I'm the second diver, with the blue fins.
Words struggle to describe this experience. Yesterday I had the privilege to go scuba diving in two cenotes near Cancun, cavern systems filled with water, kind of a cross between a sinkhole and a cave. I've written about scuba diving here before but this was something completely different. When you scuba dive, no matter how deep you go, the only thing above you is water. I have been diving for 17 years and this was the first time I had ever had something else above me. The only way out was through. It was nerve wracking and exhilarating at the same time.
We dove throughout two cenotes, Kukulcan and Chac Mool, going deep into claustrophobic passageways, underneath collapsed parts of the system, literally plunging deep into the darkness beyond the light's reach. I had to be deeply aware of my own body, gear, and most importantly buoyancy. One deep breath could cause me to float upward, cracking my skull on the rocks above. We navigated the cenotes entirely horizontally, and with as little movement as possible, as to not disturb the debris. If we did, it could remove all visibility in a cloud of sand. Slow and steady won this race.
We drove to the dive site which was also a shock. Scuba diving usually requires a boat. Turning off the highway and onto a dirt road, we traveled through the jungle for about a mile until we arrived at the site. We geared up from the back of the truck then walked down into the water. The entrances to these caverns were hardly bigger than swimming pools but opened up underneath into these massive underground systems.
These caverns had not always been like this. They were once damp but not flooded. Stalagmites and stalactites had formed over the course of time, and then the entire system flooded. The ceiling had collapsed in gigantic chunks at some point, leaving the entire system filled with massive rocks covered in stalactites at eerie angles. It was surreal to see horizontal stalactites. It also created a maze of passageways around the cenote, rocky passageways that felt like they were on the verge of collapse with one wrong touch.
The water was unbelievably clear, without current or life to disturb it, except that it was also brackish, specifically a halocline I believe. That means that it was filled with both salt water and freshwater, which, when undisturbed, separates like oil and water. When you swim in it near the separation line, the waters begin to mix into brackish water. This liminal zone is precarious, and nearly opaque. It's also beautiful, appearing almost like an oil painting filter across your entire vision. You would be raising or lowering yourself and quickly pass through it. Throughout the dives, we constantly crossed this zone and each time raised my heartbeat. Once it happened while we were navigating a tight passage, bringing my vision down to barely two feet. Suddenly the safety line was lost to me, I couldn't see where I was going and the only thing that I could see were the yellow fins of my dive instructor in front of me. Then a moment later, we rose past it, and I could see as clearly as if I wasn't fifty feet underwater and underground.
The entire time I was too focused on navigating this treacherous terrain to really be as terrified as I should have been. Keeping calm was essential, as there is no room to panic underwater. We have a limited amount of air, and deep terrified breaths are a great way to run out even sooner. It's a tough feedback loop once if it get's going. We all held flashlights to peer into crevices and witness what had been lost. They illuminated the dark reaches of the cenote, revealing a millennium of history. Beautiful rock formations covered nearly every surface, stalagmites and stalactites interwoven in the small cracks, remaining where they were formed. The only air down there was small shimmering pools that formed across the ceiling from the expelled breath of divers below.
At one point, we reached a dark, tight turn-around point, easily scraping into the walls and ceiling around me. The multitude of hoses from my gear extended away, towards the groping features of the rock, desperately trying to snag me, to pull me away from the lifegiving air tank on my back. Then we turned around and I saw in the distance an opening to the cavern. Beams of light pierces into the water, beckoning me. It was breathtaking in a place where breath is critical.
I've said scuba diving is similar to exploring an alien world filled with life. Diving the cenotes was exploring a hostile environment, apathetic to life. It was one of the most amazing, unique, unbelievable experiences of my life and I never want to do it again. Since both of my parents also read this blog post, don't worry. I'm not planning on getting my cave diving certification. Yet.
Photo Credit: Triton Productions.