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Punta Fatima

More than often I am asked by students, friends and cave divers; what is the scariest or most dangerous dive that I have experience in my diving career? To their dismay, my answer is that I really never had a bad experience.  Oh, I have done some stupid things in my time, I admit that and I have been stressed by few particular moments.  However, there was one tragic event that took place on Sunday, May 2nd, 1987 that presented a very challenging and nerve-racking incident in my life.  It has been twenty years and I believe this story should be told.

     It was Monday evening, May 3rd, 1987 at around 5:00 P.M. when I received a radio phone call at my home in Tallahassee, Florida from Ernesto Sainz – part owner and manager of the Kappaluau Dive Center located in Akumal, Mexico (now the Akumal Dive Center).  Ernesto had successfully completed my NACD cave diving training course during the first week of August, 1986 along with Dr. Les Willis – owner of the Scuba Mex Dive Store in Paalmu.  Ernesto sounded quite stressed while asking me if I could immediately fly to Cancun as there was a missing diver in an underwater cave.  I explained to Ernesto that I lived in Tallahassee.  He asked, “Where’s that?”  I replied that it was the State Capital of Florida located approximately 20 miles south of the State of Georgia border. For me to fly to Cancun would require flying from Miami.  This would be minimum eight hour drive by car and the last flight from Tallahassee to Miami was at 6:00 P.M.  There was no time to catch it.  Besides, I had a scuba diving course lecture to give at 7:00 P.M. at the local dive store.  There was a long pause and I could hear people talking in the back ground.  After a few minutes, Ernesto said, “We will pick you up at 9:00 P.M. at the Tallahassee Airport” I said, “Are you serious?”  Ernesto replied “Be ready with your gear.”  Ernesto hung up and I stared at the telephone receiver in disbelief.  I said to myself, “I guess I am going Mexico!  I had no clue of what I was getting myself into but I always love an adventure.  A missing diver?  Who the hell could this be?  I knew that Mike Madden was in Honduras that particular week but what about Jim Coke at the Akumal Dive Shop?  Why was not he involved in this situation?

     I immediately called the Coral Reef dive store and explained to the Manager - Mike Sasnett - that there was an emergency in Mexico and I was leaving in three hours.  Mike said he would teach my scuba course while I was gone.  Friends do help friends.  I arrived at the Tallahassee Regional Airport at 8:30 p.m. and parked my truck near the aviation tower for private airplanes.  I walked up to the tower office and spoke with the air controllers.  Sure enough, a private jet was in route from Key West, Florida via Mexico and would be arriving in 15 minutes.  The jet landed and taxied up to the parking area.  Two Mexican pilots climbed out of this Goldstar 9 passenger private jet.  I was told this particular bird was considered the Cadillac of all private jets at that time.  They spoke fluent English and informed me that their boss had instructed them to pick me up.  All they knew was the boss’s son was missing in an underwater cave.  They asked me if there was a McDonald’s in town.  I explained there was close to twenty McDonald’s in Tallahassee as there were more fast food restaurants per capita than anywhere else in the world.  With two major Universities (Florida State & Florida A & M) and one Community College along with at least 10 high schools the average age of the population is 24 years old.  Yes, we had plenty of fast food restaurants.  The pilots asked me if I could get them some burgers and fries as they thrust into my hand a wad of American dollars.  I said no problem as off I went in my Toyota pick-up truck to fetch a few sacks of Big Mac’s, fries and Coca Cola’s.  When I returned with the goods I explained there was no way I could search an underwater cave without a dive buddy and I had a friend who lived in Destin, Florida who wanted to come with me.  The friend was Parker Turner. I had called Parker from my house telling what was going on and he insisted that he come along too.  The pilot asked where was Destin?  I replied that it was a three-hour drive west from Tallahassee located on the Gulf coast just east of Ft. Walton Beach.  The pilot retrieved from the aircraft this huge book.  It was an encyclopedia of all airstrips in the United States.  Now I completely understood all the talking in the background when speaking with Ernesto from Mexico as they were figuring out the runway for the Tallahassee Regional Airport.  The pilot found the local airport in Destin and viewed the length of the runway.  He said no problem!  I asked how long would it take to fly there?  The pilot replied twenty minutes.  Whoa!  I immediately ran to the telephone and called Parker.  I told Parker to get his ass in gear, as we would be there in twenty minutes.  I loaded all my equipment into the jet onto the cabin floor including my trusty double steel 104’s (one of five I used to own) filled to 3000 psi/214 bar.  We took off from the Tallahassee Regional Airport and climbed to 30,000 feet and then immediately began our descent.  Sure enough, at twenty minutes we were crossing the Choctawhatchee Bay approaching the runway to the local airport located on the south side of the bay and east of Destin.  I was impressed.  As we taxied up to the airport’s small terminal, I spotted Parker’s van and right behind him was Bill Gavin’s dark blue Chevrolet van.  All right, as Gavin was coming too!  Outstanding.

