It was a super project. In addition to exploring and mapping fourteen pits, we experienced a volcanic eruption, an earthquake, monstrous spiders, and being woken by machine gun wielding police at two in the morning. That's why we went to Mexico. If we wanted something ordinary we would have gone to the Epcot Center.
Preparations began last summer. Peter Sprouse of the American Mexican Cave Association put me on to the area. He said it was promising and unexplored. The next several months were spent collecting maps, making local contacts and gathering information. Two cavers in Colima, Manuel Gallegos and Mitchell Ventura, were especially helpful. Manuel scouted around asking locals if they were aware of caves and prepared several excellent maps. He also advised the Mayor (El Presidente) of Tecoman that we would be in the area and not to worry. Mitchell met us in Colima and showed us an exceptional area close to Colima which we may explore on our next trip. Other cavers who assisted in preparations were John Pint, an English teacher in Saudi Arabia, and Chris Lloyd a mining engineer in Guadalajara. Two Utah cavers, Clair Call and Wayne Bodily generously donated approximately two hundred dollars worth of new and used caving equipment to be utilized by Mexican cavers. Ron Bird, a local businessman, donated two large cases of school supplies. Their thoughtful contributions were greatly appreciated. I made a trip to Tijuana in September to obtain topo and geological maps, and in October ordered and paid for an additional fifty dollars worth, direct from the Mexican Information Bureau. Four months later, they still haven't arrived. We all acquired respirators to protect us from histoplasmosis, but caves were so hot (typically 27' C) that we never used them. We would rather get histo than suffocate in the masks. Four weeks after returning, it appears that none of us have histo symptoms. What a relief!
The pits we visited were all Cretaceous form in the age when the last of the dinosaurs roamed. The terrain was typical of karst with large boulders protruding above rich soil where decomposing vegetation had eaten away at the surrounding limestone. Often the karst boulders were sharp and spiked, sometimes up to four feet above our heads. In other areas they were smooth domed monoliths,
We were fortunate to have an exceptional team. Our members could be categorized into two groups, the college students, and the geriatrics. Doug, my brother Mike and I are all in our early fifties. Doug has extensive experience in search and rescue. He looks like an ex-marine or mercenary and attracted considerable attention at the numerous military check points where counter insurgent forces were searching for arms. They would typically pass me on and detain Doug for a thorough search. Mike has lived in Latin America for over ten years, was a valuable team member. In addition to being an EMT, Shay is exceptionally skilled in vertical work. Brandon is fluent in Spanish and led us to a promising lead which he heard about near Patzquaro. His brother Kory, was the youngest member of our team and really fast on rope. Dave was our biologist. I call him "Mr. Personality". He never complained, was anxious to help and got along exceptionally well with everyone.
Getting there was a long tough drive. We met for breakfast the morning after Christmas and hit the road at five thirty. That was our last American meal for two weeks. Someone suggested that we call our venture the "Taco Man Project". We crossed the border into Mexico at seven that evening. The Mexican border inspectors were officious and meticulous. My interrogator was a professional young man with horned rimed glasses, and slick black hair. He was dressed in a sleek jet black uniform . I almost expected to see SS lightning bolts on the shoulder. After studying my passport, birth certificate and auto registration for over ten minutes, I was coldly informed, "Mr. Ruplinger, I am sorry to inform you that you must return to Utah to obtain your marriage certificate." After considerable persuasion, he finally agreed to let me go. Doug was the last to obtain approval. We were all worried about Doug because he didn't have the required Visa or Master Card. We waited by our cars. Finally Doug walked out of the guard house with a big grin. We knew he had the approval. Despite their meticulous scrutiny, the inspectors failed to notice that Doug's card was a check debit card, not a Visa.
Once across the border, our first surprise was that gas was $1.65 per gallon, not $.80 as expected. Next we learned that the numerous toll roads were also pricy, totaling almost two hundred dollars per car. At least the hotels were cheap. We arrived in Hermosillo at 10:30 in the evening and found a nice little motel with two rooms still vacant. They were just $12.00 each, but had no hot water or toilet seats. The rooms had just one thin queen size mattress resting on a raised concrete slab, but the friendly manager had no objections to us sleeping on the floor. It occurred to me that with beds made of concrete, moving the furniture must be a difficult task.
