Eight days on the road, sixty years of dyes
From the bare feet in 1956 to the silent extinction of the purple snail in Huatulco.
Retrato de Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis, tintorero de hilo con caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
The boy who didn't know about cars
Pinotepa de Don Luis, Oaxaca, 1956. Mauro Habacuc Avendaño Luis was 15 years old when he asked his uncles to take him along to dye. 'I didn't know cars, I didn't know anything,' he recalls now, at 83.
Retrato de Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis, tintorero de hilo con caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
They told him to get tortilla chips for the eight-day journey to Puerto Ángel. It was the beginning of 60 years of dyeing with purple snail.
Prendas elaboradas por Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis, tintorero de hilo con caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
The route of the old dyers
“First day: Jamiltepec. Second: Tututepec. Third: Río Grande. Fourth: Camalote, first time reaching the beach. Fifth: Puerto Escondido. Sixth: Santa Helena. Seventh: Escobilla. Eighth: Puerto Ángel. Nothing but trails, nothing but dirt roads. Each stop etched in memory.”
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Six months a year, every year
The sea rises a lot when it rains," Mauro explains. They camp on the beaches of Huatulco National Park. Sixty years repeating the cycle: walking, searching for snails, milking them, dyeing the thread, returning. Now the trip is six hours by car, but he finds fewer snails than before.
Detalle de Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis con una concha de caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
From 30 skeins to three threads of hope
"When I started, I used to bring home about 25 or 30 skeins at a time." Double skeins, thick, full of deep purple. Last year: three small skeins. This year, who knows. The abundance of 1956 is now scarcity. Each skein requires 300 snails that yield barely a few drops.
Socorro Paulina López San Luis portando un pozahuanco mixteco y un manto claro (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
The craft without a founder
Mauro asked his teachers who began this practice. They asked their own. No one knows. Mixtec dyers have walked these routes since before memory, dyeing threads for the women’s pozahuancos. (A pozahuanco is a traditional Mixtec skirt made with purple-dyed cotton.)
Retrato de Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis, tintorero de hilo con caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
The technique that doesn't change
Pry the snail apart with a wooden stake, wait for it to release first its urine, then the white paint that turns yellow, then green, and finally purple. Apply it directly to the thread, without any mordant. Return the snail to the damp shade. "It's a single technique," says Mauro.
Retrato de Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis, tintorero de hilo con caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
The 14 companions
The Purple Snail Dyers' Society has 14 members. Most only speak Mixtec. "There are some who can speak a word of Spanish, but they don't even know when they started." Mauro is the translator, the historian.
Detalle de una madeja de hilo teñida con caracol púrpura y una concha de caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
The son who won't go as much anymore
Rafa, his son, learned the route, knows the rocks, knows how to milk the snails. "I won’t be able to go much longer, and he would take my place". But he will inherit a diminished craft: there won’t be 30 skeins to bring back, perhaps not even three. The transmission of knowledge survives, the snails perhaps not.
Detalle de una madeja de hilo teñida con caracol púrpura, gafete y lentes (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
Sixty years later
Mauro is 83 years old. He can no longer walk for eight days, but he still goes. There's no more abundance, but he still dyes. "What can I do? Nobody pays attention to us when we say something."
Detalle de Mauro Habaduc Avendaño Luis con una madeja de hilo teñida con caracol púrpura (2025-10-11) by Mario Vázquez SosaMinistry of Culture of the Government of Mexico
In 1956 he walked for eight days to learn a millennia-old craft. Sixty years later, he can arrive in six hours to witness its possible end. The irony hurts: progress shortened the journey but nearly extinguished the destination.
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