MEXPELEO, the long-awaited International Speleological Convention, finally took place during the last part of December of 1989, and although I have been quite busy translating/writing a firefighting manual it was with great determination and self-discipline that all was set aside in order to get in shape for the BIG ONE — the deepest sheer vertical pit in the western hemisphere, El Sótano de las Golondrinas (1,380 ft.). I even went so far as to clean my poor old truck that Jesús Moreno has satirized in past issues.

Carlos Sánchez, a novice caver from Colima, and I arrived at Mano and Nani Ibarra’s house and were well received with the hospitality of their parents. However, I soon had a feeling that the “deepest pit” was not to see me as one of its visitors because we heard that “so-and-so” is not bringing his rope, which means that “you-know-who” also is not going to bring his. Some quick mental arithmetic soon told me that 1,380 ft. less my 330 ft. rope was going to leave me dangling quite high above the pit floor. Even with all of this bad news, as Jesús would say (if he spoke English), “let’s go for it!” (not the soundest or safest of thoughts, but it does make for adventure now and then). So, off to the state of San Luis Potosí.

We were horribly surprised to discover (around four o’clock in the morning) that the area around Ciudad Valles, SLP (known for its heat extremes) was suffering from an intense “cold wave” (we were not totally unprepared, which is the same as saying that we were not totally PREPARED either). Please keep in mind, however, that thoughts about the BIG ONE gave most of us hope and energy to continue through all of this.

In keeping with the friendly atmosphere of all ZOTZ outings, and since most caving was not organized (unless you wanted to spend ten hours holding a Suunto tape to discover that a fifty meter passage is indeed fifty meters long!), we decided to visit a couple of horizontal caves in order for the novices to benefit. (Please remember that at least Jesús and I wanted to go down the BIG ONE which meant that we should be doing some vertical pits instead of horizontal ones). Our second day was promising though as one of the convention organizers told us of a cave by the name of “CHOY”. It not only offered horizontal caving, but also a fifty meter rappel into a small lagoon.

I won’t go into detail since by now the reader has probably guessed that we did not easily find the cave, that the truck did give some trouble, that ... well, maybe I should mention some of the stumbling blocks.

We hiked up to a railroad track, then followed it to the “ceiling” of “CHOY”. We tossed in a couple of small rocks (until one of the group members said that someone might be below. (... are you joking? There weren’t any ropes set up and we couldn’t see any other way of getting in.) We finally did find a trail, and since it was getting late we decided not to rappel, but just walk in through the relatively dry cave.

What a surprise when we saw that at the bottom there was some sort of tourist area for paying visitors (although no one else was there). Also, we could see water everywhere, and that dry cave looked wetter with every passing minute. I was getting slightly miffed since another of my pre-BIG ONE days was about to be shot. I took off most of my gear (except for my overalls, helmet, and headlamp), and as I bravely waded over to the other side, three gentlemen (who had arrived a few minutes before) had found a fallen log which permitted them to cross over before I did and remain dry.

By then I had also realized that I was becoming shorter since the water level was now past my eyes. I left the helmet and light on a wooden ramp and went in (there was enough light from the openings in the roof). Near the entrance there was a small but strong waterfall with a horribly twisted iron rail from the railroad track above (giving testimony to the force of a fall from that height). (As an aside, I would like to mention that I came across three bats in a row, all grasping onto the cave wall and at water level. They were also dead. Jesús conjectures that they were dehydrated and had died of rabies. That seems quite reasonable, but what about the accompanying hydrophobia that rabid animals are supposed to suffer from? Wouldn’t that keep them from the water?)

Back to the story, I was trying to keep out of the water as much as possible, and had been grasping small, sharp calcitic projections along the cave. I had discovered an upper entrance to the cave, and shouted to those below to come up through there. As I was down in the water again, someone above tossed in a rock, but it must have been the size of a small boulder. I shouted for he/she/it to stop, but realized that they would not hear my calls. I hugged even closer to the cave walls and continued towards the end. A tall rock that resembled some primordial monolith called my attention, and I swam out to it. I could now see the end, and it was divided by a conical rock. The right side seemed more interesting as there was a twisting vertical passage leading up from it. After exploring it, I looked up and over the other side of the rock and was surprised to see a pair of floating blue jeans.

The light was very low by now, and I was about to ignore the pants until I noticed that part of a “shirt” was still tucked in them. I suspected a body, but as I poked at it with a long stick (my feet had cuts from climbing the sharp limestone and I did not favor risking an infection for a mere corpse). There was no telltale odor, and as I was hanging over the rock to try and identify the UFO (Unidentified Floating Object) another boulder was tossed in. This coincided with Jesús making his way down from the dry entrance, and as he saw my prostrate body he logically thought that I had been the landing zone for the boulder.

I quietly let him know that I was alive but that someone else was not. As I swam over to him, he said that there was a large animal in the water with me. When he pointed at it (and asked me to swim over to it in the name of amateur science) the darned thing came my way. The way its big head was bouncing up and down, it looked like a large snake that I had seen years before in a river. It turned out to be a bat (but only after I had put some distance between the both of us). Jesús then informed me that we should not mention anything about a corpse to Susy since she was nervous about these things.

