The Quicksand Pipe in the Maze Cave Complex: Technical Report by Donna "Cave Mud" Jones

Anonymous

I learned about the Maze Cave Complex, in the mountains of Bolivia, while planning a vacation trip to the neighboring country of Paraguay. Being a long time cave explorer I was intrigued and did some further investigation and quickly discovered that a recent expedition had mapped several caves in the area and had concluded that at least some of the known caves ought to have interconnecting passageways somewhere. There would be a new expedition in a few months, as soon as the rainy season was over, that would continue mapping and try to find some linking passageways, if they existed. Moreover, they were looking for experienced volunteers.

Within a day my vita was on its way to the expedition leaders, along with a letter expressing interest and outlining my caving background. Three weeks later I was selected. The tone of the acceptance letter was slightly condescending, implying some reservations about having a female along on such an "extended, potentially difficult and dangerous" exploration. They would, however, give me a chance, they said.

From La Paz it was still a good twelve hours over some very poor roads to our base camp. Fortunately, I was able to get a few hours of sleep on the way, although from the repeated questions I got between cat-naps about my physical conditioning, I think my doing so may have been interpreted as a sign of weakness. Three times I was asked if I wanted to pass on the trip planned for tomorrow. "That’s what I came here for," I answered each time. I don’t think it showed, but I was becoming rather irritated by their apparent doubts.

Introductions and dinner were followed by several hours of stories about all sorts of cave horrors; all designed to test whether or not I was really a caver.

First, Carlos, one of the locals in the group, told an obvious ghost story about the mysterious death of the original discoverer of the Maze Complex system. "He became ill with terrible fevers and repeated nightmares that began within two days of discovering the cave," said Carlos. "Then, exactly 1 year to the hour from his discovery he died."

Carlos’ story sounded suspiciously like the myths told about Howard Carter and the tomb of Tutankhamen, but I played along and pretended to be amazed.

Next it was Don’s turn.

In a very matter-of-fact tone, he asked, "By the way, Donna, you were informed about the cockroach nests, weren’t you?"

I said nothing.

"Well its not that big a problem," he said, waving his hand like it was really nothing. "Only two have been found so far."

Then he elaborated, "The real danger is you could fall into one. The first one was found when a local explorer fell through a weak spot in the floor into three-foot deep nest of them. He wasn’t injured physically but he went insane a few months later."

Don told the story really well and he had me believing that it could be true, although I was well aware that there simply is not enough food supply in most caves to support such a large colony of insects. Of course if there were an external supply of food maybe it could be possible.

When Don was finished I said that I had not been informed about any nests of insects. Then I added, "It’s hard to imagine the horror of falling into a nest of cockroaches. However, I have been through the tight crawl at the entrance to Spider Cave in New Mexico. That was a belly crawl through a tight, fifty-foot tunnel literally lined with Daddy-longlegs."

After keeping me up past midnight, Fred announced we would leave for the cave at 6AM.

For those of you non-cavers, it doesn’t make much difference what time it is when you are inside a cave, but the time can matter while getting to and from the cave entrance. The cave isn’t any more dangerous or intimidating at midnight than at noon, but the forest around the cave can be dangerous at night and is very hot in the afternoon. Still, it seemed such an early start was designed to test just how badly I really wanted to participate, but I said nothing.

The Maze Cave Complex is actually a region of caves; all within several superimposed layers of limestone rock originally formed in the sea millions of years ago and since uplifted by tectonic forces. In between layers of limestone are layers of other kinds of rock, including quite a bit that decays into clay, so most of the caves in the area are noted for being very muddy. Many active caves, those with flowing water, are very muddy, but the Maze cave Complex is exceptional in this respect, as I was soon to find out.

The nine members of the expedition currently on hand were divided into two groups. Our group, consisting of myself and four other, Fred, Bob, Carlos, and Don, would explore and map the primary cave, known as Maze Cave #1. The others would explore and map Cave #4, which was the nearest to Cave #1. In addition to exploring and mapping these caves, we hopped to find a connection that would link the two caves into one. It has long been speculated that many of the caves in the area are interconnected.

