Cenotes are natural sinkholes, pits, or caves in the limestone bedrock surrounding a groundwater supply. They come in all shapes and sizes, some of which you can easily and safely swim in, and others that you can only explore (and then only in limited fashion) with scuba gear and a skilled dive leader certified in cave diving. Our group met up with Alex and Dario, both originally from Italy, to take us to Chac Mool and lead us through its two dive sites, Kulkulcan and Little Brother.
Back in Colorado, before we left on this trip, I wasn't at all sure I was going to be able to do these dives. I don't even like to ride a dimly lit, cramped elevator. Going through a pitch black cave under water? How in the world was that actually going to happen? And if I'd actually known the name of this cenote beforehand and had Googled it, my nerves probably would have been even worse; four divers on two occasions have died in Chac Mool in the last 15 months!
After my scare at the shipwreck, you might think I'd be even more psyched out this excursion, but my boyfriend knew just the right things to say to ease my mind. The trouble I'd encountered on my previous dives had been due to current; there wouldn't be any in the cenote. And the times when air had been a problem for me had been when we'd dived deep; we wouldn't even reach half that depth in the cenote.
The two of us went with with Dario, joined by my instructor friend. (His wife and my brother-in-law went with Alex instead.) Dario walked us through a detailed briefing that calmed me down even more. We'd all have our own flashlights, and we could just wave the light to signal for help if we needed it. The entire path we'd be traveling would be marked with a line of twine; just keep to the line, don't go where the signs clearly tell you not to go, and everything will be fine.
The main thing to be aware of were the haloclines. These would be layers in the dive where the salinity of the water changed suddenly. The two different waters would be swirling with each other, causing a visible distortion that would pass once you ascended or descended through the halocline. Don't worry when you see it; it's perfectly normal.
We geared up, putting on extra thick wetsuits for insulation in the colder water, then made our way down a path to our first dive, Kulkulcan. One last check at the surface...
...and down we went.
I was frankly surprised by how much it didn't bother me. After the fast-paced dives of the last few days, trying constantly to look everywhere, this was almost relaxing. Of course, I got the easiest position (being the least experienced diver in the group), following right behind our dive master. My boyfriend followed me, and my dive instructor was bringing up the rear. I was hardly ever more than a few feet away from hypothetical rescue. A quick kick and an outstretched hand, and I could have grabbed onto the dive master's fin, going for that very reassuring second full tank of air on his back.
In any case, Dario kept a nice and leisurely pace as I followed him and the line down into the darkness:
You weren't always surrounded by rock; often, there was some path to the surface visible somewhere:
The only moment I really tensed up was the first time we passed through one of the haloclines we'd been warned about. It's hard to describe. One moment, the water was crystal clear, then the next, it was like looking through stained glass. I could still see the shape of the dive master in front of me, but everything was blurry and indistinct. This photo is the closest we have to showing the effect:
In that picture, there's nothing on the lens, nothing wrong with the focus. Everything at the bottom is perfectly sharp -- below the halocline -- while everything to the left and the top is obscured by the halocline. We passed through a handful of these distortions during the dive; sometimes it would last only a moment or two, while other times it lasted a good 30 seconds.
After my initial disorientation, my thoughts were actually about the two behind me. Again, I could easily grab hold of the dive master if I needed anything. But what if my boyfriend or friend were trying to signal the dive master with his light? Would he even be able to clearly see the motion? Would I, and be able to "telephone" it ahead? Fortunately, we never had to find out on that dive.
We spent 43 minutes going through Kulkulcan, but it honestly didn't feel like that long -- nor did it ever seem as harrowing as I think these pictures might make it look. And my boyfriend had been absolutely right about me doing fine in the shallower, current-free waters. I still had between 1/3 and 1/2 of my air left by the time we circled all the way back around to our starting point:
We then went back to the truck to switch out air tanks and rest a moment before heading to the second dive, Little Brother.
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