     The jet’s doorway was opened and the stairway was lowered as I walked out of the cabin, down the stairs and onto the airport’s tarmac.  I greeted and shook hands with Parker and Bill and was very pleased that Bill was coming along too. I introduced them to the pilots and we quickly loaded their gear into the cabin of the jet aircraft.  Both guys brought their steel double 104’s, as we were loaded for whatever was going to happen.  As we taxied for takeoff both Parker and Bill were full of questions.  I had little to offer for information.  The man who owned the jet I had no clue who he was except for one of the pilot’s telling his name was Carlos Hank Gonzalez.  Little did I know I would find out soon how important this man was?  I explained the phone call I received from Ernesto Sainz and the only explanation was the son of Mr. Gonzalez was missing in an underwater cave.  Where and what cave no one knew.

      The flight would take close to three hours crossing across the Gulf of Mexico from Destin to Cancun.  During that time we talked about a variety of topics while trying to sneak a few precious moments of rest and sleep.  We discussed the options of finding this person alive. At this point in the history of cave diving there had never been a rescue of a diver in a completely underwater cave.  I was convinced this person was dead as the only other clue given to me about the cave that it was next to the Caribbean Sea.  That did not make me happy as with my limited experience with caves close to the sea meant only one thing, nasty saltwater percolation.  Any time I have swam through crystal clear virgin saltwater passages, it seemed as if I had to always deal with a snowstorm and exiting in zero visibility.  In addition, there was no possibility of an air pocket (since this event I have dramatically changed my tune as many of the cave systems in the Riviera Maya have air domes or pockets).  This incident
would be the first time for any of us to perform an underwater cave body recovery.  (Since this tragedy I have recovered eight more victims from underwater caves, some being friends or acquaintances)  We discussed every possible aspect that we may encounter.  The bottom line was this; we had no clue what we were getting ourselves into.

     We were now approaching the Cancun International Airport and our adrenalin began to flow, as our adventure was about to get really serious.  We landed and taxied near to a warehouse far from the main terminal.  As we came to a halt, three Volkswagen Kombi vans drove up to meet us.  When they stopped, out jumped at least eight men and women, several dressed in white shirts and black ties.  This was the first of many big clues that this missing person was very important.  Our equipment was quickly loaded into the vans, we were asked to quickly fill out our Mexican tourist cards.  Soon as they were signed we were on the road and on the way south on the old Highway 307.  This was the famous two-lane asphalt road with no shoulders meandering through the dense Yucatan coastal jungle.  No resorts, no stores, no traffic lights, nothing.  The second big clue that this event was big was the police escort that led our entourage.  The time was now 1:30 a.m. or 3:30 a.m. in Florida, as Mexico did not observe daylights savings time in 1987.  After an hour on Highway 307, we finally slowed down and made a left turn heading east.  We drove through what appeared a gate with two stone pillars and down a hill on a narrow two-wheel dirt road.  In the distant we could see an array of bright lights, which was our third big clue, as they were huge searchlights.  Finally we were near water and I could hear the waves from the Caribbean Sea though I could not see the ocean.  There were cars and trucks everywhere.  Then I saw personnel from the Mexican Navy and Army walking around.  That was next big clue that this situation was a very serious affair.  Our vehicles came to a stop and the three of us exited.  We could see people approaching us.  I heard my name called out and I instantly recognized Ernesto.  He walked up to me and we shook hands and then we gave each other the traditional Mexican two pats on the back with our heads over our right shoulders.  I introduced Parker and Bill to Ernesto and explained that I could not do this underwater search alone.  Ernesto introduced me to a few more people and then a tall, distinguished gentleman walked up to greet us.  This man was 6’ 3” tall, white Caucasian European characteristics and without a doubt his mere presence made you look twice.  Ernesto introduced me to Carlos Hank Gonzalez.  I introduced Parker and Bill.  We all shook hands.  Though at the time I did not know it, Ernesto, a few hours later, carefully explained to me who this man was. 

