Exploring Tiankeng in Bama Longevity Village

Exploring Tiankeng in Bama Longevity Village

Exploring Tiankeng in Bama Longevity Village

I’ve climbed many famous mountains and visited numerous tourist caves, but exploring karst tiankengs—this trip to Bama Longevity Village was truly a first.

A Land of Longevity My amateur exploration team and I set off by car from the county seat of Bama Yao Autonomous County in western Guangxi, slowly winding our way along mountain roads through the rocky highlands, heading toward Jiaole Tiankeng. The car would climb into the clouds one moment, then plunge into valleys the next. Lush forests and overgrown grass taller than a person along the road created one vivid, verdant natural scene after another. Mountain breezes, free of any trace of dust or pollution, drifted through the car windows, refreshing and cool—like nature’s generous gift to us. Only those who have long lived in noisy cities can truly appreciate what a secluded, peaceful haven this is—a mysterious land.

The Magical Tiankeng After about an hour’s drive, we arrived at Jiaole Village in Bama Yao Autonomous County. The winding, rugged village-level road seemed to come to an end here. China’s famous Jiaole Tiankeng lies within Jiaole Village. A natural hamlet of over 30 households of Yao and Zhuang people sits right beside the tiankeng, with generations having guarded this massive natural heritage. When the villagers learned we were going to explore the tiankeng, they were puzzled and amazed. “City folks have had it too easy for too long, now they want to climb into our Yao people’s collapsed pit. Could there be treasure at the bottom?” the locals chattered among themselves. They call tiankengs “collapsed pits,” meaning “sunken deep holes.”

Standing on a large rock by the tiankeng and looking down, we faced what seemed like a bottomless abyss, a breathtaking sight. Looking down: Jiaole Tiankeng is several hundred meters deep, resembling a monster with its mouth wide open. The sheer cliffs, straight and steep, are gray-white in color, showing no hint of green life or any sign of birds. If someone accidentally fell from the tiankeng’s mouth, they would surely be shattered. At the bottom, soil that has flowed in from the opening over millions of years has formed expansive slopes. Scattered leaves enrich the soil, naturally fostering dense thickets of miscellaneous trees, shrubs, and wild grass. Huge boulders collapsed from the tiankeng walls are scattered haphazardly, filling half the pit bottom. Faintly visible at the deepest part of the tiankeng is a clear, emerald-green pool, like an unpolished piece of jade inlaid at the bottom.

Looking horizontally: Jiaole Tiankeng is several hundred meters wide from east to west and north to south. Without binoculars, you can’t make out the villagers working on the opposite side—you can only see the Yao hamlet faintly emerging from the mist. Towering all around the tiankeng are continuous ranges of lofty, verdant rocky mountains. Guided by local Yao villagers, we finally found the path down into the tiankeng. There was no proper path at all—just a narrow trail trodden out by villagers during dry seasons when they came down to fetch drinking water. We used wooden sticks given to us by the Yao people as walking sticks and began descending along the path. Some sections were so difficult that we had to move slowly on all fours, sweating profusely. About 60 meters down, a makeshift fence made of a dozen or so logs blocked the path. Strange—why would there be a checkpoint in a tiankeng? Our local companion explained that because the tiankeng is surrounded by cliffs and the bottom is lush with plants and rich in water and grass, forming a natural good pasture, villagers drive their yellow cattle down to graze. The fence blocks the entrance, and the cattle become the tiankeng’s permanent residents, living out carefree, well-fed days for months or even a year. We decided to temporarily remove the fence to continue downward and rebuild it upon exiting. Descending to the tiankeng’s mid-slope, the path became more level. The sides were lined with wild banana trees, pomelo trees, nearly impenetrable thickets, and unnamed wildflowers stubbornly growing upward, blooming brilliantly as if to welcome us strangers. We discovered that midway up the tiankeng, there were a few leveled patches of land, and on a nearby mound grew dozens of manually planted fir trees about 20-plus centimeters in diameter, tall and straight, adding a new species to the tiankeng’s vegetation. I learned from the locals that during a severe drought in the 1970s, a school practicing work-study programs relocated here temporarily to solve their drinking water problems. They set up camp, cleared land, and planted trees, thus creating those leveled terraces and the stand of fir trees. Continuing downward, I was startled when two large black shadows moved through the bushes. I thought, perhaps we’d encountered wild animals—what should we do? Anxiety set in. Holding my breath, I peered through gaps in the foliage—it turned out to be two black cows grazing in the dim light. Nearby, there were also two yellow cows. Ah—they were the tiankeng’s “owners.” I breathed a sigh of relief, my legs went weak, and I involuntarily plopped onto the grass nearby, sweat dripping from my forehead. Checking my phone, I saw I’d already spent an hour descending. But the signal was completely gone.

