Cave diving is a challenge in the best of circumstances, but managing fear after a few unnerving experiences can plague even seasoned cave divers. Pierre Constant shares his insights and perspectives on the mindset in cave diving.
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When you are young, you are bold. You have no fear of anything, being naturally confident, especially if you have plenty of muscles, tattoos and are stuffed with a big ego. All in all, a strong, self-assured attitude. You are ready to tackle any challenges that would boost your self-esteem. It is a zest for adventure, a visceral pull towards the unknown and the excitement of an adrenaline rush. Cave diving can lure you into a new dimension when you are mentally ready for the exploration of the underworld.
As you get older, however, the situation seems to change. It is a psychological matter, of course, but you are prone to be affected sooner or later. Is it because your physical condition is deteriorating? Or is it that your self-confidence is slowly fading away? You become more aware of the risks and dangers involved. How will you cope with unexpected hazards or adverse circumstances? You surprise yourself by getting stressed out before the experience has even started. Your sense of awareness reaches a new peak, and the foolhardiness of youth seems to have abandoned your inner self. I call this altered state of mind the fear of cave diving.
Mind you, I am not new to diving, having done it all over the planet for 50 years. I started cave diving 25 years ago (how time flies!), in Papua New Guinea, where I had discovered a fabulous cave in a turquoise blue waterhole at the base of a 40m-high limestone cliff. This was in the jungle of Los Negros Island, next to a crocodile-infested saltwater lagoon.
Back then, I began to explore with a ridiculous torch, but after a hundred metres and some curves in total darkness, I realised that a proper cave diving course was compulsory. This I eventually did with the Cave Divers Association of Australia (CDAA) in South Australia in 2003, starting with the “Cave” level, before progressing to the “Advanced Cave” level in 2007, using back-mounted twin tanks.
In the following years, I continued solo cave diving in Papua New Guinea, specifically in Manus, where it all began. Later on, in Madagascar, I discovered some impressive caves with fossil bones of extinct dwarf hippopotamuses and skulls of dwarf horned crocodiles.
In 2017, I made the step up to the TDI Full Cave Diver sidemount course in Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico, returning every year after that to explore new cenotes and cave systems with bona fide cave diving guides. Finally, I took the Stage Cave Diver Course and Diver Propulsion Vehicle (DPV) Course in Tulum in 2022, which were challenging yet exciting.
I continued my solo cave diving explorations in Madagascar until 2023. Slowly, I began to feel an inner tension creeping in before cave diving, which I could not ignore. Nonetheless, I did not want to be conditioned by it! The truth is, I did have my own scary experiences.
Unnerving experiences
The first time I used sidemount in Madagascar and the X-Deep wing configuration was, one might say, “hectic”. Upon returning from a 24m-deep dive in a long tunnel, my wing, full of air, was pulling me up. I could not flush the air out with the front purge at heart level. No surprise, I ended up glued to the ceiling of the cave and had to crawl my way backwards towards the exit. Not the most comfortable situation, you will agree, but a memorable one…
I understood later on that I had to flush the air out from the lower purge at the back of the wing and, in a horizontal position, lift my backside at the same time. Somehow, I believed erroneously that I did not have enough weight, even though I had 2kg already. Since then, I have never used any weight, but made sure I was flushing air out correctly. Being slim and fit, I am negatively buoyant.
When I was still diving caves with a single steel tank, I once took a T-right on an existing line and followed the tunnel to the far end. On the way back, I saw a line branching to the left, and I assumed it was the way I had come from. To my astonishment, I reached a dead end, neither recognising the passage nor the zebra stalagmites stemming from the cave floor. Struck with fear, my heart pulsating, I realised I had only 90 bar left in my tank and was still a long way from the exit.
While stressed out, trying to keep calm and control my breathing was not easy. I made a beeline back to the start and, luckily, made it to the safety stop just in time. Another lesson learned: Never take your eyes off the main line, look for any hidden T’s and place cookies when necessary to mark your way back.
Return to the scene
So, here I was, back in Tulum, Mexico, three years after my last visit. Two years had elapsed since I last went cave diving in Madagascar. A refresher was needed, and I was downright anxious. Oddly, I thought to myself, was this a premonition?
My instructor took me to a site ominously named Jailhouse. A short drive to the west, in the direction of Chetumal, we took a left onto a deeply potholed road. The once-upon-a-time natural sinkhole in the jungle had been renovated by the local owner, who had initially placed barbed wire around it to prevent his cows from falling in. Then, he built a stone wall to encircle it.