Sunday we had breakfast at the local market. Two cans of my favorite guava nectar, a few fresh tortillas, two succulent tangerines, and a banana for just $1.10. iWhatameal!
We drove all the way to Matzatlan where we found a similar discount motel. Like the first, it had a concrete slab bed, no hot water or toilet seat, but was clean and priced right. The only significant problem was an insurance salesman, who was totally drunk and making quite a nuisance of himself. When he wasn't sitting on the curb talking to his imaginary client, he was trying to sell insurance to us. Sunday morning he was still there! He was slightly sober by now, which only made the dilemma worse. Instead of talking primarily to his imaginary client, he was intent on closing a deal with us. To him it didn't matter that most in our group couldn't speak Spanish.
Progressing south the terrain became greener. The area around Tepic was plush with sugar cane. Guadalajara was surrounded by rolling brush covered hills and fresh humid air. It reminded me of the foot hills that I roamed as a child near San Diego.
As we approached Colima, the setting sun had a dramatic red hue from the ash of erupting Vulcan Colima Sur. As we crossed a deep gorge and rounded a bend in the road, we were taken back at the impressive view of the active volcano, and her sleeping sister a short distance to the north. From this spot we couldn't see lava, just a spire of smoke towering into the sky. Later we would get a much closer look.
We arrived at our destination, Tecoman, in the early evening. Manuel had thoughtfully made reservations at a motel on the beach. I wasn't happy with it. It was priced right, and the owners were especially nice, but it was rather trashy, had no phone, and was too remote. What bothered me most, were several shameless American tourists who were blatantly smoking pot. We left first thing Tuesday morning. I did not want locals to associate cavers with pot.
Near the center of Tecoman we located an ideal motel. It had a bath with each room, was clean, and priced at just $3.50 per person. Like the other motels the bed was a thin mattress on a concrete slab, and yes, there was no hot water, and no toilet seat. There were no screens either, but a lizard on the ceiling controlled insects. A lovely white dove sat nesting in the bathroom window. In the center of the hotel a tropical garden was the home to colorful geckos which rested in the palms towering through the roof. The owner was quite accommodating, perhaps because we were nearly her only guests, or because she found us to be such a curious group. She didn't mind us washing our own clothes and hanging them to dry on the roof and seemed amused when we tied a rope around the water tank, draped it over the roof edge, down into her tropical garden, and then began climbing up and down. Why don't you use the stairs?", she asked. Perhaps the lizards were equally amused.
A well humored teenager, Javier, was there day and night to accept our payments and if we reminded him, to provided us with towels. At night he slept on the lobby couch, and supposedly was to keep an eye on the place. Regrettably we found later that he was much too deep a sleeper to protect anything.
We didn't waste time in getting started caving. Brandon and Kory left that morning to pick up Shay at the Guadalajara airport. From there they drove to Patzquaro to check out a lead a farmer had told Brandon about. It turned out to be a good lead in a small area of karst surrounded by lava. The cave was blowing a lot of air, but unfortunately didn't go far. If someone wants to do a lot of digging it might be another Lechuguilla.
The rest of our group stayed in Tecoman to check out a pit reported to be about fifty meters deep with a "lake" in the bottom. It was said to be on the ranch of Senor Hector Balleza, and to have been used at one time as a water source. So, off we went to find Senor Balleza. We stopped on the way at a used tire place to buy an inner tube. I suspected we may need to do some swimming.
Senor Balleza is a respected and gracious businessman in Tecoman and also the owner of a 2,500 acre ranch. He wasn't at his office when we arrived, but his two poised and attractive young secretaries were able to locate him on the radio. He said he would be there immediately. While we waited, one of his secretaries cautioned us that the pit, or "cenote" as they call it, was a frightful and ugly place that we certainly didn't want to enter. "Why don't you nice American boys just go to the beach?", she asked.