This place is truly beyond the imagination of ordinary people. We pushed through natural thickets and grass, continuing toward the tiankeng’s deepest part. Near the bottom, the narrow path disappeared, blocked by a pile of collapsed boulders. We relied on our climbing skills—pulling and pushing each other, scrambling and rolling over the jagged rocks—to reach the pool at the tiankeng’s deepest point. Amazingly, we found a stream gushing from cracks between the boulders, feeding into the pool. I think this must be what’s called an underground river. Upstream, the underground river is buried under collapsed rocks, forcing the water to seep out through the stone piles. Several smooth rocks near the pool became resting spots for our exploration team. Sitting on the stone slab, I gazed at the pool, unable to see where the underground river went or notice any ripples or whirlpools from movement. Where does the water go? It must seep down into the bottom. A local villager sitting beside me told me that during the summer flood season each year, torrents cascade down from the surrounding mountains, and the underground river bursts out from the rocks, the two forces colliding and rapidly filling the tiankeng bottom, forming a natural lake 20–30 meters deep. In about ten to fifteen days, the murky water quietly disappears, and the bottom returns to its usual emerald-green pool. Nature is truly unpredictable. In the crystal-clear pool, finger-sized fish and chopstick-tip-sized shrimp swim freely, searching for food. Where do these creatures, hundreds of meters below human settlements, come from? I think they didn’t fall from the sky, nor were they washed down from villages without streams. They must have swum up from the underground river’s upstream, navigating through caves, mud pits, and cracks, enduring great hardship to reach the tiankeng’s pool and become “permanent residents.” The villager, who rarely sees fish except at markets, was amazed, murmuring softly, “This must be a blessing from the mountain god.” Down here, you don’t get cool mountain breezes—probably because the tiankeng is too deep. But the cool mist rising from the pool dries and refreshes our hot bodies. Team members sit scattered, resting. Some play in the water, some chat, some record the adventure, others rush to capture photos of this rare tiankeng sight. Leaning against a rock, I look up at the tiankeng’s surroundings, finding the woods and grass below the mountainside exceptionally quiet, undisturbed by wind or any outside interference—even the air feels still, as if the entire tiankeng forms its own serene world. Looking up, the surrounding peaks enclose the space, their sheer cliffs pointing straight to the sky like an impregnable stone fortress, evoking the feeling that “even the yellow crane cannot fly over, and monkeys struggle to cross.”

The wonders of nature have not only created the vast seas, boundless skies, towering mountains, and expansive grasslands, but have also quietly formed this majestic and perilous tiankeng. I opened my notebook and recorded some impressions of exploring Jiaole Tiankeng: Majestic: With its massive scale, enclosed cliffs, and depth of over 300 meters, Jiaole Tiankeng presents a grand, imposing landscape full of might. Beautiful: The tiankeng’s natural forest boasts graceful tree canopies, varied shapes, clusters of wildflowers competing in beauty, and lush green grass growing leisurely. Paired with the tranquil pool, it creates a serene, harmonious scene that evokes feelings of peace and charm. Precipitous: Looking down is heart-stopping; looking up, the surrounding peaks stab into the sky, reminding us of human limitations and the necessity—and inevitability—of perseverance. Unique: From the underground river emerging from the rock piles at the bottom to the leisurely fish and shrimp in the water, nature’s wonders show us how limited our understanding of it truly is. Wild and Untamed: Due to the tiankeng’s towering, sheer walls, very few have ventured inside over the centuries, so its pristine state remains well-preserved.