He was regarded as one of the wealthiest (billionaire) and powerful men of Mexico.  He owned multi businesses such as all the taxi and bus services of Mexico City among many.  He was the ex-Mayor of Mexico City.  He was the personal advisor for four of Mexico’s past Presidents.  In addition and most important, Carlos Hank Gonzalez was a very instrumental part of the PRI (Revolutionary Institutional Party) political party that has dominated the Mexican political infrastructure for the past seventy years.  He would have been President of Mexico, however his father was born in Germany and there is a statute in the Constitution of Mexico stating that foreign-born parent cannot hold the Office of the Presidency.  (Think of Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger in the USA) His nickname was “The Professor”.

      Where were we?  We were standing at the edge of a large caleta named Chakalal, which basically is a large spring outlet.  There are two aerial photographs in my book THE CENOTES of the RIVIERA MAYA on pages 62 & 114 that I took during the winter of 1999 that clearly shows the property.  This location was Carlos Hank Gonzalez’s Caribbean home that was very secluded and before Puerto Aventuras was an idea that is now located on the north side.

     It was decided to have a review and discussion and we all walked over to the home and into the living room area.  We sat down at various chairs and couch and listen to the information of what happened by the son-in-law who was a witness.  The missing person was Cuauhtémoc Gonzalez (Age 28) the youngest son of three of Carlos Hank Gonzalez. He and his wife and three children were vacationing at the family Caribbean home.  In addition, there was a second missing person, that being a 10-year old Maya boy who lived in the local area.  During the Sunday afternoon, Cuauhtémoc was showing his one child and several other local children how to use and breathe from a scuba tank.  The caleta is about 10 feet/3 meters maximum depth.  Once a child was comfortable breathing from the scuba tank attached to a jacket style buoyancy device (BCD) and single aluminum 80 cubic foot tank, Cuauhtémoc would give rides around the caleta with the child riding on his back using his red Tekna DVX-3 diver propulsion vehicle (prelude to the present day Oceanic Mako DPV).  Cuauhtémoc was wearing a set of Italian steel 72 cubic feet tanks with a long sleeve wetsuit top.  It was close to 3:00 p.m. and the last child to get a ride around the caleta.  During this fun session giving rides the son-in-law was following shooting underwater video with the first generation Sony 8mm tape camera placed in a yellow Sony underwater housing.  For whatever reasons, with this last child Cuauhtémoc decided to enter the spring entrance of the cave.  There was enough size in the cavern area (within daylight) to scooter around the room and then exit. The water was crystal clear. The son-in-law followed the twosome in the cavern zone.  What happened next was the beginning of a worst horrible nightmare.  The two divers riding on the DPV machine motored right across a fine powdery silt debris pile.  This is a white dust of limestone broken down by the saltwater during eons of time.  This is one of the most dangerous of all silt particles in cave diving. The wake of water volume funneled through the DPV’s propeller shroud virtually blasted the silt debris into a curtain of zero visibility thus completely blocking any available daylight.  A scenario that has repeated itself hundreds of times with open water divers diving the springs and sink holes of North Florida resulting in numerous fatalities during the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.  That was the last moments the son-in-law saw Cuauhtémoc and the 10 year-old Maya boy.

