CHRISMAS' ZOTZ

THE FIRST ZOTZ CHRISTMAS CAMPOUT

Hot Springs and Bat Caves at Las Cuevas, Nayarit

The first annual Zotz Christmas caving trip began December 30, 1987, with a two and a half-hour drive to the tiny town of Valle Verde in the neighboring state of Nayarit. ZOTZ was represented by Jesús Moreno and John and Susy Pint. Our quests were Ray Hardcastle and Cindy Vann, now residing near Washington D.C. but curiously speaking Spanish with a German accent.

We left our Bug with Mario the Beekeeper, threw all the gear in the Jeep, and headed for the awful road that leads to a virtual hidden paradise. Ray, Cindy and Jesús hoofed it all the way and found cold chicken and a hot pool waiting for them. On the topo map, this place is called Las Cuevas, The Caves. On an earlier visit we discovered that this name refers to three shelter caves, one of which As very large and “furnished” to accommodate temporary workers who live in it during the corn planting season. We understood that the floor of this shelter had been filled in to plug the entrance to a bat cave that “goes all the way through this mountain.” A local farmer had given us permission to dig up the floor and reopen the cave entrance.

Sausage Soup and Exploding Worms

On Wednesday afternoon, however, the bathtub-hot water bubbling in the pool near our tents lulled us into such a lazy stupor that no one felt like starting the dig. Besides, dark clouds had gathered overhead in pernicious defiance of John and Susy’s guarantees of fabulous weather during the “dry” season. Aside from the making of our standard Sopa de Chorizo (sausage soup), the only event of the day worth recording As Jesús’s exploding firewood trick, in which one chop of a machete produced the loud report of a bullet. After a futile attempt to demonstrate that this effect was caused by an “exploding worm,” Jesús practically admitted he had used plain old magic. What else would one expect in a place famous for its “raining trees?”

Down into the Garbage

Next morning, the men tried to convince the women that the rules of Feminism suggested their full participation in digging out the cave. They, however, suddenly reverted to the ancient role of housekeepers or. In this case, hot spring keepers, and the three men ended up with the privilege of digging down, into the garbage and trash that had accumulated on the cave floor over who-knows-how-many decades.

We started digging next to a wooden cross marking the spot were Feliz Perez died in 1939, but passing farmers told us we’d find a “long, long” tunnel under the western wall of the cave. At least half a dozen men told us this, but when we asked if they had actually seen that tunnel, they all said it had been filled in before their time. ‘Still, that’s where it is, amigos, for sure!”

The Hog’s Bali Tree

Our long channel soon turned into a tunnel, with no breakthrough in sight. Meanwhile, our visitors spoke of the other end of the cave we were searching for. It was supposed to be round the other side of the hill, “not far away,” so we packed up and started hiking. “Look for a clearing,” we had been told, “with a lone Cabra Tree in the middle of it.” We’d never heard of a Cabra Tree, but since its fruit comes in pairs ‘like large hog’s balls,” toe figured we couldn’t miss it.

Several hours later we had circled the entire mountain, after unsuccessfully examining all clearings and trees, and found ourselves back at our campsite. Beer, burgers and another hot bath put all of us to sleep long before midnight 1988 arrived to the soft drizzle of rain, the quiet plop of falling Strangler figs and a contented buzz emanating from the Hardcastle tent (that couldn’t be Cindy, could it?).

New Year’s Day brought a constant stream of bather-picnickers to our little piece of paradise, so we packed up early and headed back to our cave dig. Soon we had extended our tunnel to the point where we needed a flashlight to see what we were doing. Still no sign of a breakthrough. Then an old timer on horseback arrived and told us we were digging in the right spot - but of course it had been filled in before his time. When he brought up the subject of the “other entrance” toe told him of yesterday’s futile search. “I’ll be happy to show you where it is,” he said.

“Other Entrance” Cave

The old man, still on horseback, led us through cornfields into a thicket of weeds higher than our heads. It wasn’t exactly our definition of a “clearing,” and none of the small trees there sported hog’s balls, but that’s where the cave entrance was, a little hole only fifty cm (20 inches) high and less than a meter wide. The first few meters are a belly crawl, after which one can stand. The number of bats inside is truly impressive. They are tiny things only five cms (2 inches) long, with red bodies and white heads - possibly Mexican freetails, says Ray. They fluttered everywhere around us, and when we looked up, we discovered plenty more hanging from the ceiling only inches abov

e our heads. The floor of the cave is covered with a deep, spongy layer of guano inhabited by black beetles, several of which have now joined Jesús’s bug collection. We moved forward slowly, giving the bats plenty of time to follow our progress through the cave.

After twenty meters, the passage turns right and then left. There were so many bats in the air now, that it was like walking in a snowstorm. After a mere nine meters more, the cave ends. The “hundreds” of meters of tunnels leading to “the other entrance” exist, sad to say, only in legend, probably created when some early explorer’s candle blew out halfway into the cave. There is now a register at the far end, and toe hope it will someday list the names of visitors from Bat Conservation International, who have asked Espeleo-Club ZOTZ to inform them of large concentrations of bats in our area.

With Jesús and Ray clinging to the sides of the undulating Jeep, we made our way back to Valle Verde. We may never continue our dig, but we’ll surely be back to visit the hot pool and “Other Entrance” bat cave.