A slippery wooden stairway led down to the water’s surface. The water was murky green and very hot. It rained a little bit as the clouds gathered overhead. “A ‘tormenta’ is coming,” reckoned my instructor. Ducking under the limestone overhang, we were met with cooler, 25°C water, and it cleared up as if by magic. We took a T-right, then did a jump left towards the White River.
Despite my initial apprehension, I managed just fine, with my camera in hand. It was a 48-minute return dive through a tunnel with cave formations, including columns, stalagmites and draperies—but nothing special, photographically speaking.
I messed up a bit upon exit, unable to handle the bungee cords wrapped around the tank necks, and it took me some time to get rid of the tanks. Once again, it all comes to the right movements of your hands, and you are expected to do this with your eyes closed! There is no secret: Training and repetition are the keys to a stress-free dive.
Yax Be
The successive dive at Yax Be (“the green way”) started in the same sinkhole. Down the initial stretch of line, it was a T-left, then a jump right and a jump right again. We met a halocline at 18m, where freshwater mixed with saltwater, creating a blurry layer, and then we entered a very clear saltwater passage. There were a few decorated chambers with white walls and some minor restrictions. The dive had a maximum depth of 23 metres, with a total dive time of 53 minutes. I noticed an area with burn marks and charcoal remains. “A human skeleton was found in one of the passages,” my instructor later explained. Traces of prehistoric occupation.
Cenote Coati Mundi
The following day saw us heading north to Cenote Coati Mundi (in Sistema Camilo), a delightful spot at the end of a new “lotizacion”. A pretty pool of water next to a small limestone cliff, with water lilies at the surface and a couple of islets with graceful palms. Quite a few great kiskadee birds (Pitangus sulphuratus), which were yellow with a black and white striped head, came to visit as we geared up.
Swimming upstream, T-left, with an average depth of 18 metres, the cave was long and very dark, which gave me the creeps a little bit. Frankly, I do not enjoy dark environments, as I find them oppressive, gloomy, and not optimal for pictures. There was not much in terms of decorations (speleothems), as the tunnel curved up and down. The temperature on the dive was a balmy 26.3°C, with a maximum depth of 19.7m, for a total dive time of 48 minutes.
Sac Be Ha
On the third day, my self-confidence returned. After much deliberation, the dive guide and I decided that we would dive Sac Be Ha (“sac be” means “white road”, while “ha” means “water” in Mayan1). The place was accessible from the roadside and marked by an orange-red flame tree (Delonix regia). The landowner, a local woman, took a while to open the gate because she did not know my dive guide.
The jungle atmosphere was overwhelming as we parked the car. A stone stairway to the site descended underground at a right angle. Some inquisitive turquoise-browed motmots (Eumomota superciliosa) sang in the nearby trees and approached for a closer look.
We had to crawl under an overhang in shallow water, dragging the tanks to a small clearing. A solution pit rose above us like a chimney, with light pouring down. On dive one, we went T-right, T-right.
The cave was clear, with white walls and an average depth of 7m. In a rather tight passage on the way back, I turned around to take a photo of my dive guide approaching. Unfortunately, unaware of my surroundings, I knocked off a couple of minor stalactites. I was rightly scolded by the dive guide on the way out and even told not to bring the camera along on the next dive.
On the next dive, the plan was to go T-left, T-right, T-left, T-right and again T-right. Snaking up and down the tunnel took a long time. Leading the dive on the return, I tried to make sure I did not miss any T’s. Nevertheless, it happened once, as the T was hidden behind a rock. “Do not cut out any angles!” warned my dive guide. Getting lost as a solo diver is the recipe for a fatal ending.
Cenote Monkey Dust
Cenote Monkey Dust, a part of Sistema Dos Pisos, was a scenic location in the Yucatán jungle that we reached after driving through a mega dumping ground in the middle of nowhere. “People pay the landowners to be able to dump their garbage here,” lamented my dive guide. I found it revolting and saddening.
With the help of a porter to carry the tanks, it was a short walk in the forest, with tree roots crossing the path. The site was a double-entrance cave, in the shape of an umbrella, over an underground lake. An unstable boardwalk crossed to a green clearing on the other side. It was an open cenote, already filled in the centre, with a crescent of water on the periphery. Vegetation was omnipresent.
Diving under an overhang, the cave plunged to a depth of 8m, where a T-junction was found. A swarm of little, shiny fish pursued us for a while, reflecting the light of our torches. We swam upstream for a 64-minute round-trip dive, and downstream later for a 75-minute return dive. It was a beautiful cave, with various chambers adorned with stalactites, stalagmites and columns, as well as helictites on the ceiling.
