Exploring the Underworld

May 20th, 2009: I have managed to do some caving over the years and today was another cave I will unfortunately forget about as I grow older and more forgetful as I sit in front of the TV watching the A-Team marathon on Nickelodeon at 3 am with the other bed wetter’s. The caves I have explored ranges from the ones with the beautiful lighting, exquisite signage and nicely placed dining facilities/souvenir shops, to the basic hole in the ground that you take a head lamp and wander off into the abyss. Today, I made it through a cave system in San Gil that was somewhat different than what I was use to...it was extremely wet and muddy – a child’s and a grown man’s dream!

I think my fascination for crawling around in the underworld began when I was a child playing in a nearby sewer system that fed into the local creek. Back then we would put on our rain boots, grab the emergency flash light under the kitchen sink and explore the network of tunnels running underneath our city. Thinking about it…we never really made it that far - that is...until my 20's. This was partially due to the urban legend (thanks to my Dad) that the rats that lived here were known to grow to the size of a small dog – not a Chihuahua or Mini-pincher…much much bigger. You must remember…in a child’s mind, everything is to the extreme.

Doing a small stroll out of town and crossing an open field, we reached a wooded area which helped camoflague the hole we were about to enter…no ticket booth, paved sidewalks or postcards to show that I was here - nothing. Igniting our batteries on our trusty headlamps, we entered the mouth of the cave by making our way down an iron ladder. Once inside, the cities of cockroaches and other insects gathered by the masses to welcome us to their simple, yet comfortable living arrangement. Here we followed our guide as would a pack mule for about a 2 ½ hour trip exploring a small portion of this network.

Our guide explained the creation of the formations that we came across in Spanish, of coarse…but what was being said was no interest to me – neither were the silly names of the formations that some drunken South American must have come up with one night after 4 or 5 too many beers. My goal was so simple…it was to crawl around and get filthy – without having to explain why a 36 year old man that is pushing 40, is looking as if he just had his first experience in the mud.

The amount of mud was staggering. On a few sections I would squat and slide on my feet down the huge slopes, navigating myself through moguls of mud with my finger tips, digging them deep into the sludge when needing to slow my decent. The cave system was nicely organized by having sections filled with water ranging from the depth of one toe to almost the ceiling of the shaft, to conveniently self manage the accumulated mud that built up as we moved deeper into the shaft.

Unfortunately – for everyone else that is - with no restrooms in this caving system, I was forced to…improvise when it was necessary. This is where the deep water would nicely shadow the awkward movements I made through the tunnels, as I perfected my multitasking skills.

Having Army flashbacks, I low crawled through long stretches with the jagged ceiling closely hovering above me to remind me to keep my head down and checks low. Without being outside it was extremely apparent to tell that is was raining by easily noting the water level was getting higher and higher by observing the incredible shrinking ceiling. Toward the end of our exploration, the water temp seemed to drop and the air even felt uncomfortably cooler. Nothing probably changed except for my mindset. When heading out of the cave, I knew what cold bodies of water that needed to be crossed and about how long it was going to take. Unlike hydrospeeding, I did not have to be as mentally alert…easily making it to a warm destination in my mind as soon as the auctioneer decided to show up - convincing my body I was warm and continuing to enjoy what the cave had to offer.

Getting back to the hostel I began to feel a growing pain…lots of growing pains – perhaps it would be more accurate to call them…”growing older pains.” My body felt like a mass of loosely connected bones and unresponsive muscle. At this moment…the majority of AARP members would easy be able to overpower me for my wallet, spare change or acts of indecency. I now walk holding my lower back being thankful for: my backpack that conveniently converts into rolling luggage, saved muscle relaxers from a previous injury and the ability to support the signature old man shuffle…with style.