     The son-in-law waited and waited on the exit side of the curtain of silt hoping the two people would emerge from the cavity.  Nearly out-of-air, the son-in-law returned to the surface of the caleta in fear and despair that this terrible aftermath had occurred.  He quickly got out the water and informed his sister what had happened.  No telephones were available in 1987.  The son-in-law quickly got into a car and drove south to Akumal as the only two dive stores in the area were there.  It was now after 5:00 p.m. and both dive stores had closed.  The son-in-law walked over to the Lol Ha outdoors beach bar and found Ernesto Sainz and Tony DeRosa sitting at the bar always known during the 1980’s as “The Office”.  Ernesto was manager and owner of the Kapaluau Dive Center (now known as Akumal Dive Center).  Almost in hysteria, the son-in-law explained what had happened pleading for their help and assistance.  Both men were momentarily stunned with such a dilemma but quickly gathered their wits.   Tony and Ernesto quickly walked over to Ernesto’s dive store to gather two sets of gear and two sets of double aluminum 80 cubic foot tanks.  They loaded Tony’s truck and followed the son-in-law back north on Highway 307 until they reached the turnoff to Punta Fatima.  At the caleta, both men assembled their equipment and donned their wetsuits.  With everything properly in place, they got into their gear and entered the water of the caleta near the mouth of the cave.  With their aluminum red frame primary reel, they tied off their guideline in open water before entering into the cavern.  To their dismay they discovered the visibility to be very poor and trying determined an upstream direction was challenging and becoming more difficult as percolation from the cave’s ceiling made the conditions poorer.  After 45 minutes of futile attempts searching for the missing people, the two men decided it was best to end the search before making matters worse.

     Parker, Bill and I listened to the story with our own visions in our minds of this horrifying situation.  All the Mexicans were glued with hope that the two missing people were still alive by finding an air dome or pocket.  My attitude was not so optimistic.  Ernesto presented us a map.  To my surprise, Jim Coke and Johanna de Groot of the Akumal Dive Shop were in the cave on Monday searching for the missing people.  If they were searching for the missing people, why was I called?  Jim had drawn a detail, surveyed map of the passages they had explored.  Apparently, by frustration of no results finding his son and the child, Carlos Hank Gonzalez asked Ernesto for more help.  Expenses and money was not an issue. Ernesto suggested to Juan Carlos Gonzalez that I be contacted as Ernesto had taken my NACD cave diving course the previous summer.   That is how and why Parker, Bill and I were sitting in this home about to do our own search. 

