Stephens Gap Pulldown

I led a trip today. I definitely didn't want to and didn't know I was in charge. But that's what happens when you cave for a decade. People think you know things. 😆 And I suppose I do. 

I reluctantly took people with shiny new vertical gear to Stephens Gap. Selfishly, I just wanted to go on the pulldown route with nice people. I wasn't planning to teach anyone anything. But once I realized I was in charge, I decided to do the thing properly. 

We attended a last minute vertical practice to make sure people were ready and see what skill level I could expect of the new froggers. I honestly had a panic attack because I haven't enjoyed caving much since my attack. If I didn't even know if I wanted to cave, how could I lead a group? But I sat with it for a day and decided to at least try. 

After I saw enough skills that I didn't think my group would die, I agreed to meet them at the parking lot. And I hiked in, geared to the teeth, for most eventualities. (Pulleys, first aid gear, extra ropes, webbing, spare batteries, extra food, hypothermia gear. No one was dying on me.) 

We rigged the ledge over the entrance so that the new vertical cavers could practice rappelling and then walk out if they wanted. I hate watching my husband rappel. He's competent, but I know too much about how many ways there are to die. And I can't control everything. So, it's anxiety inducing to see him confidently tell me he doesn't need the sixth bar on rappel. 🙈 

Then, I coached three people over the edge. I am so proud of my friend Helen, who overcame a lot of fear to rappel today. She's been gunshy, but steadily moving forward to become vertical. 

If we'd done nothing else all day, I'd have been satisfied. 

But we also went to do the pulldown route I wanted to revisit. I nearly died last time I was in it. On that trip, the leader seemed to have a death wish in the high water of April. And I became caught on a safety line in the third drop in such a way that I couldn't release myself and I couldn't pull myself up because the water was beating me down and stealing my heat. (For those of you who know the cave, the water was shooting out of the drop, and I didn't realize there were drop downs to approach the bolt because there was so much water.) 

And I wanted to experience it all in low water, with safe people. I took two experienced cavers and two of the new cavers. I was in charge of the rigging plan, which still feels strange to me. I'm still looking around for an adultier-adult. But I rigged an alpine butterfly pulldown with a carabiner. And I mother henned everyone. "Not the knot!" (If you rig into the wrong side of this, you die because the rigging is designed to pull the rope behind you from the bottom.) 

I'm not afraid anymore. I exist in adrenaline with PTSD. So, dropping into the first waterfall is as calm as walking to class. The spiders that would normally have me shrieking are only a slight unease now. (I do hate walking into webs still.) 

I forgot that the second drop required a step across to get to the bolt. I think it was full of water last time and didn't seem so scary, though that's definitely worse. I didn't want to step across, so the guys tossed me the rope. But that meant if I didn't maneuver correctly, I would swing out and into the chasm walls. So, I rigged in and moved laterally until I was positioned under the bolt and wouldn't swing. Then, I rappelled to the bottom of the second drop. 

As the first down, I had a wait, and I went to see what I could in the tunnel. I found an interesting larva in a water droplet, clinging to existence on the wall. In a decade of caving, I had never seen that! 

And I saw so many ammonites! I just finished reading a book with a whole chapter on them, and I remembered how much of their actual structure is still a mystery. Stone only captures so much. 

I was anxious about the third drop. The spot that tried to kill me. I was shocked as we approached the bolt on a safety line, and I realized there was a five foot drop and four foot drop to get to the bolt. I couldn't see that last drop at all last time in the torrent, and it almost killed me. 

This time I gingerly lowered myself. And I double-checked the rope. Not the knot. Not the knot. I swung out, tested my rappel rack, and rappelled. It was so much less insane today with a trickling fall. I didn't nearly die of hypothermia before having to rig in while still uncoordinated.

Relieved to see my four companions on the ground with me, we gathered the rope and exited into the main chamber--my favorite cave room. And my friend Helen was there, smiling and waiting. And I was shocked to be smiling back and truly meaning it. 

Howard's Waterfall

This was my third trip to Howard's Waterfall, an SCCi cave. My first trip feels like a lifetime ago, with an old caving partner I outgrew. We'd gotten to the edges of the Disaster Room that day and routed early. 

The second was with my kids and Amata, taking an unintended turn and still winding up in the same spot. My daughter was done early, and I left with her while my boys pressed on with Amata. 

