Cenote

The worn stone path leads down through the verdant Yucatan jungle to the edge of the Cenote. How many thousands of years has man come down to the cave, first to sacrifice then in wonder? Long enough to wear the stone, like the steps of some medieval cathedral. Through the undergrowth the birds and other life make their presence known with calls and stirrings. Sweat trickles tickling down my brow as I drop the heavy gear at the water’s edge, the tank, backpack and wing, mask, fins and camera housing. Catching my breath before donning the gear I gaze into the crystalline water seeing the myriad tunnels leading off into the unknown depths of the cave system.

With the nearly seventy pounds of equipment strapped on I wade into the clear water, its coolness a blessing after the heat of the trail. It is initially chilling as it fills the minute spaces between my naked skin and my wetsuit. Soon my body heat warms this layer and bobbing slightly positive on the surface I begin to get uncomfortable. Pulling my mask up from beneath my chin I seal it and then place my regulator in my mouth. Taking a few breaths of the dry, tasteless life-giving air I watch he tank gage watching for the tell-tale swing that would indicate an improperly set valve. Taking the wing’s vent hose I raise it above my head and release the air that keeps me floating. I sink slowly into the crystal-clear water.

With a few light kicks I drift slowly downward towards the main cave entrance, stalactites and stalagmites appear like teeth as I go deeper into the passage, like being swallow by some great fanged beast, testifying that this cave had spent eons dry before being flooded in centuries past. Soon the light behind dims and fades. Before the dark can cause collision with the wonders of the cave, I turn on my can light. The spotlight beam cuts the darkness illuminating the far wall of the chamber I have entered. Many feet below the bottom is littered with collapsed sections of the ceiling. Where collapses haven’t obliterated the roof, the stalactites are legion, matched by stalagmites on the cave floor. Near the chamber walls they form thick column-like formations making the room appear like a cathedral as I play the beam of my light around me. Whirling slowly, weightless in the clear water, I am suspended between the floor and the ceiling. The water is so clear I appear to be floating in air I feel the wonder of nature, the architect.

As I leave the cathedral chamber I go deeper and reach the edge of the halocline, the barrier between the salt and fresh water, it appears as if fine oil is suspended in the water creating a fine dance of distortion, like heat shimmer over the desert in high summer. To go deeper I release more air, sinking silently through the layer into the saline. Ahead I see a shimmer, a hint of light, turning off the can light I see a blue tinged glimmer. Slowly drifting I pass once more through the halocline and back into fresh water I pop just a hint of air into my wing.

As I move into the next chamber, I see shafts of blue light piercing the clear water like Jesus rays through clouds. Twisted roots thrust through the rock and dangle thick and ropey into the water. I surface into an air chamber, round holes worn through the chamber ceiling the effect of water over the centuries. These the source of the bright beams of tropical sunshine so beautiful below the surface. I once again submerge and drift slowly though the next connecting tunnel into another well-lit chamber. This one has not seen collapse and the ceiling is covered with thousands of dagger like stalactites. The chamber’s near perfect dome and single round hole reminds of the Pantheon in Rome.

A check of my air gage tells me it is turnaround time and with regret I must leave this natural fairyland and return to the bindings of gravity and the surface.