We were able to survey several thousand feet of passages the first two days. Many were quite straight and easy to survey. On the third day we encountered much more difficult passage, including a lot of passage requiring movement on all. There were also a couple of belly crawls through passages only about sixteen inches high and with two to four inches of loose, clay mud.

I’ve been in much worse mud - once in Missouri a group of us played around in an underground lake of red clay that turned out to be chest deep in a few places, and once in Florida I did some cave diving where the entrance is through a sand-filled underwater spring – technically it was underwater quicksand – so a few inches of mud was hardly noticeable to me. The others, however, didn’t seem to appreciate its virtues. Carlos and Bob seemed especially upset by it. I felt as if I had put them in their place a bit after they nearly balked at the second mud crawl.

Comparing our newly sketched maps after the third day it was immediately apparent that the two caves very likely did connect. Both groups reported leads with air blowing at points that were only about 300 feet apart. Moreover, air was reported "going in" by the cave #4 group and our group reported air "coming out." We all voted that our group would try to push the lead as our first task after a day of rest.

On day 5 it took us only two hours to reach the blowing lead. It was several thousand feet into the cave, some of it difficult crawling. However, we were able to get there fairly quickly because we carried a minimum of equipment this time.

We entered the lead almost exactly at 10AM, after a brunch break. Although the passage was fifteen or more feet wide, almost immediately the ceiling began to lower, and, in less than 100 feet the ceiling was only three feet above the floor. Then things got worse. The passage, both ceiling and floor, dropped downward about 18 inches. The passage height was still about three feet but there was now only about two feet of air space above a foot of very wet, clay mud.

"Well, there goes our connection," said Carlos. "I guess its back to mapping."

"But there’s still a lot of air blowing," I said, "Its only mud and the passage has to go through to something!"

"I’m not going in that," said Bob, rapidly echoed by Carlos. Most of the others seemed reluctant as well, although they said nothing.

"We came here to find the connection. Here it is. All we have to do is push through," I argued, realizing I was probably talking to a brick wall.

I was talking a bit more boldly than I felt, and I knew that, but after all the questioning of the wisdom of having a female along and the horror stories of the night before, it was not going to be me that turned around short of our goal.

Fred, our expedition leader, pondered the issue for a minute and then decided. "Let’s push it a bit and see what develops. It might only be this low for a few feet. Carlos, you and Bob can stay here if you like."

Fred stepped down into the mud, bent over, and disappeared into the mud-obstructed crawlway. He was gone less than a minute, then returned with an expression that said he really didn’t like being where he was. "It sumps out," was all he had to say.

I protested, "It can’t sump out, there’s air flowing strongly."

Well it almost sumps out. The ceiling just drops down lower and lower. You can’t get through." Then Fred must have seen the look of doubt on my face, because he immediately threw me what amounted to a dare. "See for yourself," he challenged.

"Would you mind if I do?" I answered politely. "I didn’t mean to question you. You’re in charge."

"No, go ahead," he answered, his face showing just a touch of increased respect for me. "Push the passage if you think you can, but be really careful. We can’t do much for you if you get into trouble."

I dropped down onto all fours in the mud and started to slog forward. The ceiling got progressively lower and the mud deepened to about eighteen inches. Ten to twelve feet in the ceiling was only ten inches above the mud. Worse, the passage ahead appeared to become narrow, in places to only a foot to a foot and a half, although it seemed to open up again fairly quickly. It would, indeed, be a formidable and intimidating challenge but it could be pushed, at least a little. However, a slight change of gear would be needed. I knew my caving coveralls would be worse than useless in mud. They would only get waterlogged and weigh me down. Also they could be lethal if the fabric were to snag on something in tight, flooded quarters. I turned around and came out.

"I told you it couldn’t be pushed," said Fred. Bob and Carlos were visibly relieved.

It can be pushed," I retorted. "But not with this heavy coverall I’m wearing."

Everyone’s jaws dropped at once as I unzipped my coveralls. "You’re going back in there?" Don and Dave both asked at once.