As promised, Senior Balleza promptly arrived, and escorted us to his spacious office. The decor was Spanish colonial with an open beamed ceiling and rustic tile floor. Two remarkably realistic paintings of his favorite horses hung beside a photo of his wife. Senor Balleza pointed to the paintings and commented that the world would be a splendid place if only people were as honest as horses. He seemed really pleased to have cavers from North America visiting. Occasionally his secretaries would interrupt to say that he had an important phone call, but he would ask them to postpone it. Before we left, he gave us a note to present to his ranch foreman, Octaviano. The note requested that he take us to the cenote.
It was too late to go caving and too early to return to the hotel, so we took the secretaries advice and went to the beach. It was a beautiful tropic shore. Jet black lava separated coconut groves from the crystal clear water. The sand was course and heavy. It felt therapeutic to our tired feet.
The beach was an adventuresome new experience. I've heard about rip tides all my life, but never had the excitement of experiencing one. While our group frolicked in the waves between the shore and the crests, I ventured farther out. Shortly after passing the area where the waves would typically crest, I turned to look back to the shore and saw to my surprise that the palms now appeared miniature. I had been swiftly drug perhaps four hundred meters further out. Remembering what I had been told about rip tides, I swam up the shore a hundred meters or so and then back to safety. About twenty minutes later the tide ripped me out again. It was now dark. I was a little worried, as were the cavers on shore, but without difficulty I swam back as before. Later the hotel manager told us that the beach was notorious for rip tides, and many uninformed people had drowned.
Wednesday morning we headed off to Senor Balleza's ranch. We envisioned finding the ranch manager residing in a lovely adobe cottage beside a sprawling colonial hacienda. To our surprise, we found that Octaviano resided with his wife and fifteen year old son, Jose, in the most humble of abodes, a simple shack of sticks with a corrugated metal roof Octaviano wasn't there. Jose, said he would lead us to the pit.
Jose was a handsome but sadly solemn young man. He said he did not like living on the ranch and was otherwise rather quiet. He did, however seem especially proud of and devoted to a well groomed and trained horse. We didn't see many horses. Most people had burrows. Jose said it belonged to Senor Balleza. He was obviously very proud to ride and care for it. Later he became a little more talkative and was quite pleased to have me take his photo with the horse.
We would never have found the pit without Jose's assistance. It was far into the mountains on a road that was almost completely overgrown. In route Mike's truck became hung up on the only large rock in the road and hopelessly stuck. As he struggled with a block and tackle to free it, several Brahma bulls, or Zeebulls as the Mexicans call them, slowly ventured near to take a curious look at the intruder. Mike was becoming somewhat frustrated. Finally I took a ball peen hammer from his tool chest and crawled under the truck. With just a few hard blows, the rock crumbled and the truck was free.
The pit lay in the bottom of a canyon, surrounded by thick vegetation. It was about seven by twenty meters wide at the opening and then funneled down to about three by three. We were told that during the rainy season the pit would fill entirely with water, and during the dry season a lake at the bottom provided a never ending source of water. Several years ago they used two eight inch pumps to supply water to melon fields in the valley below. When the melon contract ended, the pumps were removed.
Directly above the pit hung a large wasp nest. The locals refer to this type of wasp as "Avispa Borracha" or "Drunken Wasp". Several farmers informed us with all sobriety that when stung, the victim falls into a drunken stupor and stumbles around aimlessly as his throat swells until he chokes to death. There is, however, as we were assured, a simple remedy. Throw a jug of water into the victim's face, and he will quickly recover. This bazaar reaction and antidote was repeated to us so many times that I'm inclined to believe it. I told Doug that as he was descending the pit, I planned to knock the wasp nest down on him, but he had nothing to fear. He would land in water at the bottom of the pit. A lizard with perfectly camouflaged complexion sat on a branch below the wasp nest watching us with its elegant conical eyes
Doug tied off our ninety meter rope to a tree and Dave was about to descend when we heard a vehicle crashing through the brush towards us. It was a truck with eight angry farmers. They had heard that we planned to descend into the cenote and wanted to know what we were up to. Like most Mexicans, they found it incredible that anyone would travel to a distant land and go down a pit just for the fun of it. They seemed certain that we were looking for treasure. After explaining to them that we were members of a national caving club, and simply wanted to take photos and make a map, they quieted down, and after allowing me to take a group photo, went happily on their way.
