Re: [Texascavers] Cueva de los Tayos

[bmorgan994]

And to think that Outside magazine used to have writers like David Quammen!
I think they are trying to limbo lower than National Geographic;
nevertheless, any story in which the Mormonians continue their search for
the golden plates is good.

 

Certain elements of the story do ring true, not the part about the golden
plates, but about the Shuar Indians.

 

In 2001 the Sleazeweazel explored a different "Cueva de los Tayos" located
about thirty miles northeast of the one in the Outside story. Ann Harman and
I had just gotten back to Macas after amazing adventures among the
unreconstructed Shuar along the Rio Mangosiza. We were accompanied by an
extraordinarily intelligent Shuar shaman shyster named Juan Uyunkar. He was
functionally telepathic. You can look him up online. Unfortunately some time
after our trip he made it to the big time, went to Canada, and inadvertently
killed a woman by squirting too much nicotine up her butt. 

 

After we made it back to Macas he asked how we liked our ordeal, I said it
was great, but was pissed because the Shuar would not allow us to visit any
of their sacred caves or waterfalls. He said no prob, I know where we can
go! So we took the bus north to an incredibly scary bridge that crosses the
Rio Pastaza. There we found a "townie" Shuar family which Juan bamboozled.
He talked them into believing that they were all relatives. Juan could talk
anybody into anything. They had all heard of the cave but hadn't been there.
It was said to be "nearby". When an Indian says nearby it could mean
anything. 

 

In the morning we set out on foot. Ann was not feeling well so she stayed
behind. Juan and I were accompanied by #1 slacker son who had actually
decked himself out in war paint. It went well with his sneakers. We headed
down the raging Pastaza but the boy soon became nervous and explained that
his family didn't really own the cave. He insisted that we take a tiny path
through knee deep mud to avoid the riverbank where we might meet hostiles.
Aside from that the main path was said to be terrible. After about an hour
of making no progress we returned to the riverbank and were soon confronted
by an angry Indian with a gun. He explained in no uncertain terms that
townie Indians were not allowed to bring Gringos into Shuar territory to
visit caves that they do not own. Juan pacified the fellow with his usual
magic, but suggested that the boy and I continue downriver. We went another
mile or two then waited for Juan who eventually arrived. The fellow had
agreed to let us pass if we agreed to visit the real owner on our way back
and engage in the traditional spit beer ceremony. 

 

The jungle along the base of the Andes is incredibly intense, more so than
any other I have ever explored. The river was a raging torrent. There was a
path, but the going became ever more difficult, especially when we entered
the limestone zone. In the late afternoon after having walked about 12 miles
we finally arrived at the cave. Needless to say our lights were totally
inadequate.

 

The cave was a tall linear stream passage. Far above us the Tayos (oilbirds)
made an infernal din. There was a moderately interesting biota, amblypygids,
etc, but I feel certain that if we had climbed into the upper chambers there
would have been abundant creepy crawlies. The most interesting thing about
the cave were the petroleum speleothems that could be lit with a bic. The
best part, as with most caves, was leaving. When we did it was almost dark
and we were very deep in the jungle. We found the path to the owner's house
and went there. We were sure to shout our arrival for the Shuar are heavily
armed and trigger happy.

 

A spit beer ceremony consists of the biggest braggarts, which in this case
were the owner and Juan, trying to outdo each other by reciting their
personal list of murder victims, and those of their relatives. Meanwhile the
little woman brings gourd after gourd of spit beer. It was the real stuff,
fairly good and actually made of spit. We guzzled gallons until about
midnight, then it was time to leave.

 

Juan had been making fun of me for being old and clumsy, a typical Gringo,
so I decided to show him a thing or two and headed down the path toward the
river as fast as I could walk with no light. This despite the fact that I
have crippled feet that had already gone arthritic. The boy kept up with me
but Juan fell behind. It was a stupid thing to do in the land of Bothrops
which generally only bite at night. When that happens you get either a dead
Indian or a one legged Indian. Eventually we rejoined the river where the
going became much worse. The gallery forest was so tall that not a glimmer
of starlight made it through the canopy. The portion of the "trail" that we
had initially avoided was the worst. The trail had completely metastasized
and had waist deep mudholes. About 3am we made it back. I asked Ann if she
had been worried but she said, "No, despite all odds you always come back". 

 

Slea

[Texascavers] Mars Robot Cave Dogs

[Mark Minton]

Check out the cave-exploring robot dogs developed for exploring Mars:
.

 

Mark Minton

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