Back on the River, Hydrospeeding the Rio Fonce

May 20th, 2009: Needing to get back onto a river before my new fear of water controls me, I decided to do a 3 hours hydrospeeding trip down the Rio Fonce. Hydrospeeding is an activity where you are given a board that sort of resembles a thick miniature foam snow sled, a helmet, fins and one of those non functioning lifejackets which I became quiet familiar with on the Rio Suarez. I thought this was a perfect way to get over my rafting incident because I would not have to worry about falling into the water since I will already be submerged. At times…things sound better thinking about them than doing them.

Standing on the bank of the river at about 10 am, I balanced myself on some rocks and extended my toes into the water, attempting to gauge the water temperature. I couldn’t tell in Fahrenheit or Celsius for that matter, but it did bring up the question…”why am I doing this?” Dropping into the water I moved very…slowly, as I attempted to catch my breath. Before pushing off we had to do the standardize safety training, which felt more like a game of, Monkey See, Monkey Do…as I followed the other two individuals that understood the instructions in Spanish. I only asked for the official translation to the important parts…such as the guide’s sign for lots of rocks and what direction to go in order to avoid other obstacles planted in the path of the river.

Training also involved holding the handles on the board and performing these technical kindergarten rolls as a child would perform in a wading pool. If I had to list the things I was great at…this would be one of them. I was so good at it, I was sort of showing off…left roll – left roll – right roll – left roll. Getting caught up in the moment I even pulled off a double roll to impress – umm…nobody but myself I guess.

It was time…we were giving the sign from our guide and we kicked our tiny fins vigorously as the current caught us and whisked us down the river. You could tell that the rafters who passed us must have thought we looked quiet amusing by how they stared at us laughing as they went by. I even thought we must look quite entertaining as we were floating down the river, as if this was our feeble attempt to save the television show, American Funniest Home Videos.

The Rio Fonce is a class 2-3. Even though the rapids were tame…the rocks were not. I could have had a better mind set, but in all actuality, I did not want to be here…just performing some forced therapy. As the minutes slowly added into hours we progressed down the river, coming that much closer to be able to say I did it.

Getting colder, my jaw began to move uncontrollably as if I was an auctioneer with nothing to auction and nothing to say. Shortly after my body began performing some extreme body shivers to hint that I needed to warm up. I tried to ignore what it was telling me hoping that we would be off the river soon. I attempted to mentally escape to a warmer place but struggled due to already being overwhelmed with the multitude of shallow rocky rapids we had to float through. My body, getting a tad annoyed with its subtle but ignored signs decided to painfully throw down a mighty calf cramp. Needing to exit the water immediately so that I could give myself a nice little Thai message to work out the huge excruciating titanic like knot…I performed a one legged kick and two hand paddle making my way to the shore. I grazed past the rocks to a small sandy spot on the side of the river, rolling off my board grabbing my calf trying to untie the knot that rested beneath my skin.

The thought came to my weakened mind…”can I quit and if so…how do I get back?” - it lingered there longer than the usually random thought. After a few minutes of enjoying the nice cool moment resting beneath the clouds on the sand, I realizing I needed to get back in the water and complete this, not because I wanted to…because I had to. This whole trip would have been a waste if I would have jumped into the guide’s boat. I had a burst of fake energy as I happily stood up and entered the frigid water to continue to be toyed by the river rocks. Rock after rock, bouncing off and over the stones, skinning after skinning of the shins by the potato peeler like rocks, I finally made it to our exit point. Okay…”I did it,” I thought, I am on the road to recovery. Thankfully, I am not scared of the river anymore…I now just hate it - until my short term memory forgets that this ever happened.

Arriving back at the Hostel I quickly took a shower and stood under a nice trickle of hot water, warming my core body temperature to an optimal 96.6 degrees. Getting into some nice dry clean clothes, I slowly moved into the common area at the hostel feeling as if I did a double marathon, but mentally feeling great…accomplishing what I set out to do.

About 12:14.0053 minutes later, some friends of mine told me that they were going caving and asked if I wanted to go. “Yes” was blurted out - It took my brain 0.0002 seconds to come up with my answer. My body didn’t agree and somehow my brain…which is so much smaller than the rest of my body, made the commanding decision that I was going - wanting to punch this gray matter…I realized, it just wouldn’t work. Quickly I changed back into my wet clothes and patiently awaited the cab to pick us up.