     After reviewing the map, we decided to enter the cave as a team of three and follow the main passage 300 feet/90 meters to the end where Jim Coke had drawn question marks to three possible leads.  We would check out these leads and then work our way back.  That was our plan, plain and simple.  We quickly assembled our equipment, pull on our wetsuits/drysuits and entered the water. We performed our pre-dive rituals with bubble and valve checks and so on.  We each had brought exploration reels, figuring this cave was not explored before.  We enter the cave entrance and immediately find Jim and Johanna’s permanent line as the map had stated.  We followed the guideline and soon realize this passage was decent size, crystal clear blue saltwater with a freshwater layer flowing near the top of the passage.  It was better than I had anticipated.  As we swam along I viewed the walls noticing how white they were bleached by the effects of the saltwater.  After about 14 minutes of swimming we reach a small pocket room and the end of the guideline.  Sure enough, Jim’s map was dead on as there were three leads to check.  Parker chose the right lead, I swam for the middle lead and Bill swam to the left lead.  I tied off my reel and began to enter the small channel.  I did not have to swim more than twenty feet/5 meters before realizing the passage was becoming too small and no evidence of any human intrusion.  I turned around and reeled up the line I had deployed and returned to the central point.  At the same time, Parker was returning from his lead signaling no go.  We waited for Bill for two minutes when he returned with no success.  (After the dive, Bill tells us that a big rock had fallen off the ceiling and flipped him like a barrel roll)  With no success and as agreed in our dive plan we began swimming back checking any and every possible leads on both sides of this designated main passage.  Parker was swimming along the right side and Bill and I were covering the left side.  We swam approximately 100 feet/30 meters when Parker swam up to us with a message on his slate.  He found a possible lead and was going to check it out.  We signaled OK and Parker swam back to his discovery.  It was not twenty seconds later when Bill and I looked down on the sand floor and saw something that made us both look at each other in disbelief.  In the sand was a groove trail that was not natural.  It looked very obvious as if a pressure gauge had been dragged along the sand floor.  We follow it for about ten feet/3 meters and then it climbs about a fourteen-inch incline and enters into a very low and wide bedding plane. Both Bill and I look at each other and as if we were reading each other’s mind saying “Nah, no way! “ No way could two people squeeze through especially with a DPV machine.  However, sure enough, the groove trail was blazing its way through the bedding plane.  All I could think of was dragging people through this very low passage with plenty of silt.  Sarcastically, I thought “Oh, joy!”  We had a job to do and without hesitation I tied off my exploration reel and began laying line and squeezing through the bedding plane with Bill following. We penetrate about thirty feet/10 meters when the cave changes into a nice size passage.  Wow!  Nice cave as I continue laying line.  We swam approximately 70 feet/20 meters when we both see it.  Laying on the floor at a tilt was the red Tekna DPV! Bill swims up to it and squeezes the trigger mechanism.  Sure enough, it still works as the light on the front end does too.  All I could think of was the nightmare these two humans were going through lost deep in a dark underwater cave.  The DPV was positioned at the beginning of a fork intersection.  I choose the right lead and begin laying line from my reel entering the passageway.  It did not take long to realize it was becoming too small and no indication that two people had come this way.  To turn around, I had to pass the reel back to Bill in order for me not to get tangle in the guideline as the visibility was beginning to become nasty.

     Bill has the reel and we now swim to the left lead.  As we enter this larger passage I was aghast with what I saw.  I was looking at a passage that obviously appeared as if a herd of elephants and trampled through. There was broken limestone everywhere littering the cave floor.  I truly believe to this day this view was the most sorrowfully sight I had ever witnessed.  It was a heartbroken feeling knowing what these two individuals had to suffer this terrifying ordeal.  Bill continues laying line with no sign of the two people.  Damn, how far did they go?
We swam about fifty feet/16 meters when the cave passage takes an abrupt 90-degree turn to the left.  As we make the turn, the visibility is crystal clear and no sight of the individuals.  This was amazing as how far did they swim?  Bill is laying line for another sixty feet/18 meters when we encounter a tight restriction. (The cave passage allows only one diver through) Bill squeezes all the way through and all I can think of is later in this morning, life will become hell.  I follow, wondering if we will ever find these people. Twenty feet/5 meters later Bill suddenly stops and begins circling his light.  I cannot see a thing as the halocline mix of fresh and saltwater is creating a horrible blur.  I swim up next to Bill and find clear water and I see what Bill was circling.  It was Cuauhtémoc as I could see his bare legs with power fins and booties, bathing suit and long sleeve black wetsuit top with double steel tanks. His head was at the ceiling out of my sight.  He was dead. That is all I could see.  As agreed in the pre-dive plan, if we found the victims (and now we can confirm they are victims) we would tie off the guideline and return to the outside to inform all parties and then assess the situation and go from there.  As Bill and I swim out and follow the guideline a very sick feeling hits me knowing that this recovery will not be easy.  Cuauhtémoc has a neoprene wetsuit top and after 36 hours I know for a fact his body is now beginning to bloat from the process of putrefaction of gases.  With the restrictions and the fine powdery silt and percolation, this recovery will become a dive by Braille.  I calculate we have at least 300 feet/94 meters of distance to move the body.  This is when you really begin to question yourself … idiot why did I volunteer? On the swim out, Bills grabs the Tekna DPV and carries it out.  Bill and I reach the exit of the cave and we surface.  I immediately question Bill asking where was the Maya boy?  Bill informs me he was on the opposite side of Cuauhtémoc in a buddy breathing position-facing Cuauhtémoc and out of my view.  I see Parker at the surface as he has exited from his dive. 