Dave was all excited and wanted to be first down the pit, but half way down he had a sudden change of attitude. "Oh my gosh! This is the biggest spider I've ever seen!" He shouted up to us. I suspected he was talking about a harvestman or tarantula, until he said it was over a foot across, and had huge pinchers. This was really puzzling. "Could it be a fresh water crab?", I wondered.
A few minutes later Dave was at the bottom. He was clearly frightened, "The spiders are everywhere! They're over two feet across! I'm coming backup right now!"
I think he made it back to the surface in record time. On top he told us more about the spiders and how they seemed to "sneak up" on him when he wasn't looking. I was anxious to see for myself I put on my ascending equipment first. I didn't want to be fumbling around with chest harness and stirrups in the pit if giant spiders were sneaking up on me. I didn't bother with my respirator. I was afraid that I couldn't tell if something on the back of my neck was a spider or an elastic strap. I didn't take my back pack for the same reason. All I took was my camera and a club. Doug scolded, "You're not suppose to kill anything but time in a cave!"
I responded, "If dozens of giant spiders are ambushing me, I'm going to start swinging. Sorry!"
Half way down the pit I realized that Dave wasn't exaggerating. There hidden in a crack was a monster of a spider. Yes, it did indeed have seven centimeter mandibulas with sharp protruding spikes, and legs perhaps fifteen centimeters long. When I reached the bottom there were numerous more, and they were even bigger. I estimated that the larger creatures had legs close to thirty centimeters long.
I suspected that they were not true spiders, but they definitely had eight legs. The larger creatures had mandibulas perhaps nine centimeters long. Sharp spikes protruded on their inward edges. Between the pinchers were two black appurtenances which looked like fangs. I couldn't tell for certain. I could see nothing resembling eyes. They were, as near as I could tell, completely blind. They moved slowly from spot to spot and didn't seem to notice when I shined my bright headlamp on them. They were definitely not sneaking up on me. I felt quite comfortable in their midst. Once when I approached within a few inches to take a close-up photo, the creature became alarmed and quickly ran away. I suspect it sensed the heat from my lamp. It ran to the area of another arachnid which immediately engaged it in battle. They waved their claws frightfully at each other, until the trespasser retreated. I noticed that none of the numerous creatures were within three to four feet of each other. They are clearly territorial. I noticed that one down near the water had wet feet. Perhaps they are somewhat aquatic, or at least venture into shallow water in search of food.
Upon our return to the states, I inquired with the University of Guadalajara as to what these creatures were. I received a reply the next day. Biologist, Hugo Fierro Lopez, said that what I saw belongs to four genus of the phrynidae family of the amblypygi order. There are fourteen known species in Mexico. In America we call them "tailess whip scorpions". But they are not scorpions any more than they are spiders. He said that most species dwell on the surface, but a few are troglobites.
The bottom of the pit was an L shaped water filled room about five by twelve meters. There was only a small area to stand while off rope, and it was difficult to get to. Once off rope I yelled to Doug, and he came down too. While I was waiting for Doug, I worked my way over to look around the corner. Regrettably, the room didn't go further. At the far end the crystal clear water was as deep as I could see, at least six meters. It would be a fun and possibly rewarding pit for a SCUBA team to map.
Before the farmers departed, we had a lengthy discussion as to what the cave's name was. All the farmers agreed that it had no name. Everyone just referred to it as "el cenote", or "the spring". Subsequently we learned that the locals have a name for large spider like creatures. It is "Tindarapos". Consequently, we chose to call the cave "Cenote de los Tindarapos".
Brandon, Kory and Shay returned from the Patzquaro area late that evening. They were beat after a long day driving.
We left early Thursday for San Gabriel. We had heard from both Manuel Gallegos and Chris Lloyd that there were caves there. It was a beautiful drive. The road from the valley floor to the mountain tops was paved entirely with cobble-stones. Plush vegetation lined each side.