Repelling the Juan Curi Waterfalls

May 19th, 2009: After what happened the other day on the Rio Suarez…repelling down a 60 meter section of the 180 meter Juan Curi waterfall was an extremely simple, refreshing and enjoyable event. It was something anyone could do who had at least one hand and a pirate hook.

Hiking up to the falls to meet our guide, my new friend Andres and myself ran into some guard turkeys. They wandered around the barbed wire fence waiting to shred any non vegetarian trespassers. The closer we got to them the bigger they became by filling up their juicy breasts with air and raising their war feathers high. At first I had to laugh at their cockiness but began to wonder on what they would do if I let them get too close to me? Would they make me suffer for all of abuse my species puts them through year after year? Thinking about it…if anything, I should have kicked the closest turkey – for all of Thanksgivings I clearly won the break on the dried wishbones and didn’t even get my measly wishes answered. After a few fake attacks by the turkeys and the ability to move quickly opening and closing the fence, we continued journey.

Once at the top of the falls, we were quickly told in Spanish what needed to be done…but due to the simplicity, I only needed a minor translation from Andres. Stepping into the harness, tightening the straps and snapping into the rope, we were walked to the edge… and off we went. Basically, in order to make your way down all that had to be done was to pull some of the rope behind you up and you will go down as far as you pull out - Simple indeed. The only part that is a bit nerve wrecking was getting to the horizontal position off the top and of coarse the random thoughts of a log from a tree or animal coming down on top of us when making our way down.

Some Colombian paparazzi tourists were at the bottom of the falls watching us and waiting for a photo with me. No, they didn’t want one with Andres because he is half Colombian. They wanted a photo with me because I was from the U.S. – or could have been due to my legs amazing white glow. This somehow makes me feel special…as if I made it to Colombia before tourism totally destroys this beautiful country.

Making our way back to the main road to flag down a bus, we ran into some other Colombian wildlife…a momma cow and her cow child. Hiking in California it is common to run into cows but they are somewhat skittish at each and every movement or thought of movement, especially with their calves. These cows, right next to the trail let us pass without even flinching. Thinking that I needed a photo of this rare occasion, I gave my camera to Andres and head back up the hill. Walking up to momma cow…I placed my hand on her head – she tricked me. She pushed me off the trail and made her way toward me - she might have made a loud roar or growl, but everything went silent to me as I ran down the hill. I had to mentally thank EA Sports NCAA Football and Playstation 2 for what was about to happen. I performed a juke flawlessly – easily faking out momma cow. It is sometimes funny on how the small things on trips sometimes top the bigger events that happens along the way.

Two breaths away from drowning

May 18th, 2009: The “red phone” at the Macondo Guesthouse in San Gil rang this morning, the Rio Suarez a class IV+/V-, was running. Actually...the river is running every day, but was closed for the past few days due to a big storm that battered the area, causing the river to be too strong and dangerous to raft on. Today the guides were willing to risk 7 foolish participants lives that was willing to pay $120,000 Pesos’… to challenge, a Colombian. A mere few hours later...I was two breaths of water away from drowning.

After being picked up we were driven down into a lush canyon which was where we were issued some thorough instructions, in English from our skipper (our guide) – thanks bejesus…I could understand him. After getting into the boat near the riverbank, we practiced some of the commands on the water and casted off… for a 3 hour tour. Not even 49.0506066 seconds into the rapids we lost someone off the side of the boat but quickly performed a failed textbook recovery - fortunately down the least brutal part of the river.

The Rio Suarez is a consistently turbulent machine, violently churning anyone who it could taste. After each big rapid we would paddle to the side to catch our breath. For safety reasons we had a man in a kayak that would float in front to save someone if they fell out of the boat…but note that he could only save one person, at a time.

Rapid after rapid we were getting better and better at listening to our guides commands and becoming more and more comfortable with the river. At the end of a tough rapid we would raise our oars in the air and do some high fives joining the oars in the middle tapping them together to celebrate our success.