"Yes, the passage goes," I answered. "I’m going to push it all the way through if its possible!" I stepped out of my coveralls. Underneath, I had on a one-piece body suit. It fits like a bathing suit but is made of more rugged material. I find it’s a good last line of defense when cave mud gets inside my coveralls. Also, it’s pretty helpful in mixed company when a wade is necessary, as coveralls are pretty useless when wading. Regular clothes or even underclothes just get, and stay, wet and can lead to hypothermia after awhile. A wetsuit is warm but also provides so much buoyancy you can get pinned up against a low ceiling. The only alternative is to go in half-naked. I also pulled off my boots and replaced them with a pair of wet suit booties I always carry for wading in a wet cave.

I had on my body suit, booties, and caving helmet. I had two lights on the helmet, both with fresh batteries, and a penlight strapped with Velcro to my wrist. I had a two-way cave radio built inside my helmet that could communicate – probably – with the others as long as there was a reasonable air passage between us. Other than that I had nothing.

After stuffing down every energy bar I had, I went in.

It took me a little longer to reach the turn-around point. I knew it might be a long crawl and wanted to conserve my strength. When I got there I began checking what little gear I had.

"Donna, where are you?" the radio suddenly crackled. "Donna, Donna?"

It took me a few seconds to drag my hand up from the muck beneath me and flip the radio control to talk.

"Here I am, I’m sorry," I said.

"Oh, where breathing again… Keep in touch Donna!" said Fred with obvious relief.

"Sorry, the radio was set to receive only," I explained.

"Okay, save the batteries," he said, "But keep calling in!"

"Will do," I promised.

"What’s you situation," Fred asked, finally returning to business.

"Well?" I paused, looking around as best I could in the very tight space. "I’m a few feet past the point where you and I turned around before. I can see about eight feet ahead. The ceiling seems to lower to about six inches and then the passage turns to the left. It gets sort of narrow about the same place the ceiling is lowest."

"How narrow?" asked Fred.

"About a foot to a foot and a half, I think, but that’s in the air space. It could be wider underneath."

I heard Fred choke a little before he shut off the microphone as Don blurted something out. I didn’t have to hear what Don said. Fred’s shutting off the microphone told me it was something about the passage possibly being even narrower underneath.

"How deep is that mud?" Fred asked as he finally came back on the radio.

"I can’t feel the bottom!" I replied, trying to sound confident.

"Oh my g…," I heard Fred say before he cut of the microphone again.

If Fred was trying to avoid raising my level of alarm he needn’t have bothered. My own words about not being able to feel the bottom had just about sent me over the edge. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears and for a moment I began to hyperventilate.

"Come on now Donna, keep your head!" I said to myself. "Breathe deep and slow!"

Fred came back on the radio, "What are you going to do?" he asked.

The sound of Fred’s voice brought me back from the edge and I calmed down quickly.

"Donna, what are you going to do?" Fred asked again.

"I’m pushing on," I answered.

Lying on my chest and holding my head just high enough to keep my face out of the muck, I began pulling myself forward a few inches at a time. It took a good five minutes to move as many feet. Then the ceiling was down to the point where I just could not go any further without a change of position. I took of my helmet. I would have to push it ahead or pull it behind me until I was through the low spot. Slowly and very laboriously I rolled onto my back. Then I reached forward with one arm, grabbed a hold of a protruding edge on the ceiling, and pulled myself forward about six inches. My other hand trailed behind, dragging the now upturned helmet. Repeating this about ten times, with stops to catch my breath in between, and I was nearly at the low spot. At this point I had to twist slightly back onto my side to worm through the narrow point. My right ear was in the mud as I pulled through the narrowest point and for a few seconds I had to put the right half of my face into the mud as well.

Finally, I was through the lowest and narrowest point. The ceiling was now back to ten inches and the passage width was several feet.

