Finca Ixobel Part I

Geoff and I hung out at a Finca (that’s what they call a farm here) for a few days and quite accidentally had a good time putting ourselves in harm’s way. I wrote about it in my journal, and it ended up being quite long, so I’m going to take Geoff’s advice and send it out in a few installments - breaking at the worst possible cliff hangers. Moms, Dads: we swear we didn’t know it would be dangerous…
On August 27th we planned to spend the day on one of Finca Ixobel’s nine guided activities. We stared at the wall of sign-up sheets. Our choices were various trips horse back ridding, trekking the jungle, inner tubing or spelunking through some caves. Quite mundanely we decided to go caving. We had heard from some other guest here, who had heard from some people that he had met on his travels that it was worth while. The journey was supposed to end with the opportunity to jump 15ft into an underground river. Fun, interesting, let’s do it.
The day started out as advertised. Fifteen of us gathered by the Finca’s dinning room armed with drinking water, a flashlight, and lunch, just as the sign-up sheet had advised. Three hours of torrential tropical rain had fallen in sheets the day before causing a main river to overflow and create a secondary stream through the Finca. Every inch of soil was water logged. My feet were prunes from being wet for the last day and the humidity made it impossible to dry out. Geoff and I both opted for our hiking sandals so that we didn’t positively ruin our good hiking shoes. We had been told that the rocks in the cave were sharp so we wore socks for a little added protection.
Before we set out, an English speaking German gave us an overview: We will be following our Spanish speaking guide for a two hour hike to the caves. We will spend two hours hiking in the caves followed by a two hour hike back. There are a couple of places in the cave where we will need to swim 15 ft. or so. There will be a spot to jump into an underground river, but that’s optional. You can climb down a rope if you don’t want to jump. The guide added - with help from the English speaking German - that the rains may have caused the waters to rise so a short duck into the water through an opening in the cave wall might be necessary.
Introductory speech given, injury waiver signed, our disorderly group heads out. Some of us are as old as early fifties and some as young as early twenties. We are Canadian, American, Italian, Dutch and Israeli. What we have in common is a varying command of the English language and our names on the spelunking sign-up sheet.
We start out following a wide grassy path into the jungle that’s marred by deep muddy tire tracks. The sun is bright and the air is humid. We all instinctively hop around the puddles of dirty water and mud, sometimes even using logs as balance beams to make a crossing. One person falls into a puddle here. One person slips in the mud there. Someone fell off a log. An hour into our hike the last of us realized that it was hopeless. We were going to get wet and dirty: very wet and very dirty. After this we all slopped through the mud forgetting all attempts to avoid the dirt. My calves and knees are covered in a brown gritty spray and my feet … my feet are the worst. The sole of each one of my sandals in clinging to 1/4lbs of mud and my socks are soaked through with dirt. There are clumps of mud in my sandals that I try to wash out quickly when I go through a deep enough puddle.
We are a sorry sight against how beautiful the scenery is around us. We are surrounded by lush greenery. Three inch butterflies keep floating by with wings that impersonate the eyes of an owl. Other smaller ones are a mixture of bright yellow, vivid orange and deep red. On several occasions the guide plucks fruits or berries from the jungle and passes them out for tasting.
Two hours later we reach the base of a hill. We are moving slowly, and we are behind schedule. The hill is steep. The downpour from the day before had turned the earth on the trail to a grease and lard. This is going to be tricky. We slip and slid our way up the hill grabbing at rocks and branches to pull ourselves up what would have normally been a 15 minute climb. It took half-an-hour.
Now we need to make our way down the other side which the guide promise will be the entrance to the cave. Going up was tricky. Going down is going to be downright dangerous. I watched each person develop their own technique. Some people stood upright fumbling and grasping for branches when they slipped. Others crouched down with their feet in front of them and their hands on the ground behind them looking like a monstrous debilitated spider. The other Canadian in the group, Mike, decides that to fight gravity is pointless. He crouches down putting all hit weight on one foot and sticks the other out in front of him. Then he launches himself down the hill controlling the direction and speed of his slid with his hands. Geoff and I opt for the slip-fumble-grab-for-a-branch technique. This works out well the time that I slip and catch some bamboo right before I fall off the trail.
Regardless of the technique, we make it to the cave: hot, soaked in sweat and covered from heat to feet in mud - except of course for the guide. His black rain boots, white T-shirt and jeans are spotless, and he hasn’t shed a bead of sweat. The trip has takes 2 1/2 hours.
After a short break at the mouth of the cave for lunch I turn on my flashlight and plunge into the three feet of refreshing running water flowing into the cave. The strength of the current catches my off guard and I’m almost knocked off my feet so I grab for the stalagmites and jagged cracks in rock wall. I move forward chest deep in the water. It takes about 50ft before we turn a corner and loose completely any light coming from the opening of the cave. That’s when we loose the Dutch girl…
Please tune in next season for the conclusion… :-P