Prior to going down the last rapid which was a class 5-, our guide disembarked our raft to attempt to plan a route for the mountains of H2O that needed to be climbed and of course…conquerd. We were forewarned that this was a tricky spot and if we don’t do exactly what he commands we will definitely not make it and the experience will not be pleasant. We back paddled off the rock and began our journey into the K2s’ and Everests’ of the H20 world as the finale of this trip. Our guide shouted, “FORWARD HARD – FORWARD HARD!” as we sliced the water with our paddles digging deep in the water powering ourselves forward. Some small premature cheers leaked out as we barreled through the rapids. Seconds later he yells, “GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” dropping into the boat we braced ourselves for the inevitable…the boat completely flip over and out fell the 7 foolish participants including our guide. The river consumed us as we were violently raped by the grouchy Rio Suarez.

Underwater for more than a breath, inhaling the filthy water without my trusty set of gills…I popped up as would a soggy apple. Gasping for air grabbing on to the rope of the upside down raft, I was immediately forced back under – fighting to keep from going under the boat and to trying to keep my feet in front of me to protect myself from the rocks…this was just the beginning of my 2 minute and 59 second battle (the actual time that was taken from the video footage that I have). I barreled through mountain after mountain of H20 - each time I managed to get my head above the water I was able to take a small breath of air and a larger breath of water… I kept involuntary going underwater, continuously fighting for more air but was not receiving what was needed. I felt myself getting weaker and weaker and was slowly sinking. “Why isn’t my life jacket keeping me up?” I thought. From at one point the chest straps were extremely tight but they seems to have loosened up during my advanced struggling session. This could be because of the poor quality life vests that in no way could have passed any sort of test. Wanting to rip off my jacket I didn’t, for it being ingrained in my head since I was a youth that life preservers save lives even though it seemed to be bringing me down.

Hitting a rock ripping my Teva sandal almost completely off, I made a quick and easy decision at that moment. Save a $70 sandal and protect my feet or...attempt to capture another sustaining breath of air. So air won, the only free thing we actually have cost me a about 3 days of expenses. What I was doing wasn’t working. Barely being able to think, I needed to get away from the raft. I was outside the raft along the middle portion cruising down the river side ways. Moving along the rope breathing, feeling and seeing the air for brief moments, I was being teased by the Rio Suarez before getting pushed back down. This is one moment when the body slows down time in a crises, it did not benefit me...I wanted it over and for me to be back on the boat doing those cheesy high fives. The water was going into every orifice, pumping through my body without my permission. I wanted it to just …stop.

I was losing all my strength and was hoping that it was going to get calmer and this rapid was going to stop and let us regroup. Seeing a glimpse of the river ahead, I realized that the fight was coming to an end and that I was almost there. At that moment I heard a foolish participant ask if anyone knew how to turn the raft back over - since we also lost our guide for a brief amount of time. Hearing someone’s voice was the best thing I heard for a while. It was much better than just hearing the noise of the rushing water and my struggles under the water.

Along comes to my side was the kayak…my one hand locked onto the rope which was connected to the raft, I reached my free hand and rested it on the top of the guys deck just to confirm to myself that it was going to be okay. Eventually we made it to the side of the river. Land! At that moment felt as if I was going to vomit from the over consumption of water and perhaps adrenalin. I made it and I knew then the battle was over. There we waited for our guide – him too battered by the fall injuring his knee.
Looking back at this thinking…would I do this trip again if I knew what was going to happen? My answer would be…yes, definitely. I made it out safe and it sure is a lot better than just floating down the river being bored. Hmmm…perhaps I took inn too much water and too little air for an extended period of time…causing me to lose a few more of those nifty little brain cells. Lets see here…2+2=4 . Nope…all is good – sheesh, I am so fortunate for having at least 4 fingers.

Laying down for bed…the scene of me grabbing the rope was stuck on replay – were the tears that leaked from my eyes the filthy water that made its way in?…or was it just...