Exploration

The ring of cenotes

Upon finally reemerging into civilisation, we found ourselves unintentionally flying past stop signs and traffic signals. It wasn’t deliberate - more like the inevitable result of months spent driving through the entirety of Central America. The realisation that we had finally made it to the largest city of the Yucatan Peninsula from Panama felt surreal, and it marked a significant milestone in our journey. This was the moment we had all been waiting for: we were on our way to explore the lesser-known cenotes (natural sinkholes) surrounding Merida in Mexico.

Words by Andi Cross
Photographs by Adam Moore & Marla Tomorug

The Yucatan Peninsula is renowned for these sinkholes, their allure captured in iconic imagery from the more famed regions such as Tulum and Playa del Carmen. Divers have spent decades exploring the collapsed underground caves and submerged river systems that make up this limestone coast, revealing nearly 8,000 – 9,000 cenotes in the region – 900 of them within what is called the ‘ring of cenotes. It’s a phenomenon like nowhere else on earth, and exactly what we were chasing.

Our fascination with cenotes, however, started much earlier, during one of the first legs of the Edges of Earth expedition in Mt. Gambier, South Australia. Like the Yucatan, this area is another limestone coast, riddled with underwater cave systems making the land akin to Swiss cheese. Descending into our first ever sinkhole, called Kilsby, we emerged with more questions than answers – and were completely hooked. But true sinkhole diving isn’t something you master overnight. It demands extensive training and unshakable confidence in your abilities. From that first glimpse, our slow immersion into the world of sinkhole, cavern, and cave diving began.

Next, we learned about Jill Heinerth, the legendary cave diver and explorer, who played a pivotal role in studying the cenotes in the Yucatan. Her team’s work exploring and documenting the Yucatan’s ‘Well of Time’ bridged critical knowledge gaps about what’s below the surface here. Alongside a team of scientists from the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH), Jill used her highly refined diving skills to scan and document submerged artifacts and biological samples, also mapping the underground caves that make this region so extraordinary. These dive expeditions revealed vital biological and paleontological finds, including fossilised remains of extinct species and previously undocumented animals still living in the darkness.

By the time we were speeding through the streets of Merida, en route to our first cenote, Jill’s discoveries lingered in the back of our minds. A series of events and encounters had brought us to this very moment – our chance to witness these ancient natural phenomena firsthand. It felt as though we were about to step into portals of time, immersing ourselves in the remnants of past worlds that so few get to see. Past and present Yucatec Mayan culture had surrounded us for months as we travelled through Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala, but now we were about to fully dive into the heart of it.

Accompanying us was the Yucatan Dive Crew, a local team that knew the secrets of these underwater systems and worked closely with the cenote keepers, the stewards of this region whose permission allowed us access to their land in the first place. As experts in technical, cavern, and cave diving, they were deeply connected to the region’s history and ecology. Together, we embarked on an expedition to the small towns of Pixyah, San Antonio Mulix, Abala, and Mucuyche, each about an hour outside Merida sitting in the crux of the ring of cenotes. Even though we were exploring only a tiny fraction of the ring, the effort would take days – proof of the vast scale and intricacy of this highly unexplored underground water system.

As dust coated our cars while passing through these tiny Mexican towns, we were clued into the fact that we were trekking over sacred ground. Rodrigo Alcaraz Garay, co-chief executive officer of the Yucatan Dive Crew explained that we continued to pass secret gateways to the cenotes – right there in plain sight but invisible to the untrained eye. Scanning for entrances or exits to this underground world, we quickly realised how mysterious and borderline mystical this place was. It was nearly impossible to identify where things began or ended, and the sheer scale of this exploration was starting to sink in.

Rodrigo’s storytelling had us hanging on every word. We learned that cenotes were the original Mayan water source that brought their civilisation to the forefront, and that they were categorised into four types based on age, shape, and coverage. However, we didn’t know they were considered by these locals to be sacred gateways to the underworld, also known as ‘Xibalba’. He told us this was where gods would visit the mortal world, where temples were built, villages established, burials held, and even human sacrifices conducted. As shown in Jill Heinerth’s exploration, and even in some of our own, human bones had been discovered in these subterranean spaces. Knowing this made our descents feel even more eerie than they already were. And it made sense that, when translated into English, Xibalba quite literally means ‘place of fear’.

What fascinated us most was learning that many people of Maya descent actively choose not to dive here. To them, entering risks disturbing the peace, upsetting the gods, or stepping into the world of the dead a bit prematurely. When we arrived at Cenote Noh Mozon, we asked the local landowner, a collaborator with the Yucatan Dive Crew, if he had ever dived into his cenote. He replied frankly that he had not, and never would. To him, the cenote was a wild space tied to life and death, and entering its waters was seen as courting the afterlife. Admiring its beauty from afar and honouring its cultural significance was the only respectful choice for him.