     Now becomes the most difficult part.  There are least thirty people standing by the water’s edge of the caleta, all very anxious for any information and praying for good news.  I swim over to the limestone ledge and Ernesto kneels down.  I quietly tell Ernesto we found them and they are dead.  Ernesto stands up and softly tells Carlos Hank Gonzalez that his son has been found and he is dead.  I could hear multiple whispers in Spanish be passed around the crowd.  The mood swing changes 180 degrees from the ray of hope to the somber news of despair.  It was like I had sucker punched everyone in the gut.  Carlos Hank Gonzalez walks away in grief though I strongly feel he already knew the inevitable. It was a very sad moment.

     Bill and I explained to Parker how and what we found with the victims.  We emphasized that we will really need a lot of lead weight.  In addition, only two of three us can swim in because of the very confined spaces.  It is decided that Bill and I would make the first attempt to bring Cuauhtémoc out.  To do so, we would need at least four 2” nylon weights belts with a minimum 15 – 20 pounds of lead on two of the belts. We explained our request to Ernesto and within ten minutes we had our first tools.  Our plan was this.  We would extend the guideline up to as close to the bodies as possible.  We would remove the tanks, mask, snorkel and fins from Cuauhtémoc (there was no BCD) and with the first empty weight belt we would secure the two legs together.  With the second empty weight belt we would fasten the arms streamlined with the torso.  With the two weight belts with lead weight we would go with the flow and see what works best.  That was our plan.

     Bill and I begin our swim in and I quickly discover that carrying a weight belt with at least sixteen pounds of lead weight is no picnic.  In fact, I will say it is one the most difficult tasks I have ever performed underwater.  Essentially, carrying a heavy weight belt through a small cave passage really sucks.  We reached the end of the line and extended it, anchoring it securely.  There was no way I was going to lose that guideline when the visibility goes to merciless.  Bill and I carefully remove the equipment and position the body feet first, head up. (I later regret that decision)  Bill secures the legs with one belt and I fix firmly the arms streamline with the torso.  Bill places his weight belt with lead around the lower hip area.  I do not have enough length on my belt with lead to go around the waist or chest.  My only alternative is the neck despite it sounding gruesome it worked very well.  With at least thirty pounds of lead weight, to my astonishment, the body is still very buoyant.  The visibility is beginning to go to hell.  We begin to attempt moving Cuauhtémoc.  I had to literally pry the torso and head area off the cave ceiling to make any forward progress.  I can now see only 6 inches maximum and bits of human flesh is floating in front of my eyes.  After the third attempt with little success I realized this situation was perilous.  That was it; I swam over to Bill and stuck my thumbs up in front of his mask calling the dive.  I wanted out of here.  Bill understood without hesitation as we each placed one hand on the guideline and we felt our way back through the restriction and swam a short distance to clear water.  We were now able to follow the guideline by vision.  While swimming back to open water I had two thoughts in my mind.  What the hell was I doing here?  How much more lead weight will we need?

