Waterfalls and Altered States

I knew that I needed an adventure my last Sunday in Guadalajara, so I set out to commandeer the office vehicle for the weekend. This would have been easier had the car not been currently undergoing repairs for a broken fan. Without revealing my underlying motives, I asked TH (the boss) whether I could go pick it up and he agreed. So BH and I trudged over to the mechanic's, where we found out that the fan was indeed broken, but it was only one of two. The mechanic assured us that, like a man with one kidney or one testicle, the Tsuru could still operate, although I would have to take it easy (no long distances, keep it below 80 km/h, 48 mph). We called TH and he agreed to cede the car to me for the weekend, even when BH revealed my true intentions-- as she put it, "to find the KQ waterfalls."

KQ is an expat who writes for the paper and every week reports on some hidden natural wonder that's nearly impossible to get without a GPS (he likes to include the geographic coordinates in every report). Two weeks ago he revealed the location of the “x Waterfalls of xxxxxx,” which, apart from their natural beauty, provide an ideal location for cliff jumping. How could I resist?

Since going it alone seemed exponentially less fun, I invited GT, my photographer and loyal sidekick from the beauty pageant adventure, to come along. We set out around 2 pm, and about 40 minutes (and multiple stops for asking directions) later, we arrived at a dirt road that deteriorated into cow pasture, just as Pint described.

What KQ did not reveal, however, was that this same pasture which ultimately led to the breathtaking waterfalls was also a prime location to search for champis – hallucinogenic mushrooms. Within minutes, we were approached by two boisterous shroom hunters, teenagers from Guadalajara who had plenty to show for their hard work. Both wore multiple facial piercings and a smile from ear-to-ear, as they talked in hyper-emotional spurts:

“We got sooooo many. Check it out!”
“Right around the cow shit is the best place to find them.”
“But stay away from the horse dung!”
“Look for the ones with the falditas!” (“little skirts” around the stem of the mushroom)

They offered us shrooms to try, but we both rejected them out of courtesy. Personally, I was a little curious, but I deferred to GT, not wanting to create an awkward situation. The two blabbed on about the shrooms and where to find them, and I tried to bring the conversation back to the waterfalls. One of the teenagers nodded in understanding:

“Just be careful after you eat a few mushrooms, because they’re some kick-ass waterfalls down there, and you could fall in.” He lifted up his shirt and revealed his back, which sported long crease-like scars. I was hardly convinced.

By this point, GT had apparently decided that these kids were trustworthy enough to tell hallucinogenic mushrooms from poisonous ones, and so he accepted the offer to try one. One of the kids fished out a long-stemmed mushroom from a dark, brine-filled container. “It’s best to eat them with honey,” he said, revealing another container with a dark-spotted substance.

So it was that GT and I ate two mushrooms each, bid farewell to our tripping friends, and continued on to find the waterfall. Soon we were trudging down a steep, muddy creek bed, accompanied every now and then by runoff from the morning rainshower. This detail made me optimistic: certainly the waterfall would be in full form as it was being fed from all directions with a steady flow of water. The day was certainly not ideal – the sky was covered with a gray mat of clouds – but the rain hadn’t yet resumed, and I hoped it could be staved off long enough to allow us a good swim.

I was walking a good distance in front of GT, and the trail’s switchbacks hid him from my view. In front of me I could see the creek leveling out and as I got closer, the first waterfall revealed itself, emptying in to a medium-sized pool below nearly 40-50 feet below. A group of teenagers huddled near the pool’s edge, apparently deciding who would be the first to enter the water.

“How do you get down there?” I yelled and they indicated a path to my left that inclined upwards. I waited for GT and together we descended down to the pool, and I wasted no time in getting changed into my bathing suit. I jumped in from ground level and tested the water, examining its depth and the viability for cliff jumping. Then one of the teenagers then from a low shelf along the rock wall and his friends cheered; I jumped from the same location and expected something like a macho arms-race to successively higher points on the cliff. I kept increasing the height of my jump, but none of the other boys in the group budged; I guess tapatios aren’t accustomed to jumping from heights. After three jumps, I climbed up to the highest point, and saw GT as a tiny figure below me, shaking his head in disapproval. But I had tested the depth of the pool and I knew it was between 12 and 15 feet. So I figured what the hell and in burst of adrenaline I jumped away from the cliff wall, wondering what these kids (especially the girls, I admit) would make of this daring gringo in their midst. They cheered, of course, and I let out a screech of accomplishment and relief.

Later I went off to explore the further reaches of the creek, since according to the teenagers the waterfalls got even more spectacular. I traversed the rocky creek barefooted, and felt surrounded by an intense jungle greenery. Of course the climate wasn’t hot or humid, but nevertheless I imagined myself deep in the jungle, winding through the Mosquito Coast or the isolated island from Lord of the Flies (which I just read the week before). The mood was perfect for what I found, a waterfall more than twice as large as the first one with a giant pool below. One of the rocks surrounding the pool was painted with a cross, which gave me a shudder. I leaned on a tree at the edge of the falls and marveled at the distance the water was dropping. I felt myself relax for a brief moment, then hurried back to tell GT what I discovered.

When I arrived at the first pool, I noticed that he had hardly moved; he was staring at the water, his eyes glued to undulating ripples. “I’ve been watching the water,” he said in a slow, nonchalant manner. “The cliff, too. I’ve been looking for faces in the rock.” I laughed and then he laughed, too. “I definitely feel a little weird, I think those mushrooms affected me,” he continued. “What about you?”

“I feel a little strange, too” I replied, “but it could be the adrenaline. I mean I did just jump off a cliff." I paused. "Anyway, you’ve got to come and check out these other falls; they’re incredible.”

“I can’t stand up,” he said.

We laughed again, and then decided to wait until we were ready to leave to go check out the next falls. Sitting there semi-dazed, we discussed GT’s current financial situation. As it turns out, he is currently in the process of becoming independent from his mom, who is still helping to pay the rent and occasionally dropping hints that he should look for something more stable than photography.

“She wants me to be a teacher,” he said. I advised him to look for something part-time instead, if he really wants to continue with photography. I told him I had enjoyed the photos he had taken for the paper and that I thought he had real talent. As I soon found out, he certainly was comitted to taking pictures. When we reached the ultimate waterfall he whipped out his camera, and refused to put it away until nearly 200 pictures later (including one he made me take of him hanging on the mouth of the falls).

It was getting late, nearly 7 pm, so I forced him to put the camera away and we headed back towards the car. We stopped to collect champis on the way, pausing at each find to inspect for the tell-tale faldita. With or without, neither of us could summon up the courage to eat one.