We arrived at San Gabriel to find a town of approximately fifteen homes and a one room school. It was a small room at that, but very neat and well kept. Most of the homes were bordered with colorful bougainvillias. In the center of town one wooden bench sat beneath an incredibly large tree. This was the plaza. Charming children with huge brown eyes and big smiles played with a turtle. Young men were approaching with rifles. They had been hunting iguanas. It was plain to see that they were disappointed with the hunt. Somewhere, high in a tree, an iguana was no doubt pleased to see them leave.
Near the plaza we found the home of Ignacio Denis Verdusco. San Gabriel wasn't large enough to have its own municipal president, but Ignacio represented the community in the council. We wanted him to know what we were doing so that there would be no confusion or rumors. Igancio was pleased to have us there. 
He proudly announced that just a few weeks ago, San Gabriel had become somewhat of a tourist attraction with their own special cave. The government had assisted them in installing a twenty meter spiral staircase to the bottom of a pit which reportably led to a large room filled with impressive formations. The cave was called "Gruta de la Higuera", or "Fig Tree Cave", because of the large wild fig tree growing near its opening. The roots of which descended the the pit wall, and could be climbed down by the more agile city residents.
We walked with Ignacio to the pit It was just as he described. At the bottom a small passage led to a room approximately ten by twenty meters with spectacular draperies on most walls. Even a few shields on one wall. The room had apparently been used as a water source by prior civilizations. According to Ignacio, the stone stairs and small retaining wall near the lower portion of the room were built by precolombians.
We asked Igancio and other locals if any other caving teams had visited their community. They assured us that with the exception of a lone Frenchman, no cavers had ventured into the pits. They added with disgust, that the Frenchman only went into the tourist cave, where he scratched his name on the wall. Is that what they call a "spelunker"?
Igancio and his neighbor, Antonio Paredes Ramos were pleased to show us eight other pits in the area. They were exceptionally gracious, refusing to accept pay for their assistance, but pleased to accept small gifts. I brought along Swiss Army Knives, and school supplies just for this purpose. We suspect six, or possibly seven of the pits to be virgin. None of them had impressive formations or cultural artifacts. Most of them had bad air. Most had large bats, but little guano. Two of them deserve further exploration. There are at least three more pits in the immediate area which we hope to explore on our next trip.
One of the most promising pits is "Cara de Tigre". Ignacio took us to it on the first day. The entrance looks like a small shelter, on an exotic planet. It is nestled among sharp spiky karst rocks and tropical plants with snake like stems. The locals call the plants "Cara de Tigre" (Tiger Face). We know them as Philodendron Selloum. Outside the shelter we found the remains of a clay water jug. If we had a team archeologist, I suspect he would have precisely pinpointed the jug's age as "possibly over forty years old, but doubtfully over two thousand years old". In the floor of the shelter, we found two small passages which led to a huge pit almost as big in diameter as the entire shelter. A lot of air was blowing up from them. Shay tied off a ninety meter rope and went down the full length. It wasn't an ordinary ninety meter drop. It was very hot! Shay had a few minor mechanical problems, and of all places, had to change his head lamp bulb. It took him quite a while to get back up, and he definitely didn't want to go down again. With his exceptionally bright head lamp, he was not able to see the bottom, so it must go down at least another twenty meters. On our next trip we will take a 150 meter or longer rope.
Just twenty meters or so east of Cara de Tigre is a pit which looked promising, but is only about seven meters deep. Its opening looks like a giant scorpion hole, so we call it "Pozo del Alacran" (Scorpion Pit). Incidentally, in the summer months scorpions are abundant. Their sting has killed children in the community.
Another pit which I wanted to explore further, but just didn't have the time is a few meters south of Higuera. Brandon, Kory, and Doug visited it while Shay, Dave and I were at Cara de Tigre. Like Higuera, it went down twenty meters and had small side passages. Brandon reported that as he peered into a passage, he was met by more than one large, black, harry and frightful tarantula. This made the tight crawl very distasteful. Sure, you could use a stick to push tarantulas out of the way, but what about the ones you don't see? They are the ones hiding in the crevices above you. They wait for you to crawl under so they can drop down on your neck. One or two run down your cheek and under your chin. Others scurry down your shirt and across your side. As you scream and frantically contort in the tight passage, your head and elbows scrape to a bloody mess on the sharp karst. I know what you're thinking, "Tarantulas don't bite, and they are not poisonous anyway". Well, that is true of most tarantulas, but if a tarantula in San Gabriel crawls down your shirt, and bites you in the arm pit, it just might be a new species that is exceptionally poisonous. Soon you feel your body becoming weak and non responsive. Paralysis is setting in, but you are still fully conscious as ants and tindarapos begin eating away at your nose and ears. By the time rescue arrives, your eye sockets may be cleaned out as well.
