CARA BLANCA, Belize – Our first two days of searching are laden with humidity. Traversing the ridges and ravines of the Cara Blanca hills leaves us drenched in sweat as we ward off heat exhaustion beneath corozo palm leaves.
Two years ago, during a helicopter reconnaissance over this dense jungle in central Belize, wildlife photographer Tony Rath spotted what is now our target: a cavernous hole overflowing with green vegetation, its edges marked by stark white cliff faces. We tried to reach the sinkhole last year, but our attempts were thwarted by a cliff we could not descend. This year, we’re trying again. This time, we came prepared.
As always, we have obtained permission from the Belize Institute of Archaeology. Our team includes Rath, videographer Thomas Hines, Forest Service and University of Montana biologist Thomas Franklin and members of the Valley of Peace Archaeology team.
The ancient Maya viewed openings in the earth, such as this sinkhole and a nearby pool, as portals to the underworld – a realm within which deities and ancestors reside. The Maya often left offerings at portals like these. The Cara Blanca area is host to ceremonial architecture near wet pools (cenotes) and dry sinkholes. The Maya visited these sites when droughts struck the area nearly 1,200 years ago to plead with Chahk, the rain god, to bring rains. This sinkhole might hold just such offerings that have yet to be recorded by archaeologists.
Yet, we have been unable to approach the sinkhole from the north. Today, our final day of exploration, we have just one option left: We have to first reach the pool and try to climb, rather than descend, to the sinkhole.
With machetes and a compass, we approach the pool from the south, crossing the confluence of two creeks, temporary hunting camps set up by poachers and buried ancient Maya mounds. Finally, we reach the southern edge of the pool. The water is clear and inviting and we jump in to snorkel beneath the sinkhole. Perhaps there is a cave that connects the two portals?
As soon as we jump in, however, a family of baby crocodiles greet us. We know that their nest (and parents) aren’t too far behind.
From here, we climb. Black poisonwood, the sap of which burns your skin, lines the cliff face that we climb. We try to avoid the innocuous looking but dangerous trees, but it will be impossible to leave the jungle unscathed.
We are skirting a ridgeline, a 50-meter drop to the pool on our east, when the ground suddenly disappears before us. We have found the sinkhole! Now, it is time to put the 30 pounds of climbing gear to use.
Franklin, a technical climber, sets a primary and secondary anchor to a trumpet tree just 10 meters from the sinkhole edge. As we rappel over 40 meters into the unknown, we hope that the roots hold …
As we descend into the sinkhole, we are submerged in thick humidity. We immediately notice that all of the vegetation is new growth: This portal is young! A cave in the porous karstic limestone likely collapsed to form this much larger sinkhole, likely burying any potential Maya offerings.
We circumnavigate the bottom of the sinkhole, exploring a few narrow caves at its base and drinking water filtered by its limestone walls. We confirm that there are no ancient Maya offerings here. But, as the blue-crowned Motmot sings to us from its trees, we are reminded that spaces like this one drew the Maya to Cara Blanca’s natural and constructed sacred spaces from nearby cities — both of which we will explore in coming blogs.