Trip Report

Learning About Mexico Caving
Sierra de El Abra and Huastecan Indian Country

December 3 - 8, 1996

by Dale Barnard

Crew: Terry Raines, Ernie Garza, Dale Barnard

We reached our first objective on the second day: The high-clearance, old Otates Mine Road that leads up into Sierra de El Abra. My only previous Mexico caving trips had been to Gruta de Palmito near Bustamante. This jungle-like area felt completely different. It felt as though we were quite remote and the road showed no imprint of recent tire tracks. We slept beside the road in a nice grassy clearing. Surprisingly, we were awoken early in the morning by a vehicle bouncing past us and then again by what sounded like a burro. I crawled out of my tent when the truck passed us again as it headed back toward civilization. Terry chatted with the truck occupants and confirmed that this is the Otates Mine Road, but that the mine had been closed for years, leaving the road in questionable condition, even for a Toyota Landcruiser. Once we packed up the camp and made a breakfast of avocados and bolillos, we headed up the road that we hoped would enable us to reach Cuesta, one of Mexico's 25 deepest pits. With machetes in hand, we progressed the vision of Mexico caving that began around Thanksgiving of 1962 with the father of Mexican caving, T.R. Evans of Austin, Texas. In Terry's mind, my life began today. In ten years, I'll let you know if he is right.

It did not take long on the Otates Mine Road to realize that it had not been traveled much during the last few years. Small trees were growing up in the middle of the road and larger trees had fallen across it. The grass was so tall that it was like driving into a fog bank. The Landcruiser plowed through it like it actually enjoyed the new scratches. Periodically, Ernie and I jumped out to chop open the road with the machetes. Our brand-new machetes felt like overweight butter knives, merely pushing the branches away rather than biting into them.

All of our chopping efforts got us about two-thirds of the way up the road into the El Abra, but Terry decided to call it quits until we could come back with more cavers. With only two more days available for caving, we didn't want to spend it all just chopping. Even if we had reached the top of the range, we would have had to chop about four kilometers of trail to reach the cave. On the way back down the road, we stopped to take photographs of the incredible Soyate trees and to visit a cave entrance along the road. This cave was barely worth calling a cave in Mexico. However, this same cave, if found in Travis County, would be considered one of the finest.

Instead, we drove to Ciudad Valles, a traditional caver stop, and ordered milanesa at Cafe de Don Juan. I learned that this restaurant holds a lot of caver history, and much of it can be found in a log book that cavers sign when they arrive, usually describing their current activities and plans. Unfortunately, the first two log books, full of humorous and informative log entries, burned along with the rest of the restaurant in 1984. Thus, from 1971 through 1984, there is no such record of activities.

In a February 1996 log entry, we learned that a group of cavers apparently spent five days chopping their way to within a ½ kilometer of Cuesta before running out of time. I imagine that their work will be helpful to us if we return in a couple of months and manage to find their chopped trail.

On the third night, we camped at a little paradise called Parque de Tambaque. It is near a crystal clear stream resurgence. The next morning, a nice gentleman who lived there was helping me with techniques of sharpening of machetes: Since I am right-handed, I should only be sharpening the right side of the blade so that it will better bite into trees from the right. He brought out his machete, which was very worn and very sharp. Terry suggested that I ask if we can trade for the sharp machete. In my broken Spanish, I somehow managed to complete the trade. He was happy because he got a brand new machete and I was happy because I got a sharp one.

Before driving on to Aquismón, we photographed the stream along the rock walkway that led to the eye of the resurgence. We poked our heads into several of the cave entrances, all of which sumped out (water level was higher than the ceiling). However, I saw my first vampire bats. I had previously thought that they were not found in North America. Their guano was like liquid since they eat blood, mostly from cattle. They swirled around us, but as long as we were moving around, they had no interest in drinking our blood.

Aquismón used to be the road terminus for those wishing to hike to the 333 meter deep Sótano de las Golondrinas, the second deepest pit in North America. When Ernie and Terry first visited Golondrinas, it required a two day hike through the jungle with a guide, and maybe a burro, on well-worn foot paths. However, we took the new road to within a ten-minute stroll of the cave. Looking over the edge of the 333 meter pit was like looking into the Grand Canyon. It is certainly beyond what my small brain can comprehend. It took a full 11 seconds for the sound of a dropped rock to return to us. Our rope was only 200 meters long so we drove on to Tamapatz. The road only recently opened, so we may have been the first cavers to drive directly from Aquismón to Tamapatz.