Friday, Shay, Kory, Michael and Brandon went with Igancio senior to the site of an exceptionally deep pit. Air was bad, and they didn't like it at all. Like most pits in the area, mapping was easy, just one shot, straight down. The depth was 85.3 meters. At the bottom, all were breathing about three times the normal rate and anxious to get out. Other than draperies along the sides, the pit had no notable formations. Near the entrance was a four foot high termite nest, so the pit was named "Pozo de la Periguera" (Termitehill Pit).
Doug and I spent Friday morning hiking back to Pozo Cara de Tigre to derig. Iin the afternoon Igancio junior took us to another pit. It was wide, but only fourteen meters deep. Ignacio Junior watched with captivation as Doug gracefully rappelled down into the pit. He wanted to do it too, but just hand over hand. After much discussion, I convinced Ignacio that it wouldn't be safe unless he was in a seat harness, and using a rack. He used my rack to go down, and rope walker to come back up, and thought it was super! In the pit Doug found a four inch turtle. It looked like a female false map variety to me, but didn't have the typical dorsal spikes.
Saturday we drove to Colima where we met Mitchell Ventura. Mitchell is a man of many talents. He is studying forensics science and Italian at the Colima University, works for the fire department and manages the export department for a coconut processor. Just for fun he caves, and occasionally teaches classes on vertical technique to rescue workers. He was accompanied by one of his students, Carmen. We drove from Colima to the Cerro Grande region. Cerro Grande is noted for numerous deep pits. In the early eighties, the distinguished Mexican geologist and caver, Carlos Lazcano Sahagun, found seventy-nine pits, and mapped all but fifteen of them. The deepest, Resumidero del Pozo Blanco descends 241 meters. Lascano explored only the western portion of the region. We planned to take a cursory look at just the east portion.
As we began our climb into the mountains, shifting became increasingly difficult. I just couldn't find the gears. At first I thought it was because of Carmen's wide hips which were somewhat in the way. Finally I realized that the clutch was going out. With Mike and Doug's help, and a little time under the truck, we were soon off again.
The roads were really bad, but finally we made it to the one home town of Picacho on the east ridge of Cerro Grande. As we approached the ridge we were confronted by the impressive view of erupting Colima Sur, just seven kilometers to our east. We couldn't see flowing lava, but at regular intervals we would see an immense puff of ash as a landslide was cascading down the hill. After dark, on our way home, we could see flowing lava, and the occasional fireworks display as a boulder, perhaps as large as a house, would be thrown out of the volcano and burst into radiant pieces as it hit the ground below.
The one humble home in Picacho was occupied by Magdaleno Contreras, a friendly farmer, who was pleased to tell us where to look for pits on his property. Like many Mexicans, Magdaleno had worked a few years in the states, but returned to Mexico. He labored in central California cultivating hops, and spoke a little English.
Off we went on a trail which led a few kilometers down the hill to a PoIje like basin with a small corn field. On the way, we met Magdaleno's daughter who was leading two borrows up the trail. They were loaded with large bags of corn. On the east side of the basin were two pits, only five meters or so deep. Both looked like they might go further, if someone wanted to dig.
As I foresaw, just a little further to the west was another basin. It had a corn field also. Kory, Brandon, and Shay were quick to scout the perimeter, and found a large and promising pit. It was 25 meters deep and approximately 13 meters wide. On the far side there was a large passage which regrettably went nowhere.
