Prelude
In many adventure stories, the part of the journey that gives the experience its name is treated as the central event while other moments are treated like scaffolding leading to it. This is true for cave diving, too. The moments inside of an underwater cave are some of the most surreal. Their intensity can easily come to define the experience. But a cave dive is not an isolated event. It is a serialized story, unfolding across the moments before, during, and after the dive. Each chapter of that story carries its own sensory experiences that accompany the trek to find water, the bodily awareness of moving through an underwater cave, and the lasting emotional and physical resonance that remains after emerging from an hours-long passage through dark corridors and into sunlight. Each chapter of this story stands alone, and together they form the full experience of a cave dive.
From this perspective, this piece is a reflection on the moments before the dive. It is a celebration of the tedium and dedication of lugging heavy gear, piece-by-piece, beneath the sun and through a sweltering jungle. Hauling tanks deserves its own recognition, as does the number of times a diver may need to switch tanks between hands to relieve pinched fingers. These moments are as much a part of the dive as finally submerging into crystal water.
This is a reflection that finds joy in slipping on dive booties that are still damp from the previous day. It finds joy, too, in walking down an uneven, muddy path and carefully stepping down rusted, twisting stairs that are engulfed by foliage before approaching the entrance of the cave.
Towards the Cave
We are driving through the Yucatan and caves are all around us. It isn’t far from a highway to a town road, then onto an uneven and narrow dirt road. Here, on this dirt road, it is as though we have passed an invisible line where the path forward becomes impenetrable to our eyes. It is thick with greenery and alive with the sounds of birds and insects.
Stepping out of the truck, we are bathed in these sounds. I’m wearing a rash guard to protect myself from the sun, but it does little to protect me against the jungle’s insects.
In the jungle our excitement is punctuated by bug bites. We hope to move our gear quickly from the truck to the edge of the cenote. We succumb to bug bites, accepting that they are part of our admission into the jungle.
We place a plastic box holding our gear near the wheel of the truck. In the box there is an O2 analyzer, a bag with assorted tools like wrenches and a screw driver, along with several spare o-rings. Anything we might need we brought with us. Another box holds three sets of fins and harnesses heaped on top of each other. The clasps on the harnesses–which we will use to strap the SCUBA rig tight and secure against our bodies–make a tinny, squeaky noise when we push the box to the side of the truck.
I hike my black and rubbery neoprene suit up to my hips before I get too sweaty and the suit becomes stuck to me. The neoprene also protects me from the mosquitos.
We lift 360 pounds of aluminum tanks, 12 tanks total, from the bed of the truck and place them near the box. I am sticky from the humidity. The heat of the jungle begins to press in, but I don’t regret putting on my wet suit.
Between us and the cave is a hike through the jungle.
The Jungle
The jungle is alive with twisting, green foliage. Roots span across a dirt path that has barely been trodden. In my hands is a tank. I carry it awkwardly with one hand on the stem of the valve while the other cradles the side. With each step over rugged terrain I am careful not to trip over a rock or a sprawling, twisted root.
These moments leading to the dive deserve their own credit for their beauty. Here, nature is so lush and alive. Before we can even see the edge of the cenote pool, the plants know it exist. They are each nurtured by it. The dense trees and wild vines, along with the insects that call these plants home are each nurtured by the cenote.
Still, my wet suit is at my waste. The arms of my suit dangle at my hips as I march a funny, awkward march forward.
I see one of my dive partners up ahead. His long legs lift him over the rocks that I fumble over, but he has to tuck his head to avoid hitting branches. A wild vine snags at my wet suit and scratches my arm. I trust my feet as I propel myself over a dirt mound. Even though I take a hard step down my wet suit doesn’t slide. At this point sweat has plastered the neoprene to my legs.
We are so close to the cenote, but it is beyond a wall of green.
The Cenote’s Edge
We arrive at the cenote’s edge. Pushing through trees caused it to appear before us suddenly. The crisp blue water gives way to a black void. This is the entrance to the cave. I put my tank on the ground next to my dive partners’, needing to now return to the truck and retrieve my second one. Every dive is a two tank dive. We plan to make two dives, meaning we will make this trek four times.
Once we have staged all of our tanks beside the edge of the cenote we pull our wet suits up to our chests, past our shoulders. We struggle to slide our arms into the suit as it sticks to our swollen hot skin. We pull the zipper up, up until it snaps closed. My body is compressed in this hot suit and the rubbery collar presses against the soft spot on my throat. While I’m uncomfortable now, I will be grateful for my suit once I am in the cave.
I don my harness and fasten it tight around my waste. We are each diving side mount with aluminum 80s. The neoprene pulls my arms back as I clip my BCD’s bungee across my abdomen. It snaps against me, applying pressure. I am rigid like a pillar as I step into the pool of the cenote with my dive partners, taking care not to slip on a moss covered rock.
The cool water is welcome and I pull open my collar to feel the cool water flood against my body. My dive partner has already pulled a tank off the edge of the cenote and has begun to clip it onto his harness. He has wrapped the small hose of his regulator behind the ridge of his neck and I can see that it has begun to apply pressure, limiting the range of his movement.
Buoyant from my wet suit I bob up from the water–the lightest I will be for the next three and a half hours–and do the same as him. I wrap the cord of my canister light around my arm half a dozen times and snap my pressure hose into the BCD inflator pressed against my chest. My tanks bob against my sides but are secure, bolted to their harness clips.
We are becoming locked into place. This is the moment before the dive. Next is the dive.
shedivescaves.com 