There is Nothing to Fear but...but a Really Scary Cave!

I stood in 1.5 feet of water, in a pitch black cave of marble, soaked from head to foot, trembling. I was not cold, in fact the humidity kept the cave and water of the jungle warm, but my nerves were shot. Birds I could not see screamed a high pitched warning that we should get out and then took to diving near us clacking their beaks into the slick marble mountains on either side of us. My headlamp lit the faint spot in front of me that I would need to climb up and wedge my foot into before I would jump down the next waterfall into another series of dead black pools. The crushing sound of water made it nearly impossible to shout for help, and I gripped blindly in the dizzying blackness for Jesse's hand. Tears streaked down my already wet face; I was in absolute despair. How the hell did I find myself in that situation? We couldn't go backwards, the previous waterfalls and silky smooth rock made sure of that, but moving forward almost had me paralyzed.

Let us pause for a moment and analyse how I did get into that horrific predicament. My husband may or may not have known that there would be a 2 hour hike though the steep jungle to get to the cave. He may or may not have known that there was a decent chance we would be swimming, not wading, through black pools of water. He may or may not have known that we would jump off many waterfalls in the pitch dark. What he did know, for sure, was that he knew he wanted to do this caving adventure long before we set out on this trip to Colombia. Now add in that I was trying my best to be a YES woman,  so I did not complain about the idea of caving, but then I didn't know what was awaiting me so perhaps in retrospect I might have hesitated more about joining in. Instead, blissfully unaware, I asked the desk clerk to describe the caving to me. His description was on the light side to say the least and included telling me I could wear a bathing suit if I wanted. I don't know about you, but when I hear "bathing suit" I think fun, not fear. Needless to say, his description sucked and you most definitely do NOT want to wear just a bathing suit on this nightmare.

Back in the cave: I tried to lower my 11 year old son onto a step just to the side of the next, bigger, rushing waterfall, a spot closer to the inky pool that waited below so that he wouldn't have to jump so far. Jess waited for our son, treading water, promising to catch him. My hand burned in pain as the sharp ridge of the marble dug into my palm, this handhold was the only thing that kept me from sliding down the slick front of the rock and crushing my child. At my turn, I jumped, a sharp zing of fear shooting up my spine and my heart racing a million miles a minute, I crashed into the pool, sinking far below the surface, and did the one thing they said to make sure not to do...I swallowed a giant gulp of water...of dark pool cave water...of bird poop filled dark cave water. Now, if I survived this cave, I could look forward to giardia. As I swam to the ledge, my running shoes making me a spastic swimmer, I thought of how I mocked the guide when he said "make sure you do not drink the water", telling my husband 'who would be so stupid to drink the water?' well, clearly me, I am that stupid.

Finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, (the opening of the cave, not death, although at that point I would have taken that option too) adrenaline swept through me; I needed out of that God damn cave badly. Rushing toward the opening in thigh high water, relief started to tingle in my hands. And that's when I smashed my right knee into a massive, hidden rock with the force of someone running for their life. The throbbing sent a guttural primitive cry out of me. I struggle onto a ledge, water now only up to mid calf and tried to shine my ever fading headlamp at the wound. Just then, as the birds' incessant screeching pierced the few feet we had to move in, a sharp stab hit my ass. One of those rare, freak birds attacked my ass! It was as if the cave was taking one last swing at finishing me off. I pushed ahead of the few other cavers that were trying to make their escape and climbed up onto a look out that would serve as an exit. A rope ladder in the heavy rush of the final waterfall taunted me, this cave just wouldn't give up! Jesse and our son waited at the bottom, holding onto a rope that would guide our swim against the strong current of the river to the banks of safety on the other side. Photos later would show that my leggings were see-through when wet and as I climbed down the swaying ladder, I'd put on a nice show for all the people that had come to the beautiful river to play for the day.

Exhausted we sat in the shallows of the crystal clear water of the river, the fiercely green jungle jetting thousands of feet up around us, and I cried. I wish I could say I was  doing a happy dance, feeling like a million bucks, but I didn't. I cried a good hard cry. I don't think I have ever been subjected to such a long duration of fear and my entire body shook, rattling with the intensity of it.  My husband rubbed my back and tried to give me a pep-talk. He told me how proud he was of me and how well I did, and then, just like that, he said the words that transformed my entire mood, "honey, lets go get you some wine".

*on a side note, I did not cry the entire time I was in Colombia. I seem to be selecting blog topics that were highly emotional...thus all the crying. I actually had a fantastic time and we spent most days NOT doing terrifying things. The large consumption of wine on the other hand, is a completely accurate depiction of our trip.

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com

Scratching That Itch

Waking up in Rio Claro, in our tree-house open air room, was a treat. I was happy to discover that we had not had any slithering visitors in the night, something they said could happen as you were perched in the dense jungle. A little sleep deprived from the crazy toucan that had come to visit and loudly announced his presence in the night (scaring the you know what out of me), but otherwise ready to see more of this crazy place.

