon discovered that every one of its sides sloped inward, just enough to cause rope rub and none of the overhanging branches look sturdy enough to risk life and limb... a human limb anyway.
So we opted to support the main rope from three different sides, thus keeping it over a meter from the nearest wall... and, of course, too far away from the edge for directly connecting our descending and ascending gear. We would have to rappel a short distance down a padded rope against the side and then reconnect to the centered rope, a prospect that brought no smiles to Susy's face: "I need to practice that at home!" she decided, forcing Juan Blake and me to go it alone.
To tell the truth, I found that all that practice in trees is of little comfort when you lean over the edge of a gaping black maw and think about disconnecting yourself while hanging in midair from a rope to which you have just entrusted your life, in order to go hang from another. What is that they say about switching horses in midstream?
There I was, about to jump but feeling a bit strange. "Er, I think I need another drink of water, Juan," I mumbled, secretly wishing I could gulp down a swig of tequila instead... "and by the way, I think I'm going to put a fatter knot at the end of this rope (the one I was attached to) just in case I rappel farther than I'm planning to."
All such gloomy pondering immediately ceased the moment I actually let myself over the edge. Now my life was on the line (literally) and all the practice paid off.
"First we put a jumar on the second rope, next..." I chatted to Susy, supposedly demonstrating how simple it all was. And in fact it did turn out to be simple. Nevertheless, it felt great when I was finally on the main rope with nothing to think about but a pleasant rappel to the bottom... assuming there was one and assuming again that my rope actually reached it and that there was breathable air down there (was my BIC oxygen-meter-lighter still hanging at my side?) and of course assuming no poisonous snakes had been tossed down the hole recently, and...
Well, by then I was practically at the bottom and could see coils of rope down there and learned:
While tromping over to the more promising side passage, I found the bones and skulls of two animals (maybe goats or dogs), which had long ago found their way into the pit. One of the side passages contained some very nice stalactites, but led to a hole no human could get into. The other passage was even prettier. Straight above it was a sort of "topless pit," a sparkling clean, dripping shaft that looked nearly as high as the one I had come down, but without a connection to the outside. Below it was a rock-filled slope leading to a hole less than a meter wide, obviously a channel for great amounts of water during the rainy season. A big canclo was creeping along one wall, claws ready to snatch an unwary insect. This creature a cave-dwelling relative of the vinagarette was competing with several unusually large spiders we spotted. While peering down this hole within a hole, I accidentally dislodged a large rock which went smashing and crashing its way far down below me. Appparently we were far from the real bottom of this pit after all!
Later I belayed Juan Blake as he tossed innumerable stones down this hole, trying to determine the depth as well as rigging problems. We concluded that the passage probably goes down at least another 30 meters and that there's just enough of an angle to it to cause plenty of rope abrasion.
So, our plan is to return to El Pozo de Fortín with a bagful of bolts, lots of rope pads and a couple of cable ladders, hoping that the second pitch will lead not to the bottom, but to new passages and new adventures as we explore this small part of the universe where (to our knowledge) "no one has gone before."
By: John Pint
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