In Tamapatz, Terry arranged camping for us next to a store so that we could get up to visit Sótano de Cepillo in the morning. Children swarmed around us with wide-eyed curiosity. They were too shy to talk much, but they did not hesitate to stand two inches from us where we constantly had to walk around them.

That evening, I started down the footpath away from town on a mission to find an appropriate bush for practicing the three-point backwards stance. I soon found a nice rancher willing to answer some of my questions about the cave and the area. We walked together for most of a kilometer. He was retrieving his milk cows for their daily milking in town. I was busy enough with the conversation that I decided to follow it as long as it would last. When we reached his turn-off, he generously decided to walk me the rest of the way to the cave.

My reaction to the beautiful 128-meter pit entrance was similar to when I stared into Golondrinas--disbelief. I could enjoy it long because I knew that I would get lost if the sun went down before I made it back to town. As it turned out, the sun went down and I did become lost. Soon, I made it back to town on a different path. We were awoken at 4am by a live band that played disturbing, Irish-sounding music, as they walked around the plaza. It was followed by a car with amplifiers that polluted the quiet morning air with religious garbage. I would rather be awakened by roosters. By 9am, we were on the footpath to Cepillo with a local 15-year-old to help with carrying gear.

Once at the pit, we found a nice rig-point on a tree and I was sent down first. I had a walkie-talkie and a laser-reflecting mirror with me as I rappelled more than twice as far as I had ever done previously. Little-by-little, the floor of the cave became visible. Descending the last few meters was a wonderfully uncanny feeling, much like landing on another planet. I removed myself from the rope, turned on the walkie-talkie and informed Terry that I had placed the laser-reflecting mirror on a level surface. He then spent the next 20 minutes trying to aim the laser so that it would reflect back and give a reading. It turned out that the pit was 128.611 meters deep, two meters longer than the old reported depth. They left the 15-year-old by the cave entrance to keep an eye on the ropes for us. Once we were all at the bottom of the pit, Terry sketched the walls and floor while Ernie and I surveyed a bunch of radial vectors, "spraying" out the survey from the center of the large room. The room was a circular pit about 80-100 meters across in most directions. Terry and Ernie set up tripods to take six or eight photos while I popped their flash bulbs for them.

To ascend the pit, Terry used his nice rope-walker rig to ascend the pit, Ernie used his Mitchell system, and I used my frog system. For weeks, Terry and I had been discussing whether a frog system was efficient enough to be used in Mexico pits since it requires more effort in the arms. It was the first time that I had used it on such a deep pit, but I liked it because it is a simple system that is easy to rig. It took me about the same amount of time to ascend the pit as it took Terry with his rope-walker, but Terry blamed it on our age difference. On pits over about 200 meters, I would definitely consider using a system other than a frog.

When I reached the surface of Sótano de Cepillo, I was rewarded with a beautiful, clear view of the surrounding high-altitude limestone mountains that undoubtedly house many undiscovered caves.

This rugged landscape screens out all but the most determined tourists, leaving me with hope that most Mexico caves are safe from vandals and heavy tourism for many years to come. However, new roads and power lines appear every year, each opening up tourist access to new areas of the pristine wilderness. Forests become corn fields, towns become tourist stops, and cultures mix. Most of the United States wilderness areas have been lost to developers, but Mexico is running decades behind. At this point, my hope is only that it remains less consumed for as long as possible.

Mexico helped to widen the gap between money and my motivation to earn it. It was a long journey home and I had plenty of time to realize the freedoms of intermittent employment, earning only enough money to return to Mexico. Many Mexico cavers in Austin have spent much of their lives without regular employment. Most of them are rugged individuals that drive old trucks and can fix a broken axle with duct tape and an old caving rope. They will spend hours defending their uniqueness and independence, yet when you see them talk about Mexico, you can see a glimmer of camaraderie. Each one of them knows that Mexico caving is an overwhelming obstacle to any one individual.

I find it refreshing to know people who have so much wisdom and experience to offer. The old story of the wise elders does not often play out in our confusing, main-stream American culture, but Mexico cavers understand that 34 years of struggle and adventure in Mexico uniquely position them as a living library of experience. No young, inexperienced caver with broken Spanish has the ability to cross the Mexican border to negotiate permissions to caving areas, repair a transmission in the jungle, earn the trust of locals, and set out through the jungle with a machete to start a significant project.

This trip was a small adventure that foreshadows greater ones to come. I learned a lot more than a classroom can teach in these last six days. When is the next class?

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