So, after spending our entire morning driving, and spending the entire afternoon hiking to find three insignificant pits, we started back. Higher up on the east ridge there were obviously more pits. From the road we could see several. It was beginning to get dark, so we didn't have much time, but in just a few minutes ridge walking we found an immense pit. It was approximately four meters wide and from the sound of falling rocks at least a hundred meters deep. This will be one of our first pits to map on a future trip. It is possible that the pit has been previously entered. On the rough dirt road just seventy meters south of the pit is a small shrine of San Rafael. Mexicans typically erect such a shrine at the site of a fatal accident. It is possible that someone fell into the pit, or perhaps there was an auto accident at that spot. I suspect the locals know. We tentatively call this pit "Pozo de San Rafael".
On the way back Carmen led us to a super little restaurant, where they served typical Mexican dishes. I had a large bowl of chicken posole. Posole is hominy soup. You typically squeeze a lime on top. It tasted so incredibly delightful, that I ordered a second large bowl. If you'd like Posole recipe, write to VanDeKamps (serious).
Our Sunday wake-up call was a small earth-quake. Brandon took the hint, and suggested that instead of caving we go to church. Mike, Dave and I visited the Mormon church. It was a lovely little chapel with a large well kept lawn in front, and a basketball court in back. The members were exceptionally friendly and pleased to have us visit. Shortly after the service began a large man with a bright purple sweatshirt entered the chapel. His shirt was silk screened in English, "Behind every great woman is herself". He was obviously intoxicated but enthusiastically announced that he had just overcome his drinking problem, and wanted to join the church. He then pulled a piece of electrical conduit from his pocket. It had been fashioned into a flute. He offered to accompany the congregation's singing. Not surprisingly, no one encouraged him.
Later in the day I visited the Catholic church. I love old colonial churches. Regrettably one was not to be found in Tecoman. They have a large church of incredibly mundane architecture just eleven years old. Its only notable features are the three meter high double doors and pews which are fashioned of beautifully polished solid walnut. The doors have sixteen carved panels depicting the life of Christ. The church appears to have run out of funds before construction was complete. Its towers barely extend above the roof. The cross over, has an abundance of bells which occasionally clang out lively melodies, but regrettably begin banging each morning at four. They sound much like someone cleaning out a trash can.
Despite the mundane building, I was touched with the devotion of the parishioners. They began filing in long before mass began. Surprisingly there were more men that women, and numerous family groups. Many devoted worshipers crawled on their knees up the fifty meter tile aisle to the altar. A teenage girl enthusiastically sprinted on her knees all the way to the front and then back again. It occurred to me that she would make a super caver. By the time mass was about to begin, the chapel was filled to over capacity. Neatly dressed young families were on all sides. A toddler on the pew directly ahead turned around to laugh as I made funny faces. During the mass I learned that it was the festival of the three magi. Usually celebrated, on January 6th, but mass honored on the closest Sunday. As soon as mass was over, a new group of young families began filing in for a second mass.
Monday we were again awakened by a surprise. At two-thirty, two policemen with machine guns came to Doug's door. iNot a pleasant way to greet the morning! They announced that his car had been broken into. The hotel manger, Javier, who was suppose to keep an eye on things slept through the entire event. Naturally this was disheartening news, but all worked out well. The three smash and grab thieves were apprehended a few minutes later. Mike, Doug and I had to go to the police station and fill out voluminous forms, but everyone was helpful. We were asked to return again at nine in the morning. As we approached the police station, perhaps ten to fifteen blue uniformed men were waving and whistling at us. "How nice", we thought. "The police are all so happy to see us". Strangely, they didn't look happy. Then we realized that we were driving the wrong way on a one-way street. Once again we each filled out voluminous forms. Tuesday morning we had to return for the third time to fill out forms, but we returned with all our stolen belongings. Mike and Doug drove to Colima that day and got the window replaced for just $55.00.
Monday morning we headed back to San Gabriel. Antonio took us to a pit on his property. It was 46.9 m deep. Like the others, it had draperies on the walls, and bad air in the bottom. A passage led off from the bottom to another pit, but it was much too small to enter, and I don't think anyone would want to dig because of the bad air. I didn't feel uncomfortable or weak at the bottom, but I did have to breath about three times faster than at the top. Approximately twelve feet down from the entrance was a small side passage with an alter like depression in the wall, and four stalagmites which had a resemblance to a nativity scene with Joseph, Mary, the infant Jesus, and a shepherd. Shay crawled into the passage and found that it did not go further. We named the pit "Pozo del Nacimiento" (Nativity Pit). Antonio appeared to be especially pleased with our exploration and name.
