LETTERS TO THE EDITOR DEPT.

Dear Subterráneo.

Just as I though that I was fairly competent caver, a lack of practice with two pieces of equipment showed me that I may never again have a second chance. The details will come later in this letter, but the important thing for the readers to remember is that this writer is a reformed fool and that no one is so good that he or she does not need to practice basic techniques now and then...

It was February 25, 1989. We were in Manhattan’s Cerro Grande overlooking a wide, open pit we had found early that morning. Seven cavers from Jalisco were there plus Mario de la Madrid and I from Colima. Jesús was first down, and once more reached the end of the 100-meter rope without touching the base floor. After his ascent, John took an exploration rappel to see whether or not we were in the best position. He decided to move the rope to a better vantage point for all.

“Mitch, are you ready?” (Who me?) Finally I was given the honor of descending and possibly being the first to touch the floor (voluntarily). We had already connected a second 100-meters rope to John’s – a Colima Fire Department rope that John didn’t trust – but since it had been calculated that the bottom was only about 102-meters below us, a cable ladder in a bag was attached to my harness.

My caving equipment had not yet arrived from Bob and Bob, so I was to descend with mountain climbing gear (after all, isn’t caving basically upside-down alpining?). At the last moment, I foolishly accepted the use of two pieces of technical equipment I had never used: one was a Jumar and the other a rack (after all, isn’t a Jumar a mechanical Prusik knot, while a rack is a fancy carabiner?). Previous practice with passing knots – using Prusik knots and carabiners only – added to my confidence.

Within a few meters after descending, my harness, a full one made from one-inch webbing and used for mountain climbing, called my attention to itself by uncomfortably pressing on my kidneys. I came to a knot that was formed when the rope went careening down and the tug that resulted pulled this accidental knot quite tight. I wasted considerable energy in untying this Gordian knot and finally gad to use my teeth in the process. The view all around was incredible, so a well deserved rest allowed me to observe the walls. The openness of this vertical cave allowed so much light to penetrate that my headlamp was not needed.

I was carefully observing the point where the two ropes were connected, so that I didn’t pay attention to a loop that had been formed before the connecting knot (in order to attach the cable ladder in case the first 100-meters rope was indeed close to the base floor. I still can’t explain how I ignored this loop, but it made its presence clearly by jamming itself in the rack. This shouldn’t be a problem for such a self-proclaimed expert such as I ... all that need be done is connect the Jumar, thus releasing pressure from the rack. EASY! The only problem was that the knot was really jammed J-A-M-M-E-D !!! What should have been done is that I should have either aborted the rappel and ascend or switched to a carabiner rappel (only 45-meters were left before touching bottom). My pride and stubbornness would not permit me to do that, so I struggled and wiggled and struggled and thought; then struggled some more.

My harness was becoming even more uncomfortable, even to the point of pain, and I felt a pressure on my ribs besides a squeeze on my femoral arteries. Since initial attempts to free myself used up even more strength and the pressure from the harness was preventing a normal flow of circulation in the blood system, it be came harder and harder for me to think.

The rest of the group, up above, shouted advice, but is slowly and surely evolved into an exercise of futility as I was unable to comprehend some simple phrases (Spanish or English). I didn’t panic at any time (I was too fatigued), but there were a couple of instances when I though that my demise was close.

Once, when I took off a safety Prusik and disconnected the rack from my harness, I was depending upon a Jumar to sustain my weight, but something seemed wrong. As I looked up at the Jumar, I could see that it was twisting off. I quickly connected myself to the safety Prusik since there was no parachute available. (The next day I discovered what had gone wrong, John said that one should tie a loop to the bottom, not the top of a Jumar. I was the culprit that was torquing the Jumar to one side ... I knew that I should have stayed in bed that day).

To make matters worse, I kept on switching from a Jumar to a Gibbs for main support, and each time I would bring one down, the other would stick. I had also tried stepping into a Prusik loop. Later on, once my mental processes were slowing down, John shouted identical instructions to me. They did not work, but after thinking over the incident a few days later, I believe that I was attaching the Prusik below the Jumar or Gibbs instead of above them. this could be the most feasible reason for why a simple self-rescue technique that I had already practiced and was familiar with would not work at that time.

I continued to receive shouted messages from above and I thank all of those who spoke slowly and allowed for pauses. At times, other would start to speak as soon as I had finished, so their voices would mix with my echoes; needless to say, much had to be repeated. John’s experience proved s he spoke quite slowly. I decided to only listen to him as:

1) he spoke English.

2) His voice was quite understandable.

3) He was the most experienced of the group members and

4) I didn’t have much choice.

His last instructions to me were about putting a Prusik or Jumar above the rack and stepping into a connected loop. As previously mentioned, this had already been tried without success (by my misuse of Jumar). After shouting SHUT UP a few times (not out of rudeness, but due to the fact that I could not concentrate while being spoken to), I did some speleo gymnastic which called for me to hook my foot on a tiny, slippery lip and pull myself up, hold position for a few seconds and struggle with either the Gibbs on the Jumar. This technique eventually did the trick, but it was extremely fatiguing and could only be dome at intervals. But at last I was free and ready to continue down, after shouting for joy!

I have never enjoyed a rappel as much as I enjoyed those last 45-meters. I landed with a flop as I was unable to actually stand up finishing the rappel. After a few minutes of sitting, I stood up, then fell and suffered cramping in my arms and hands. A short rest had me in shape for another yelling session and I informed the group that I was going to spend the night at the bottom of the pit. I yelled up some basic necessities: granola, a jacket, matches, two plastic trash bags (for sleeping in), etc., all of which were sent down to me by quickest means, and hunted foe leads (none), I snuggled up in my garbage bags and the next morning prusiked up, this time without a hitch.

A month or so later, alas, we discovered that this beautiful pit is somewhat less than virginal, having already been explores and mapped by Carlos Lascano (See frontispiece of AMCS Activities Newsletter # 3). It is known as El Pozo de Lentiscos.

It also happens to be one of my favorite hangouts!.