In a cave, most people expect to hear dripping or even running water and echoes of every human sound that occurs. A tight passage, however, tends to absorb sound and deadens any sound that occurs. All sense of reverberation and depth is lost. A person could be twenty feet away and screaming, but might not be heard at all from around a corner. The effect is eerie, almost as if being in a completely self-contained and very limited world, totally isolated from anyone or anything else. If solitary confinement cells absorbed sound like a narrow cave passage, a lot of inmates would go stark, raving mad after a day or so confined in one. If there’s anything that absorbs sound more effectively that a rough rock surface, its mud. With ten inches of air space between the rock ceiling and the mud, this sound effect was already as oppressive as any I have ever experienced. Past the low point I had just come through and around the first major bend in the passage, it was positively painful.

I called in on the radio.

"Fred, Hello, Fred, anyone there?" I called.

There was no answer. I really needed to hear a human voice at that moment. "Where could they be," I thought with rapidly rising level of alarm. "Hello, hello, Fred, where are you?"

Then I realized the radio was set to receive. I re-set it.

"Hello, anyone there?"

"Yes, Donna, we hear you," came the reply almost immediately.

"I’m through," I gasped with relief.

"Through to the other cave?" Fred asked incredulously.

"No, through the low spot I told you about. I’ve come about ten feet from where I was before," I said, still breathing hard from the exertion.

"What’s ahead?" Fred asked.

"Just a minute, I’ll see," I replied.

I looked down the passage ahead, then reported what I could see.

"Well it looks pretty straight as far as I can see," I started. Of course, one cannot see very far with a tiny caver’s light in a very small passage.

Then I continued, terrifying myself as I spoke. "It looks as though the ceiling drops down again. And not just for a foot or so. It looks like it gets really low."

"Does it sump?" Fred asked.

"No, there’s still air moving," I said.

"Donna, the passage could still sump. The air could be coming through lots of tiny cracks above the passage," Fred informed me ominously.

"I don’t want to hear that, Don’t say that!" I said, trying to keep myself calm.

"Sorry," was the only reply.

"Listen," I said. "I’m going to leave the radio on as I push through here, but I won’t be able to talk because I’ll have to take my helmet off and won’t be able to reach it easily. But keep talking, even if you’re just talking among yourselves. It really helps to hear you’re voices; it’s so quiet in here."

I pushed ahead, dragging myself slowly through the sloppy mud. The ceiling height lowered to eight inches. Then it lowered to six inches. I had to take off my helmet again and drag it behind me to go any further. It was simply impossible to keep both my lights and my face out of the mud without taking off the helmet. I twisted around onto my back and side again. I was in a sort of half backstroke, half sidestroke position, with one arm reaching ahead and one trailing behind. The ceiling lowered further. Pushing the passage any further looked impossible but there was plenty of air blowing so there had to be at least some air space all the way through to something – unless Fred’s last suggestion was accurate.

The ceiling was down to four inches. With my main light on my helmet back down by my waist, I was in total darkness most of the time. I held the penlight in my lead arm, so I had an occasional glimpse of the passage ahead, but most of the time I was totally blind. Worse, I suddenly found myself with my face butted up against a protrusion from the ceiling.

I tried to back up. I discovered, to my utter horror, that I could not do so. I was absolutely unable to back up as much as an inch.

Suddenly, I was startled by a very loud noise, the noise of a human scream, an utterly primal scream that was repeated several times. I thrashed around, scraping my arm and banging my head slightly against the ceiling. It must have been half a minute before I realized it was me that was screaming.

I stopped screaming more from exhaustion than any real re-establishment of control. I was still trapped. I tried to think. Going backward was impossible, but perhaps I could roll over and make progress on the other side.

Slowly, I rolled further onto my back, pressing my head further down into the mud and bringing my lead arm back to join the one holding the helmet. I had to be very careful not to lose that helmet. Without the reserve light on the helmet I could easily be stranded in total darkness if the penlight failed. That would mean a long, cold, lonely death up to my face in mud. Slowly I rolled over onto my left side, buoyancy from the mud pressing my nose against the ceiling along the way.

I switched hands on the helmet and began bringing the left arm forward through the enveloping muck. It was working.