Towards the end of the first dive, my primary light went dim, and I switched on the secondary light on my helmet—it was a reminder that three lights are necessary for safety. When the lights turn off, your life turns off, too—as simple as that!
Protect your ears
Walking back to the pick-up truck after a successful dive, the dive guide handed me a little bottle. “What is that?” I asked. “Hydrogen peroxide and vinegar solution for your ears.” I got the point at once. Rinsing your ears after a cave dive helps prevent bacterial infection.
I suddenly recalled an incident that occurred during a dive at Regina three years before. At a depth of 20m, the dive guide had descended into a saltwater passage of absolute beauty, when I felt instant pain in my right ear. I knew I could not push forward without injuring my ear and risking a perforation of the eardrum. With an up-and-down movement of my torch, I signalled the guide frantically. The turnaround was a must, and I prayed that nothing would go wrong on the way back. In short, always listen to your body and act accordingly before it is too late.
Cenote Caterpillar
The last day of cave diving had arrived, and I was feeling more relaxed now. Just to test my sense of calm, my dive guide had a last tricky card up his sleeve. Cenote Caterpillar, part of Sistema Sac Actun, the longest cave underwater system in the world, was a heart-shaped hole in the middle of an uninspiring, empty area filled with small, grey rocks. A Caterpillar excavator had once fallen into this hole, roughly a metre deep, but had since been extracted. However, in my mind, I had the romantic notion of a caterpillar that would eventually transform into a butterfly. So, I was rather perplexed by the name.
We geared up in shallow water, and, as I landed my left hand on a rock to keep myself steady, I was stung by an unhappy bee on the underside of a finger. Painful. I followed the dive guide into a tiny hole on the right to a T-junction down the slope. “There is a bit of a restriction at first, then it will open up,” my dive guide reassured me.
Cenote Caterpillar turned out to be a wormhole all the way downstream, where I had to squeeze into narrow, tight passages, banking right, banking left, going up and down, trying to protect the camera lens as I truly feared scratching it. It was an uncomfortable dive on the edge of claustrophobia, which I did not enjoy at all. The dive guide had fun, though. I turned around at 150 bar to lead the way back, and was glad to make it to the green window of the exit.
Cenote Xulo
I would not bring my camera along on the second dive upstream. When my dive guide mentioned that it was even worse, with a succession of restrictions, I gave up on the idea of the second dive altogether. Instead, I chose to dive Xulo (also known as Uku Cusam, in Sistema Caterpillar), a cenote nearby, which I had visited three years earlier.
The old caretaker was still around with his dogs. I handed him the 300 MXN entrance fee, and we prepared our gear in the well-lit underground cavern. A small party of locals was having lunch by the water with a few beers. I asked them politely to move aside and lower the volume because they were slightly tipsy and rather loud.
The cave was magnificent and large, with plenty of stalactites, stalagmites, pillars and showers of helictites hanging from the ceiling. It was a clear cave with white walls. After a third set of double arrows on the main line, my dive guide fancied a jump to the left, and we entered a smaller tunnel, actually headed towards Caterpillar! My feeling of uneasiness returned as the conduit became tighter. The dive guide was excited, like a naughty kid.
I eventually shook my light up and down to signal the turnaround. It was a 63-minute dive, with a maximum depth of 9.1 metres. All in all, I was “back on the horse”, as my instructor would say.
Final thoughts
In conclusion, the fear of cave diving is a cocktail of subconscious feelings, including the fear of the unknown, the visceral fear of darkness (and hidden monsters), the fear of getting lost, the terror of claustrophobia and the loss of self-confidence—not to mention the eternal question, “What if?” There is no cure for the fear of underwater caves, as it can only get worse over time until you choose to give up on it.
However, there is a remedy, a “prophylaxis” of preventive measures. It starts with having your equipment in perfect working order, adequate training and strictly applying the rules of what you have learned in the various cave diving courses. There is no secret. This is the genuine guarantee of your survival.
Practising yoga and meditation also helps improve your inner calm and refines your utmost concentration, which are keys to full awareness. Interestingly, the fear factor also contributes to enhancing this hyper-awareness mode, known as the “red lantern” effect.
Caves are no playground for the nervous types. Your physical condition is ideally an advantage. Remember that you can stay young forever; it is all in your mind, even though you will need to challenge yourself regularly.
Just in case you were wondering, I am 70, alive and still kicking. Born in the Year of the Horse! ■
Reference: Wikipedia
1 Quintana Roo Speleological Survey