On the third trip, we took a few new cavers and were at least confident of how not to go to the Disaster Room. The goal was the Haystacks on the opposite side of the cave. Though I dislike the graffiti, I enjoy the big passage in this cave. 

The Most Unserious Group Photo by Amata Hinkle of Sunguramé Photography. 

We took a turn we did not intend to and went all the way to the right fork, to a dead end on the map. Backtracking, we finally got to a rather obviously pivotal spot and went left. Then, because we could not take chances, went left again. 😆 And if you know Howard's Waterfall, you know that put us in the sand crawl. We crawled and rolled for what seemed like a long time. I was extremely impressed with the new cavers who crawled about 800 feet. 

I was happy to hang out with new people and advise them on how to crawl more efficiently. And I took photo breaks when I found nice spots in the crawl. 

When I emerged from the sandy passage that brought us all to our knees and bellies, I saw a scratched "No" and arrow that seemed to point to the spot from whence I'd come. And I agreed. No indeed. 

Sometimes there's no other way. A nasty crawl can be necessary going in and exiting. But this time, we were in luck and opted to take the other way out. 

But before beginning that journey, most of our group crossed the breakdown to visit the Haystacks. I stayed behind with one of the new cavers and Brian. And I liked it. I'm learning my limits after my attack and how to build upon them. First, I started caving with people who respect my past. Then, I started with caves I am fine with taking beginners to. My latest progress is learning to stop while I am still having a good day. 

I felt weary after that crawl, and I ate my food and enjoyed the silence as I waited for my husband and the group to return. We took a much more pleasant passage out, and eventually we were back on the same path we entered through. 

I felt the exit fever fueling my steps, and I longed for the green outside hues, as my palms ached with every hold after the crawl. Those cobbles on the way out reminded me I'm delicate and had put my palms through a lot in the sand crawl. 

A muddy after shot. 

I love this man. He was tired and mud covered, and he set about picking up all of the trash he saw in the parking lot. Maybe no one else sees it, but I do. 

It was a beautiful day trip to a cave I know well enough to lead through now. It sounds like an unremarkable trip, but I had no panic attacks and didn't hate spending my day underground for the first time in years. 

(I obviously have stubbornness issues. I never gave up trying to cave, but I looked for all iterations of why I was unhappy instead.) 

And then this amazing day happened. 

Smoketree Slide: A Forgotten Survey Collides with Chance Conversation

Today, I went to the Alabama Cave Survey meeting, the first one in two years. And cave surveyors can be an odd lot, territorial and secretive, all while wanting to share information with each other--in theory. I have been involved in many surveys now, and I know what I like and don't like. I like an accurate survey run by a crew obsessed with getting it right. I like working with skills that complement mine. 

A few years ago, before my world fell apart and got reassembled, before I had been nearly beaten to death by a man I dated and had surveyed with, I was learning the skills to sketch caves and draft my own map. Smoketree Slide was supposed to be the first map I drafted on my own. 

I took two survey trips there with the man who later tried to kill me, and with two others. And I sketched passages as best as I could. It was not a cave that would win any prizes. Honestly, in some ways, it was painful, contorting myself into cracks to get to the third drop and pinching rope so tightly into a stahl that there was no hope of it coming out. 

In the meantime, my personal life became increasingly dangerous. The man I loved was violent and a stalker. I didn't understand the beginnings of crippling anxiety or the PTSD that followed when he tried to kill me. So, sketching that map was nowhere on my priority list. In fact, it was a painful memory because Tony and I fought over it. He didn't want me to turn the cave location in because he wanted credit for the find, while perversely refusing to submit the cave himself. The issue was exacerbated when after my attack, every paper I owned was like a deck of cards, thrown into the air and brought down around me. Or maybe more like a casino's worth of decks of cards. I couldn't find important documents, mixed with old phone bills, mixed with handprints on construction paper, mixed with mementos of a life that didn't feel like mine. That sketchbook was one tiny part of a frightening stack. 

When I attended the meeting today, the sketchbook was buried and almost forgotten. I was unsure of my welcome post-attack and following my epic truth-telling that rocked a different well-respected organization. (Sometimes you know what you have to say. You know that you might be hurt in the saying, and you say what's right anyway. It didn't make me universally loved.) I was surprised anyone spoke to me at all. I attended because my husband loves me so well that I can be an island wherever he is. I would endure a lot of derision to watch him light up over cartography. But I was wrong. I have friends still and kind people who still treat me like a normal human without Ben looking menacing next to me. I was happy to be wrong. 

