The Death March of the Slack Jawed Droolers

We had all heard the story before. Big black hole blowing cold air. Big stream pouring out of it. Just over in the next valley - mas o menos. With three caves in the immediate area all around the 10 km mark who could resist the temptation to go on the first scooping trip, oops I mean, first scouting trip?

Ruben Comstock in his ever present enthusiastic, yet low key, sales pitch certainly managed to hook more than a few of us with these classic lines. Almost all of those still left in fact at the tail end of this years 7th?? expedition to the Arroyo Grande area in southern Chiapas were taken in by this tasty worm. And you would think with the collective experience of this gang that someone would have taken a second look at the worm and swam away. And in reality few did, but so quietly that the rest of us must not have noticed.

So who were those reeled in you wonder? A motley crowd at best. One couple had been shot at and their post-caving river expedition almost sunk on a trip on the Mexico - Guatemala border last year. Another almost ended up in a Mexican jail last year for having been in the same van as too much of some illegal substances. One intrepid traveler almost lost a hand to a machete wheedling Guatemala highlander a few years back - at least he has had time to forget what trips like these can turn into. And then there was the guy who had just taken up caving last year and already his wife has divorced him. At least he didn't have her to worry about on the long march. The oldest guy lives on the Atlantic Ocean so far from the prospect of a new cave discovery that there was no way he was going to miss this one. The one harboring the biggest reservation was the youngest, but he must of figured "oh what's another long march anyway?". Of coarse there was also the guide - but he hadn't even been there before. Hopefully he could find us the best route back.

And thus set off the intrepid gang with visions of glory and virgin borehole driving them along. In reality though it was just the local pasejero chugging them up the hill and it didn't even make it all the way to the top before blowing a tire. Hopes weren't soaring when we saw all the wire thread sticking out of the 'spare'. But it got us all up and over and down in to the bottom of the next valley. Now was confirmation time on whether the estimated 20 minutes down the trail was really that, or the more expected one hour. After providing the customary entertainment for the local villager (IE. us just being there) we headed down. And down. And down. And then it got really steep. The offer of the horse was really tempting I must admit, and I was definitely pissed that I had forgotten my walking stick for this one by the time we were finally on the bottom bottom. Probably some of the locales do run down there in 20 minutes, but I'm sure we were closer to the hour estimate.

But at least there was indeed water down there, and we didn't see any higher up. Things were looking up. Upon inquiring at one of the many houses (it still never ceases to amaze me (and I work down here) how many people live in little towns like this one without any road access) we were directed up stream to were the 'cave' was. Up the big stream first though, the small one would be our back up plan. After passing the local swimming hole crowded with at least 40 kids, hopes were creeping up bit by bit. And it was cold water - it had to be coming out from under ground.

And then there it was. Big. Black. Blowing cold air. And you had to swim in to it to see if it went. Wow. Splash. Splash. In went the glory seekers. Waiting... waiting. Splash. One more. Where have they gone? Wait for me! Then the little kids tell us of an upper dry entrance. Oh goody. A couple of us head up in hopes of jumping the queue and staying dry to boot.

Once up there though the view tells all as we look down a waterfall to where the guys swam in. Admittedly there was a black alcove in there but it was plainly only where the river had eroded out a soft layer of chossey limestone on the steep dip slope. Upon further questioning the kids explained that the water came down the mountain all the way from a village we knew up near the top of the mountain. All the way on the surface. The last little waterfall here just happened to have the black alcove and good conditions for setting up a good howling wind. Sure looked good. But as the saying goes... too good to be true. Ah, but we still had a back up cave complete with stream. So off we march, with kids in tow.

The kids mysteriously disappear after awhile and our local guide is now only pointing up that way, not actually leading the way. Hmm... O well, there's got to be a cave up there somewhere, forget about him if he doesn't want to come along. A short tramp through a coffee plantation then brings us face to face with a youngster totting a big gun. "Oh we're just going up to look at the cave", says we. "Oh no you're not. Not without the owners permission", says he. Oh. O.K. Let's go talk to the owner then.

Thus a troop of grungy looking gringos show up at the owners house asking to look at his cave. The guy is friendly enough, but nothing doing with the cave. It's just a "small, insignificant, ugly cave" and you don't want to go see it. Oh but we do. We're cavers. You know... those weirdos your neighbours in the next valley were telling you all about. We go in all the caves around here and we really want to go in this one too. Nope. Can't do.

Now Ruben isn't one to take no for an answer. Some hooded men recently tried to rob him at knife point and he actually talked them out of it saying that if they insisted on taking any more than $10.00 he would make their lives miserable. And he probably would have. So he wasn't going to leave just like that. We all settled in and started snacking on our lunches while the negotiating got serious.

After repeating the small, ugly and insignificant line a few more times all to no avail as Ruben just wasn't having any of that, the guy eventually broke down and explained that he really did have a good reason for not letting us go in his cave - he just wasn't at liberty to tell us what those reasons were. Like we needed to have it spelled out to us. The guy even pretended to be insulted when Ruben said that oh it must be because of the dope you are storing in there. Oh no I don't have anything like that. Yah right. But whatever the reason that put an end to our chances that day of seeing the small ugly insignificant cave which the kids had told us was actually quite nice and of unknown length.

So it was back up, up, up the hill to the village at the end of the road only to find that the last pasejero had left for the day. We tried to rent the only other truck in town but he wasn't interested for any price - or so said Ruben. I suspect that he really wanted to see what the walk back was really like. Now we all got to find out. And thus the death march began.

We knew that Soconusco, our destination, was at the same elevation but there were a number of valleys in between. What we were all wondering was whether we would make it back before dark, and if not would we be able to figure out where to go in the dark. Having head lamps to see with is all well and good but not much help when it just illuminates the trees of the forest around you and the trail splitting in two in front of you. Fortunately it didn't come to that and after a very brisk two hour swim the fishes were finally reeled all the way back in. No glory, no boreholes, and probably no wiser off for the next time we hear the magic description - big, black, blowing air, spewing loads of water. I'm sure we'll get hooked again

And you can be sure Ruben will sneak back there in the not too distant future to see just what it was we missed.

Chris Lloyd

The above account is just one day in a multi-week annual expedition and obviously a lot of other exploration went on in the area that year and all the other years. The upper area which concentrates on C. Arroyo Grande is worked mainly by a group of Americans, while the lower area which includes both C. Aire Fresco and C. Soconusco (now connected) is worked more by Canadians and various others. One of the prime movers, at least on the lower part of the mountain, is Taco Van Ieperon who can be seen here just about to descend a new pit up hill from the pueblo of Soconusco. In late 1998 an Italian group managed to connect together C. Aire Fresco and C. Soconusco to form a 21.7km long cave (now called Sistema Soconusco). While in 1999 a Croatian group followed the lower streamway in C. Arroyo Grande, that the Americans didn't want to push, down a number of drops on its way towards C. Aire Fresco. So there could soon be a 30km+ system over 800m deep.

Another of the other main attractions of the area is Cueva Chorredero, which is a 3.5km through trip that drops some 350 vertical meters and can be done as a pull down trip (with most of the drops jumpable). It is located just outside of Tuxtla Gutierrez, the capital of Chiapas, and has a lower entrance which is a popular Mexican picnic site. Prime time to do it is between Xmas and June. The early part of the year is more exciting as the water is still flowing, while later in the year it dries up and the pools become stagnant. After June the rainy season arrives and major quantities of water go through in irregular bursts, so is best avoided.

For those of you have made it this far, you are probably still waiting to find out just where the slack jawed droolers bit comes in... It was the description put forward by someone to describe some of the others after they had eaten a few too many magic mushrooms that had popped up around the field house after some rains.

By: Chris Lloyd

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