Email us now
booking@xoc-ha.com
Follow us:
  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Instagram Social Icon
  • Trip Advisor Social Icon
  • Roger

I Have the Power

Names have power. In some of the more... shall we say... primal mythologies it is believed one should always protect one's own true name, lest anyone get a hold of it and do one harm.


I am not a superstitious person by nature. But I think there is something to this when it comes to the caves.


It's the named places that people want to go. These exciting and exotic sounding places have allure. The Ice Room. Blue Abyss. Angels Fear. Double Domes.


How often have you heard the refrain, "Avoid goal-oriented dives?" I'd venture to say not often enough. I base this venture on the amount of damage done along the way to some of these named places.


The example of The Ice Room above. Most people don't belong there. It is a very delicate path over very delicate silt floors to a very delicate place that currently looks like a herd of rhinoceros heard there was free forage on the other side.


Double Domes is a spot (two different spots, actually) about 2000 feet back. Figure about an hour's swim one-way; that is a long, damn way from home. Or... at least it would be on open circuit and/or without a scooter.



But nowadays there are a lot of rebreathers around. And a lot of scooters. And you can be there inside of 1/2 hour even if you're terrible on the trigger.


But should you be?


There are a lot of large scooter scars in the silt on the way to Double Domes in Florida. So maybe, just maybe, a few too many people are progressing a little too far a little too fast. Maybe folks should be more focused on "getting better" than "getting to Double Domes."

I didn't see any scooter marks in the silt on the way to Double Domes here.


I saw unmarked, dark, spooky, gorgeous cave. Wide, corkscrewing, decorated, multicolored, halocliney. Everything delicately shrouded in veils of caramel and chocolate and charcoal silts of silk and velvet. The only marks in the ground were from troglobitic life. Hell... I didn't even see much in the way of the normal, dusted pathway of open-circuit percolate having rained down from the ceiling along the line.


Nelly and I swam back on CCR, dawdling the whole way and marveling at every twist, turn, and tangle of unbroken forests of formations.


It looks like no one goes back there. Or, at the very least, anyone who is going back there has their shit buttoned-down.


Which is pretty awesome. I suppose -- maybe?


Frankly, I'm a cynic. And I think no one is going back to see what we saw today because "It's just Naharon," and not something like Mosquito Factory or Doggi or something with a more appealing cachet. And if you've got the toys to go 2000 feet, why would you "waste them" there?


I think that names have power. And just because it's called Double Domes just isn't alluring enough.


I've heard it said that few passages and rooms in Mexico have any names so as to protect them. Makes sense.


And yes, of course I see the irony in spreading the word about some stunningly beautiful, unspoilt cave - by name - on social media. But let's be honest: you're not going anyway; it's just Naharon.


But if you are going: have your shit buttoned-down first. Don't fucking ruin it.