This reverence is also tied to the belief in aluxes, childlike spirits said to guard the cenotes. Maya tradition holds that these spirits fiercely protect the sinkholes, embodying both the life-giving force of water and the boundary to the afterlife. Aluxes demand respect, and locals often leave offerings such as food, marbles, or candlelight to gain their approval before approaching a cenote. But the locals warned us: if you take from the cenote without honouring the alux, they may come for you, either by playing tricks or causing misfortune. Admittedly uncertain about how to proceed with this information, we were humbled when we were granted permission to enter the wide open and striking Cenote Noh Mozon. Moments later, we were dropping 9 metres or 30 feet into the unknown, with an assurance that we were about to witness something extraordinary. And it was exactly that.

After Cenote Noh Mozon, we explored Cenote Nah Yah, Cenote X’Batún, Cenote Dzonbacal, and Cenote Kankirixche. Each one left us fascinated that so much magic could exist submerged just below our feet. It felt like stepping back in time, diving through ancient history in what Jill aptly calls the “veins of earth”. Darkness engulfed us completely, forcing us to rely on torches to navigate the intricate systems. The water was so still, so perfect, and so clear that it was easy to forget we were using an air source to survive underwater. With very little life seeming to be in the system, we did get a rare encounter with a group of pregnant Mexican blind brotulas that live in these cenotes. Looking fresh out of a horror movie with no eyes and a translucent body, it was clear we’d made it to the underbelly of Mexico. As we followed Rodrigo through the labyrinths, the sight of animal and human bones – particularly the skulls – left us questioning whether the Mayans had the right idea: perhaps these sacred resting places were meant to be left undisturbed.

Yet each time we surfaced, whether in a cavern (the youngest cenote), a semi-open cenote (a middle-aged cenote), or a fully open cenote (the most ancient cenote), we craved more. The pull of the unknown, the genuine otherworldly, had us that much more obsessed. We were fully immersed in the mythology of these cenotes, eager to learn more about the ancient Mayan civilization dating back to 1800 B.C. – how they used these waterways and what the future holds for these remarkable systems.

Rodrigo shared the story of the ‘Maya Collapse’, a period between A.D. 800 and 1000 often misrepresented as the total decline of the Mayan people. This narrative conjures images of deserted cities and a squashed society, but as we moved through the towns along the ring of cenotes, shared traditional meals in family homes, laughed over jokes, and learned more of the local history, it became clear that Mayan culture is alive here.

The truth, Rodrigo explained, was that the collapse was more political than cultural. While power structures crumbled, the Mayan way of life and their deep connection to water and land endured. Cenotes were, in fact, central to their longevity, with some of their most impressive cities built atop these sacred sites. And it wasn’t until 2018 that scientists confirmed what the Maya had long understood: these cenotes are all interconnected, forming the longest subterranean cave system in the world.

Today, cenotes are managed by the original custodians, or the Mayan families who have owned and cared for these lands for generations. Decisions about a cenote involve every single individual stakeholder in the families that manage these sites, requiring unanimous agreement before any change can take place. One dissenting vote is enough to block a proposal, ensuring a collective approach to preservation, as these families know how powerful and important each cenote is to the larger system.

This method has generally protected the cenotes, but threats to the interconnected system persist. For example, it was recorded that over 22,000 pounds of waste had been removed from 35 cenotes that had become dumping grounds in recent years. This contamination spread through the system, highlighting the critical need for sustainable practices and renewed cultural stewardship – a cause championed by both elders and the next generation. Rodrigo also walked us through the environmental challenges surrounding the ring of cenotes. The region’s fragile wetland ecosystems are under pressure from urban expansion as the Yucatan’s largest city, Mérida, continues to grow. Like many natural hotspots worldwide, the cenotes are not immune to the effects of modernisation, and certainly couldn’t handle the loss of Indigenous culture for the long haul.

Between exploring these water portals, connecting with local stewards, and immersing ourselves in their mythology, we left the Yucatan with one undeniable truth: this place is ethereal. No amount of time is enough to fully understand it. While the Yucatan Dive Crew and their local collaborators get close, Xibalba remains one of the most captivating mysteries we’ve experienced on the edges. Like other ancient resting sites brimming with history, knowledge, and beauty, the cenotes, and their protectors, demand our utmost respect. These underwater systems are far greater than us, and our role is to honour them.

When we first set out to explore the cenotes, we were drawn by their mystery – their stories of ancient rituals, their hidden portals to another world. But after diving into their guts, we’ve come to see them as something much more: living connections between past and present, nature and humanity. Each dive showed us a new layer – not just of the cenotes themselves, but of what it means to preserve something so special.

 

Photographs by Adam Moore & Marla Tomorug

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