I was now lying on my left side in a small pocket of air space. Half my face was under the mud, and, with the penlight still on my right wrist, I was in total darkness. The air around my face was suddenly seemed quite stale as though something was obstructing the flow of air. My lips kept bumping up against something solid, but unattached to the cave itself.

Slowly, I dragged the helmet forward to a point near my chest. Very carefully I shifted the penlight to my left hand and brought it forward. It’s light was welcome beyond articulation, but the first thing I saw momentarily set me screaming again. An inch in front of my eyes and kissing my lips was the partially submerged skull of a raccoon-sized animal.

For a moment I was totally overcome by a combination of fear and revulsion. Closing my eyes and clenching my teeth I stifled my screaming.

"What am I doing here?" I babbled to myself, shaking uncontrollably.

Fred’s voice, now within range of my hearing on the helmet radio, brought me back to coherence.

"Donna, Donna, what’s wrong?" he asked frantically. He must have heard my screaming.

For a few moments I was breathing to hard to respond. Eventually I caught my breath enough to gasp, "Okay… I’m okay… Just came face to face with a dead animal… the skull of some animal. Startled me…I’m okay… I think."

Talking calmed me down quite a bit.

"What’s been going on?" he asked.

"I got stuck for awhile." I said, trying to remain calm about it. "I got myself pinned up against a rock. I found out you absolutely cannot go backwards in deep mud."

How bad is it?" he asked.

I tried to sound very matter of fact, "Well I don’t know how deep it might be, but I have about four inches of air space. There have been times when I had one eye under the mud."

For a moment there was no response from Fred, but I could hear what sounded like someone retching in the background.

Fred came back on, "Sorry… Carlos just lost his lunch."

After a slight pause, Fred indicated that Don and Bob were very nervous and Carlos was nearly hysterical.

"I’m not real happy myself," he continued.

"Tell them not to be ashamed," I said. "It IS pretty rough in here. Real rough!"

After a slight pause, I added, "I’m not exactly comfortable myself," and suddenly found myself laughing uncontrollably at my understatement.

For the next thirty feet the passage continued pretty much unobstructed, with the air space varying between four and ten inches. Most of the way I was able to traverse by crawling forward in a prone position and holding my head up by hyperextending my neck. This time I was very careful about planning my route a bit further in advance. In an open passage of that size I would normally take only fifteen or twenty seconds to cover the distance, even tugging a small pack along, but with the passage almost completely filled with mud I was able to move only about two feet per minute.

After thirty feet, the passage turned to the right. When I turned the corner I was not a happy camper. It sumped! Right in front of me, the ceiling touched the surface of the mud.

"Fred!" I called in on the radio.

"Go ahead." came the immediate reply.

"It sumps," I said fatter of factly.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Is there any air flow?" Fred inquired.

"Yes, its just what you said might happen. At least its not too narrow to turn around."

"Ah, listen, Donna?" Fred began. "I’m sorry I doubted you. You’re a hell of a lot better caver than any of us."

"Thanks," I said, flushing with pride.

If Fred’s words were meant to shore up my morale, they worked marvelously. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so sorry for myself, and I wasn’t quite as ready to give up.

"Wait a minute," I said. "A lot of sumps open right up in just a few feet, sometimes a few inches. Let me look around a bit before I head back."

I began examining the rock barrier in front of me, looking for cracks with air flow. Over on the right side of the passage I found one that looked promising. There was a crack about two to three inches wide that appeared to lead straight through, and it had a lot of air whistling through it.

Slowly I maneuvered into position in front of the crack and shined my light through it.

"I found a crack with air flowing!" I reported to Fred triumphantly.

"What?" he came back.

"It looks like the sump is about three feet wide, then it opens up. I can see plenty of headspace in there. At least a foot."

"Donna, don’t be insane!" Fred shouted into the radio. You just told me it took you a full minute to go two feet!"

"I can go a lot faster if it’s just two feet," I said.

"How much faster?"

"I can go twice as fast," I answered.

"That’s still thirty seconds." Fred warned sternly.

"True, but I should be almost through to the other cave. It’s either push through or come all the way back."

"I guess it’s your call," Fred conceded.