     Back at the surface we explain to Parker and Ernesto the conditions.  There were no more crowds as everyone had dissipated.  It was not looking good.  We needed another weight belt with more lead.  Somehow, Ernesto comes up with it.  This time it would be Parker and Bill swimming in as I stayed at the surface.  I wish them success as both men descended and disappeared into the cave.  I floated at the surface feeling tired and needing rest.  Ernesto and I chit chatted during this idle time.  But my thoughts were really how will be able to finish this job?  It has been twenty minutes and bubbles begin to reappear.   Wow, that was quick.  Was there success?  Parker and Bill return to the surface.  They explain that the third weight belt had little effect in bringing the body down from the ceiling.  Parker announces he is done.  He admits that he cannot handle the dilemma.  He bows out.  Bill and I look at each other and decide to give it another shot.  However, there is no more lead weight. We descend and swim into the cave following the guideline.  It is becoming a familiar passage for me.  While swimming in I admit to myself that I am not looking forward doing this task but it must be done.  Bill and I arrive at the body.  Bill positions himself at the feet and me at the head.  I pull the torso and head down off the ceiling.  It seems easier as Bill pulls forward.  However, the body is still very buoyant but we make a little bit of progress.  We repeat the course of action.  The visibility is nearly zero.  I use all my strength to pull the body down and Bill tugs forward.  We do this five times and now have reached the restriction.  We attempt to pull and push the body into the restriction with no success.  The body is too buoyant and it is virtually impossible to get it into the restriction.  After a second attempt I decide that this will not work.  I call the dive with no shame.  Besides, I was concerned that if the body were to get stuck in the restriction and I positioned on the inside of the restriction that would not be cool. My Mother did not raise me on a turnip farm!  Bill and I swim out of the cave and back to the open water.  It is nearly 4: 50 a.m.  Everyone is exhausted and we decide to take a break and get some sleep.  We climb out of the water and place our double 104’s and all our gear on the ground.  We still have plenty of air in the tanks.  Parker is already dressed.  Bill and I walk over to the house and I remove my wetsuit and Bill removes his DUI tri-laminate dry suit (1987 folks, way before any cult made it popular).  I plop myself on a couch and everyone finds a place to sleep.  It is a very quiet and somber moment.

     An hour and a half later I wake up with a blazing sun in the sky (dawn is at 5: 30 a.m. in 1987).  Everyone is up or waking up.   I take care of personal business, brush my teeth and find some water to drink, as I am really thirsty.  There is a little bit of food in the house.  A few people crack a joke about my snoring.  It is now close to 7:00 a.m. and I see a familiar blue and silver Nissan pick-up truck drive up.  It is Jim Coke.  I walk over to greet him along with Parker.  We shake hands and I immediately begin to explain to Jim that we were not trying to rain on his parade. Ernesto had called me and Juan Carlos Gonzalez had sent a private jet to pick us up in Florida.  We did not find out that Jim and Johanna were already searching until we arrived at the caleta.  We complimented Jim on his outstanding map and carefully explained all the events up to the present moment.  We decide that Jim and I would be the next team to make the next attempt to bring the body out of the cave.  Jim assembles his equipment at his truck, we get into our wet suits, put on our gear and we enter the water.  Jim has a belt with lead weight in his truck and brings it with him.  After performing our pre-dive checks, we review our plan, which are the same procedures as before with emphasis on this restriction.  Jim will place his weight belt of the legs of the body.  Before we begin our dive I notice military helicopters flying everywhere in the area. I ask Ernesto why?  He says this affair has made big news all around Mexico, this is a huge story.  Jim and I descend and follow the guideline into the cave.  We reach the site with Jim positioned at the legs and me at the head and torso area. Jim places the weight belt around the legs and we begin the ordeal.  I pull the body down and Jim pulls.  The visibility goes to horrid.  I see stuff floating around my face.  Somehow, we are now in the restriction.  For whatever feeling, I could sense that Jim was determined, like on fire.  Before you know it we are through the restriction and moving along.  I do not dare look at Cuauhtémoc’s face, as I know it is getting butchered from the cave ceiling. I keep pulling down and pushing with Jim pulling.  We are now in some type of rhythm.  The body seems more manageable than a few hours earlier.  The visibility is nasty from our movement, but we are making progress.  We continue our push.  Suddenly, I realize we are now in the cavern area as I can see daylight.  Incredible!  We did it.  The nightmare is over.  