After a surprisingly good breakfast, complete with Colombia's favorite rock hard, flavorless "arepa" (a fat corn tortilla kind of a thing), we set out to raft the Rio Claro's crystal waters.

*(a quick aside) Not sure how or why arepas literally swept the entire country as a good idea, but it was the single most unappealing food we'd come across. My husband had taken to making a face of repulsion any time he forced himself to try another one, it was awesomely hilarious.

Being that we live in Dixon, NM, an area known for its fantastic white water rafting, a float down a river was not exactly 'exciting', but rather a fun activity. That is until they steered our raft directly under the torrent of a waterfall. Our son, a kid that hates having water on his head, screamed in terror. He is 11 by-the-way so it was fully HIS choice to climb aboard this raft, it was not his dad and I torturing a small baby...just wanted to make that clear. With water gushing over my face, I tried to console him, yet as the guide kept us swirling in place, the other guests in the boat loving it, I worried that my child was actually going to jump overboard. Needless to say, it was a bit traumatic. One of the most impressive moments of the trip was when we finally emerged from under the waterfall, our kiddo crying, and he quickly pulled himself together setting his mind to having fun again! A pretty amazing thing for a kid with sensory issues to pull off. I was so proud of him.

The rest of the trip was filled with the guide rattling on about who knows what (remember that there is zero English being spoken anywhere in Colombia so clearly it is not happening in the jungle in the middle of nowhere) only my husband and the other Spanish speakers could say. My son happily drifted off into his imagination, staring into the wild juggle we passed. But me? I was still a little sleep deprived and my brain simply could not keep up with the translating, so while the boat full of people seemed to be having a wonderful time with tales of the history and details about what we were seeing, laughing at jokes that must have been amusing, I started to feel intensely lonely.

Just when I thought I might fall into a deep well of self pity, we pulled onto shore at a huge cave that had a current through a deep pool making it like a ride of sorts. By letting your life vest hold you up, you would let the water push you through the channel in a fast whoosh around a central island and find yourself on the other side. Once again the three of us were laughing and playing and that bond that I had envisioned we'd have, taking on adventures together, was back. Yet there was a lingering open space inside me, I realized with ultra clarity, that I had been focusing so much for 11 years on my family, that I didn't know how to be happy just being with myself, finding my own individual enjoyment. It was a strange sensation and one that would have me pondering for weeks to come.

The raft trip came to an end, leaving us standing in an emerald green field filled with white floppy eared, humpbacked cows, waiting for our ride back to the Lodge. No Colombia story would be complete without yet another insane driving detail, so of course, the truck that arrived was a surprise. This truck looked like it was there for the cows, but no, they squished a couple rafts worth of people onto the benches inside its large wooden box attached to the back of the cab, and hurled us down the road. As the truck swerved and screeched around corners, I watched the slates of the floor move and shift; yep, this was a totally ridiculous way to transport paying guests. A fine dust wafted up from the angry dirt road into our faces and everyone began to cough. No longer surprised by the 'vehicles of fear' in Colombia, my husband and I looked at each other, then we looked at our son, and then in unison, we all laughed. As I bathed in the warmth of our private family joke, I thought again about my personal enjoyment verses the enjoyment of doing things with the people I loved. The raft trip would not have been nearly as fun had I been alone, and the stories we shared over dinner not as fun if we had not experienced it together. But the nagging itch at the back of my mind struggled with feeling deserted when large gaps of time on the trip were spent 'solo'.

Safely back at the Lodge, my son and I trudged our way back to the pay-more-so-you-can-hike-more-room while my husband climbed onto the back of a motorcycle and got a 5 star thrill ride down to the next town to be reconnected with his cell phone...that he had left of the bus the day before. I know, it is totally ludicrous that we both lost our phones within 2 days of each other. Yet here we were again at the mercy of the kindness of the Colombian people to help us retrieve our belongings. Jesse would return hours later with a harrowing story of nearly being smashed by semi-trucks out on the highway and of the incredible juggling it took to get his phone back to him. He had the glow of adrenaline shinning in his cheeks as he regaled us with stories. Again that itch at the back of my mind called for my attention, how was it that he could find himself in any situation and always be jovial, engaged and excited, alone or with loved ones? What was his trick? How did he magically connect with other people, instantly becoming the best of friends and disappear into that new relationship? Was it the motherly instinct to always think of others 1st; give up my comfort and interests for the sake of the family? If I could turn that off, would I too be able to do this? Would I really want to?

That day slid into the night and filled with the strange sounds of the jungle. A bottle of wine and quite conversation with my adoring husband, while our son lay reading in bed, and that itch began to fade. Maybe I didn't need to figure it out, maybe I was over thinking it, or maybe, and hear me out on this, wine really does cure EVERYTHING?

-Cheers from the Vivác Winery Family!
www.VivacWinery.com