Tuesday Ignacio Senior took us to two more pits. It was a arduous hike to get there through shoulder high grass infested with body snatching thorn bushes. They would literally grab us. It was quite difficult to get loose. The small thorns would penetrate our skin and break off to fester for days. The first cave had a small opening, only about forty centimeters across. No one volunteered to go down, so I went. Just down about eight meters my cigarette lighter wouldn't ignite. At about twelve meters the air felt heavy. At fifteen meters I was having to breath three times as fast. The pit was only 19.5 meters deep. I noticed that everything in it was dead, so we call it "Pozo de la Muerte" (Death Pit).
Ignacio then took us to another pit not far away. It was really big, about ten meters across and from the sounds of failing rocks, obviously deep. Brandon went down first, and reached the end of our ninety meter rope. We pulled it back up and tied a thirty meter rope to its end. At my suggestion, before descending, we all practiced passing knots with the rope hanging in a tree. While we were practicing a bee stung Dave on the ear, which brought him to his knees in pain. Fortunately the pain, although intense was short lived. Kory went down the pit next, followed by Dave, Brandon, and Shay. The pit is 102 meters deep. There are a few columns and stalactites and numerous draperies. Two side passages remain to be explored. Fortunately the air is O.K. A large toad had somehow found his home in the bottom, so at Brandon's suggestion, we named the pit, "Pozo del Sapo Perdido"( Lost Toad Pit).
Our venture was near its end. Doug and Dave headed back that night and drove straight through in just a day and a half. Not a good idea. The rest of us left Thursday morning and arrived home Saturday evening.
It was a super trip. There remains much to be mapped on our next visit. We will probably finish up in San Gabriel and then check out a few caves to the east. Next we will check out an area to the south which may be even more rewarding. Then I'd like to go back to the east ridge area of Cerro Grande and map some of the really deep pits. Our next trip may be as soon as Easter, 1999.
By: Peter Ruplinger, Feb. 1999
Tecoman Project
First Trip, Christmas 1998
(26 December 1998 to 11 January 1999)
Pits Visited
| Number | Name | Depth & Avg. | Location. | Bad Air |
| Width (m) | ||||
| 1 | Cenote de los Tindarapos | 49.6; 10+/- | Rancho de Hector Balleza | nd |
| 2 | Not named | N.A. | Patzquaro, Mich. | nd |
| 3 | Pozo Cara de Tigre | 120 plus | 18° 55.00 N; 103° 43.62 W | nd |
| 4 | Pozo del Alacran | 7±; 1.5+/- | 18° 54.96 N; 103° 43.82 W | nd |
| 5 | Gruta de la Higuera | 20±; 4+/- | 18° 54.40 N; 103° 44.23 W | nd |
| 6 | ? | 20±; 3+/- | 18° 54.40 N; 103° 44.23 W | nd |
| 7 | Pozo de la Periguera | 85; 3± | 2± k south of San Gabriel. | yes |
| 8 | Pozo de la Tortuga | 14; 4 | 18° 54.27 N; 103° 43.91 W | nd |
| 9 | Not named | 5±; 2± | 19° 28.44 N;103° 55.05 W | nd |
| 10 | Not named | 5±; 2± | 19° 28.44 N;103° 55.05 W | nd |
| 11 | Not named | 5±; 2± | 19° 28.31 N; 103° 54.81 W | nd |
| 12 | Pozo de San Rafael | 100+?; 4±? | 70± due N. of shrine 5±k W. of Picacho | nd |
| 13 | Pozo del Nacimeinto | 46.9; 2.5± | Rancho de Antonio Paredes | yes |
| 14 | Pozo de la Muerte | 19.5; 1.2± | 18° 53.60 N; 103° 43.67 W | yes |
| 15 | Pozo del Sapo Perdido | 102; 8± | 500m S.E. of Pozo de la Muerte | nd |
Return to Colima Intro
Return to Zotz HomeCave