     Jim and I dare not bring the body out into the open water.  We leave it in the cavern zone.  We surface with Ernesto standing at the edge of the caleta and Bill Gavin is ready for next dive.  I inform Ernesto that a large plastic bag would be necessary to be placed over the torso area as I felt it would be very disrespectful if anyone viewed the face as it was badly damaged.  A Mexican Navy diver arrives and he performs the task of placing the plastic bag over the body and removing it from the cavern.  He tows the body across the caleta to the opposite side.  Before you know it, a huge military helicopter lands next to the caleta.  Within ten minutes the body has been loaded and the helicopter rises and flies away.  I look around and notice that there is no navy, no army no one is around.  Everybody is gone.  Ernesto reaffirms that everyone has left.  Wait a minute; we still have a ten-year old Maya boy in the cave.  What about him?  Without wavering, Bill and I prepare for our final dive.  We descend, enter the cavern and follow the guideline and swim back to the original site.  The visibility has returned to a decent level, as there is a flow of water.  We approach the boy’s body.  Bill gently removes the Sea Quest Jacket style BCD and the U.S. Divers blue aluminum 80 cubic foot tank.  The boy’s mask is manufactured by Tekna and attached in the middle of the top frame is a four cell double A battery light.  We leave all the equipment behind in the cave.  The boy is dressed only in a green nylon swimsuit.  There is no sign of any deterioration of the body. The boy looks as if he is sound asleep.  It is a very sad and disheartening view.  Removing the boy from the cave was easy and no problems.  As Bill and I climbed out of the water, Ernesto, Parker, Jim and a few local people help pull the boy’s body out of the water.  The boy’s father appears and he takes his son away.  Parker is visibly shaken up by what he sees.  I feel the same way.

     Bill and I strip off from our cave diving gear and suits.  We dress into our street clothes.  Parker walks over and the three of us stand there reflecting on what has taken place during the past ten hours.  Jim packs his gear back into his truck.  Ernesto explains to us that he has been instructed to give us $3,000 USD cash to cover our expenses.  Each of us turned down the offer explaining we did this as a service representing the cave diving community.  I said it more bluntly; I do not take blood money.  Ernesto invites and insists we stay for a couple of days as he had access to a condo we could stay, rest and relax at Half Moon Bay in Akumal.  That sounded like a great idea and we accepted the offer.  Besides, we had no clue at that time how we were getting back home to Florida.  Neither did Ernesto.
          As it turns out, the funeral for Cuauhtémoc Gonzalez was held that Tuesday evening in Mexico City.  It was a major news event for Mexico.  Parker, Bill and I enjoyed the condo at Half Moon Bay and that late afternoon and early evening we joined Jim Coke at “The Office” at the Akumal Beach to take pleasure in the warm, sunny tropical atmosphere sipping on nice, cold refreshments.  The next day I given access of a vehicle by Ernesto and I took Bill cave diving at the Cenote Carwash to the beautiful Room of Tears. (There were less than ten explored cenotes at that time) Bill thoroughly enjoyed the dive that I felt washed away all the hell from what we experienced the morning before.  On Thursday, we were driven back to the airport in Cancun as the same private jet was waiting to take us home.  We stopped in Key West and then on to Tallahassee.  We landed, I thanked the pilots and said goodbye to Parker and Bill. I drove home mesmerized by all that had taken place.  Little did I know that many more adventures were waiting for me down the road.

Footnote:  A month later I received a personal letter from Carlos Hank Gonzalez thanking me for the services we performed and the courage we displayed.  In the letter was a check for $10,000.00 written to me.  I gave that money to the National Association for Cave Diving with the intent to help publish the text titled “The Art of Safe Cave Diving”.  The book was dedicated to the memory of Cuauhtémoc Gonzalez, son of Carlos Hank Gonzalez.