As I left the cave (the long way out by swimming), I could tell from Susy’s expression that her husband John (never one for mincing words) had already told her, after Jesús told him. We decided to return to where we were staying (south of Ciudad Valles) then return and report to the police. One of the other convention organizers told us not to say anything since we may cause some bad publicity or worse, but our master plan was to report first to the fire department (since most fire chiefs know the police chief, and I had met a fellow firefighter that same morning).

As we told our story to the fire chief, who then called the authorities, I began to suspect that I did not really see a corpse, and that maybe I should have risked an infection in order to make sure and not look like a fool. However, it was decided that Jesús would accompany me and that the fire department would pick us up at seven in the morning the next day.

Back at the dormitories, I was asked to invite a leader of a certain rescue outfit in Mexico City (I won’t mention names since I am also part of that other organization and his behavior and ethics leave much to be desired). He declined the invitation since even though he founded a “cave rescue school,” this was only a body recovery. Fair enough, I would then have to go with Jesús and — you guessed right — miss one more practice day for the “BIG ONE (it was my hope that the “expert” would do the recovery and leave me to do vertical caving).

Of course, we did not get picked up on time, the fire department could not spare any men, the forensic doctor was asleep, and so on. When we did get to Choy (around noon), lo and behold if the rescue “expert” from Mexico City wasn’t there in all his glory with several helpers. I was furious since it was obvious that he had denied help as a ploy to get to the body first and so appear in a newspaper. I ordered his helpers out of the cave, and it turned out that they were not even near the body (it’s one thing to put on a uniform and talk about rescue, and it’s another to actually DO a body recovery.

When we were ready, I had the “helpers” stay behind Jesús and me. We deliberately went over to the right side of the end of the cave so that the helpers would not get in the way. As I leaned over the rock (it was twelve noon with plenty of light filtering down), I was so pleased to see that it was actually a body. (Don’t get me wrong! I’m sorry that some poor Joe (José) died, but my reputation was at stake. What if it had turned out to be just a pair of muddy jeans?) There was a beautiful femur hanging from the pants. Proof at last!

Jesús and I circled the area while swimming slowly so as to not disturb the silt and thus make visibility in the water worse. We hoped to find other parts of the body. We finally had to move the body (which only consisted of the legs and the skin of the back — what I had originally thought to be a tucked-in shirt). The body bag we were handed was a trash bag (the police said that I ought to cut the body in pieces if it wouldn’t fit), and the only protection that we had were worthless polyethylene gloves (which lasted about half a minute), diving masks and fins (no snorkels).

As I grabbed the corpse, three unsavory effects were the result of this action. First of all, my fingers literally sunk into the pelvic region, and, secondly, the air was permeated with that special odor that even an outhouse cannot match. (On the other side of the rock Jesús and I could hear one of the other rescuers begin to retch while his friends told him to “hang on”. After all, how could they throw-up in front of us if they were “experts”?) Lastly, the surface of the water was covered with bits and pieces of the decomposing cadaver. (Tiny fish made the water seem to boil as they gobbled away at the fare.) After one of my dives, I popped out of the water and handed Jesús a femur. He took it rather calmly (for his first rescue/recovery), and I knew that I would never hesitate to take him along on other such ventures. I was only able to find one other slimy bone part and some material. The police said that we had found enough and that it was time to bring the corpse out. That was good news as I had cadaver slime in my hair and mouth (no snorkel), and even though I have a reputation in Colima as a bit of a ghoul, even I have my limits.

How did the corpse get there? Well, I theorized that either accidentally or otherwise the victim had fallen through one of the ceiling openings since some of the locals do pass by while walking along the railroad tracks. The fall would have caused some fracturing, proven by the bone parts, and as the body decomposed it is more than possible that the legs separated. Enough branches and leaves were over at the end of the cave to prove that objects do float over to that section, and since blue jeans do not decompose as easily as other materials, that would account for the legs to have relatively stayed together. The “lagoon” was big enough and deep enough to have kept the other body parts hidden. The police were not particularly interested in finding everything since they said there were too many murders and deaths to solve around that area. Also, there was no real evidence that the victim was a caver.

We made our way out, and after passing the safety rope that the “experts” had tied near the waterfall (I did not wish to add insult to injury by telling them that they had not only tied the rope in the wrong position, but they had also failed to provide proper protection on the wear points). The “fearless” leader who never once got so much as a hair wet, began to give orders on how to take the “body bag” out of the water. By now, a macabre soup had formed so I had to dump some of the contents in the water. “Fearless” watched, and I think he actually touched a corner of the bag.

On the last day of the conference, during a talk on cave rescue, this same person actually had the gall to claim credit for the recovery (in front of me), then later informed me that he understood how I might misinterpret his actions and as proof of his good intentions” he told the newspapers to not mention OUR names since WE were not in the rescue business for publicity! (I do not mind NOT getting credit, but I do mind that someone else takes credit for what I have done.)

All of us ZOTZ went to El Cepillo (130 meters) the next day as a prelude to the BIG ONE, but only I got to rappel down (due to poor organization on the part of others and Jesús and John offering to hike back and bring another rope), but we got back at three in the morning; the trip to the BIG ONE was set for four o’clock a.m. (and the organizer of this trip did not care for our company — could have been the smell?).

Was the trip worth all the effort? It was slightly expensive and cold, the recovery was gross (and took up some vacation time), the truck gave me trouble (all the way back to Colima), but all of this was indeed worth it since we learned new techniques and met some interesting people. The only real set-back to this trip though was that ....