"I’m going to try it," I said.

I prepared very carefully. There seemed to be plenty of sideways space under the sump, so the first thing I did was to push my helmet through the mud as far forward as I could. I left it wedged up against the submerged ceiling just to the left of where I would have to pass.

Next I maneuvered onto my stomach with my head lined up with the crack that marked the spot where I knew the distance to airspace to be two feet.

Taking several rapid, deep breaths and closing my eyes tightly, I suddenly plunged my head completely under the mud and pulled myself forward as far as possible under the overhanging rock. I estimated I was a third of the way through. Then, using the natural buoyancy that kept pushing me upward against the ceiling, I rolled slowly onto my back. Reaching forward and grasping rocks in the ceiling, I pulled myself further in. Now I figured I was two-thirds of the way through. I reached forward again and pulled again. I expected to be through but there was still nothing but rock above my face. One more time I reached forward. This time my fingers caught what felt like an edge. I pulled myself forward of the edge.

I knew I was through but my head was still submerged in the mud and there was now nothing solid to use to lift my face clear of the enveloping mud. I rolled again, back into a facedown position and clawed my way to the surface.

There was so much mud sticking to my face I was not absolutely sure I have surfaced, but I knew I had to breathe. I knew that in the next few seconds I would either breathe fresh air for the first time in more than half a minute or I would begin the agony of choking to death on a throat full of mud. It felt very good indeed when my deep, full inspiration was all air.

After another ten feet of passage with mostly six inches of clearance, I was through into passage with more headroom. It was still only the ten inches that had stopped Fred, but that was a lot better than four inches. The passage soon opened up further and was much easier going the rest of the way. Eventually I emerged into an open passageway and immediately found a marker left by our other group. They were supposed to be waiting for me to guide me out of Cave #4, as I had never been in that cave and had no map, but they had apparently given up. Obviously they never believe the passage could be pushed.

I contacted Dave on the radio and filled him in. He was absolutely livid the others were not at their assigned posts.

"Pack up," I heard him order the others. "We’re going to have to find the other group and get to Donna from the other side."

I could hear activity in the background as Fred told me what he was doing. He warned me it might be six to eight hours before they could reach my position, and that was if they could locate the other group right away.

"What do you need them for?" I asked. "There obviously not very reliable.

"They’ve got the only map of that cave," Fred answered. "It’s a complex maze cave and none of us has ever been in it."

"Fred, wait!" I said. "Stay where you are."

"You can’t stay there forever," Fred countered.

"No, but trying to find the other group and then trying to find me involves too many unknowns," I said.

"True, but what alternative do we have?" Fred asked.

"Well, I can come back through," I said. Then I continued, "It took four hours coming through, it should take a little less coming back."

Fred started to put up more of an argument, but he knew the truth was I was right. As bad as the mud was, it was a known (more or less) quantity. The alternative involved several unknowns.

So, after a brief rest, back into the mud I went.

Going back through the passage I would later name "The Quicksand Pipe" was actually much easier than going in. The wind wasn’t in my face and I knew exactly what to expect. The mud wasn’t any thinner, of course. Nor was it any shallower.

When I finally emerged, completely covered with mud, everyone seemed very glad to see me. For the next several hours as we made our way out of the cave they seemed as talkative as usual but everyone seemed to speak very quietly, as if they had seen something profound. It was not until I was getting cleaned up in a shower, nearly six hours later, that I realized their awestricken quiet was the result of two large globs of clay stuck in my ears.

To the Reader: The above is a work of fiction and involves all fictional characters. Unfortunately, as much as I would like to meet her, "Donna ‘Cave Mud’ Jones" is also fictional. However, the situation described is not very different from those that really are encountered in some caves. The main difference is that what is 4 inches of air space above 18 inches of mud in the story is usually 4 inches of air space above 18 inches of muddy water and 6 inches of mud in reality. There is no such place as the Maze Cave Complex, although there are many places, even in the US, that are not very different. The entrance crawl of Spider Cave, however, does exist and has, in the past, been lined with Daddy-longlegs at certain seasons of the year.