At the rear of the cave, the breeze-way was no mystery. A flood of fresh air came in through this hole:
As luck would have it, it was big enough to enter and follow:
About 40 feet later, the source of the air became abundantly evident (as did the fact that the camera had a hard time dealing with the light/dark contrast extreme):
So, with that mystery solved, it was time to follow the bat droppings out to the entrance, passing by a few by-now- familiar formations, including this one that should, no doubt, have been included on the previous page:
The exit was a light at the end of a tunnel:
And as I approached that light I remembered that it was not going to be easy to get out gracefully.
Since there was no one around, I crawled on my belly up the rock on the left, a very smooth one, and when my center of gravity was high enough, up came the legs and I slid out like a snake on its belly.
As soon as I was back on the trail, here came two ladies and later a couple to explore the cave. I advised them to watch that first step, after that it was OK. But with two people it would be easy, I knew.
The walk back on the trail was a pleasure:
The peak visible to the right, in the distance, is in Mexico, overlooking the small border village of Naco.
Later, still on the trail, that mountain stands out as a dominant feature. Coronado's companions made note of it in their journals as a landmark that was apparently with them for quite a while on their journey into the heartland.
At the end of my Coronado Cave adventure I made a quick run to look at this mountain from the nearest access point in Mexico, Naco, and that visit quite ruined my euphoria: this is what the US border looked like from the Mexican side:
And this is what the US looks like through a hole in that border:
Some parts of Naco were nice (note the mountain in the background, the one I came to see that was visible from the cave trail):
And some showed the poorer side of life (economically speaking only, of course):
I did not take pictures of the main street because it was crowded with youths quite obviously waiting for a chance to run across the border toward economic opportunity.
No town this size could possibly produce this huge number of young men, hanging out on the main street. I suspect they were waiting for cover of dark to go over the huge ugly fence.
There was no place on the main street to take a meaningful photo without getting a few in the picture. I thought it would be rude to do so, if not dangerous, given their state of fear of being identified on the other side.
They can get a pass to enter the US for up to 45 days and go as far as Tucson. But work is forbidden. To do so and not come back in 45 days means they become known fugitives with a photo ID and fingerprints on file with the immigration authorities. Not good.
On the US side of the border I saw vigilantes in mock military uniforms and camouflaged vehicles, with rifles and spotlights getting to ready at dusk to patrol the arroyos that would-be migrant workers use to stay out of sight as they attempt to get away from the border. I was revolted at the idea of what I interpreted, I hope wrongly, as a thinly veiled excuse to 'hunt' humans. I know the idea is to detain until Border patrol arrives, but the incidence of violence is high, I have heard, between the vigilantes and the border crossers.
On the highways I saw Border Patrol vans and helicopters in constant motion doing the same work, but with more legal constraint and no violent intent (I have heard they are not often involved in violent incidents). I presumed they are performing a humanly sad but necessary duty.
Signs along roads, billboards actually, alternated between strong religious messages regarding the thin line between salvation and damnation, and messages that suggested this was a war zone, that an invasion was in progress, and more had to be done to stop it. No doubt it reflects how many feel who hear the running past their homes in the middle of the night, and whose hearts stop if the footsteps stop nearby.
But, I am haunted by the hints of religious fanaticism and of a siege mentality. That is a dangerous combination, zeal plus fear can equal violence.
It was a oppressive thing for me to see this piece of reality at the end of my otherwise wonderful day spent in nature and in relative solitude. But it reminded me of something: communing with nature in a natural preserve is a luxury.
There are many, many people struggling to make a few dollars to support themselves and their families, and they do dangerous things to get to a place where there is a promise of more opportunity. Violence is not a stranger to this border between the first and third worlds:
