Further on down the road

When we last left our heroes, they were coasting into Salamá, after a prolonged hot and dusty drive through the mountains. The next morning, we rose at our usual leisurely hour, and began an easy drive into Cobán, the stepping-off point for our visit to Semuc Champey. Along the road, our guide book told us to expect the Chicoy Caves, complete with “towering stalagmites”, and the site of present-day Mayan religious rituals. And sure enough, there at kilometer-marker 169 was a small sign for Mayan Caves.

A short drive down a dirt road brought us to a spot near a mountain stream, where it looked like we ought to park. Up the hill, next to what seemed to be a gate, was a sign announcing an entrance fee of Q10.00. Up we went, met there by a young man who collected our fees, and continued through the gate and up the switch-backed slope.

As we crested the hill, we saw that the other side led into a large, wide but shallow cave. When got a little closer, and our eyes adjusted a bit, we could see a number of candles burning on its floor and back wall. Apart from those lights, the whole thing was pretty dim. We pressed on through more switch-backs, these leading down into the gloom.

The slope into the cave was steep and tricky. There were few rickety railings in places, but not nearly sufficient by US standards. Still, the locals obviously used this path, so we could too. The ground got wetter, muddier and slipperier. We pressed on. We reached an area with a somewhat level floor, but going was still slow due to the water and mud.  Water dripped from the high ceiling, and formed little pools on the floor. We found some small deposited-limestone formations, and were encouraged to find the bigger ones promised by the book. Overall, it was rather pretty.

By now we could see more candles, plus the remains of many more, plus other items of religious importance, plus the detritus of many visits. Clearly, this cave saw heavy use. Joe was scouting up ahead, and just about the time Elizabeth called out to tell him to stay within sight, he gave out a yell, and called for help, with a note of panic in his voice. We ran as fast as we could on the slick, mucky surface in the direction of his voice, and found him up past his ankles in thick, dark, very sticky mud. He could not get out.

A full description of the words and actions needed to extract Joe from the mud would read like something in between an adventure/horror movie and a slapstick comedy. But after about fifteen tension-filled minutes, we were trekking out of the cave. Joe was completely covered in mud. Most of it was concentrated below his waist, but the rest of him had its share as well. Elizabeth was covered only up to her knees, with odd splotches on the rest of her. I got out the lightest (somebody had to be certain not to get stuck), with only my shoes covered, and a few other minor contact points. Miraculously, we had not lost a single article of clothing.

The stream by which we had parked turned out to be absolutely wonderful. Only a few inches deep in most places, it was cool but not cold, flowing quickly enough to carry away mud, but so much as to wash away stray clothing. We spent a half-hour cleaning our selves and clothes, and another forty-five minutes drying in the warm mountain air and sun. Then we gathered everything up, climbed back into the van, and drove very quietly to Cobán.