And I was talking to a couple of those kind folks who made my day when one of them asked the other about a cave that sounded eerily familiar. And they both survey far more often than I do now, so I am not a likely source of information. But I knew from the description that Scott meant Smoketree Slide. 

And here's the moment when things often go sideways between cave surveyors. I could have gotten angry and asked him his intentions. He had turned in the cave already, but not mapped it. But, honestly, I knew over the years that anyone might find the cave and submit it. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So, I instead asked him if he would like the data and sketches. And he was thrilled to get the full story and find out why a map had never been submitted or even just the cave location itself. And in a win-win for cavers, he plans to draft the map. 

For a few reasons, the map is a painful one for me to revisit now. But I happily dug through the stack of random papers and sent him data, getting myself some closure in the process. I didn't close any map loops this time, just mental ones.

If you, like me, find yourself sitting on data, thinking you'll get to it eventually, I recommend handing it to someone else with time to dig into it. Alabama caving could greatly benefit from more collaboration and less project possession. And I'm really looking forward to the final outcome.

Stephens Gap Wedding

I didn't want to get married at Stephens Gap. I tried to talk Ben into other places. But he can be tenacious, and I would give him the world, so he won. Stephens Gap used to be a wonderland for me, my favorite cave, my favorite pulldown. 

But I have since almost died in the pulldown on a high water day. I got swept over the edge in a raging waterfall, and I had to be hoisted back up because I didn't have the strength to fight against the water. And I also responded to three body recoveries in the cave over the years. I try not to remember the details when I look at the main pit. It's much easier in the day time because rescues are usually at night when people realize someone has not come back. I used to set aside all of my feelings to keep my fellow rescuers safe. But PTSD has wrecked my ability to manage adrenaline, and I worried about this plan. 

I agreed to do what Ben wanted, but I knew I couldn't actually rappel over the very exposed edge into a pit I have pulled so many out of. So, what y'all didn't see is that I didn't actually rappel from the keyhole to the pedestal in my floofy dress. 

Here's the actual sequence of events: 

1. Rigging floofy dress for safely rappelling. 

I wanted to wear black, and I already owned a black dress that would work. I saw no point in buying something that I would damage. So, no shopping required. I decided that there was no way to do this that didn't involve wearing leggings and then the harness with the dress over it all. The problem is that you need a place for the rope to go between your legs when you climb and rappel, and you need a place for the gear to emerge. I decided I wanted a reverse bustle of sorts, and Ben and I tied up the front of the dress, rolled up, with paracord. My harness and gear were beneath it, with the exception of my croll.  (chest attachment) 

I like to call this picture--"Are you seriously not going to help me get out of this nonsense?!" 😆 But you can see the dress rolled up with the harness beneath. I wore black leggings the day of because I am *so* stylish. 

2. Getting there with gear and rigging. 

We had to hike in with ropes, vertical gear, and formal wear. Even with our friends along, it was a lot. 

Amata also surprised me with something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. 

Brian rigged the main rope while Ben and I changed into formal wear and worked with Amata below. 

She rigged the safety line to the pedestal. The pedestal seems safe to people to climb to, but it's 50 feet to the ground. I will take no chances; I used ascenders to clip to the rope and downclimb so that I didn't die from tripping on the floofy dress. Amata and Brian also brought radios so that we had a prayer of communicating over the raging water. 

3. Having a plan for getting the photos efficiently. 

I knew I couldn't do that long rappel into the pit in the pile of delicate fabric. So, I climbed down on the safety line to the pedestal. Then, I frogged up to the point Amata motioned to. (Radios were not so useful with the water raging like it was. But Amata is amazing with signs and making new ones up.) I changed over eventually and did the world's slowest rappel for photos. The groom had plenty of time to crack jokes on the pedestal. 

The dress kept getting caught on the velcro from the knee pads. 

Ben was making me laugh because he'd heard what I was supposed to be doing, and I had done the opposite. Of course. 

Here's that safety line I mentioned. 

And at the end of the trip, Ben rappelled his new deepest pit. 

Overall, I am glad I capitulated. Ben has taken so many places I have terrible memories of and given me such amazing new moments that I am having the world restored to me--cave by cave, room by room. Stephens Gap is no longer a place I have recovered so many from. It's the place I married Ben. And my memory is now like the cave itself--more light than darkness. 

Green Grotto (Trip 4): Climbing Out of My Memories

There's a weird symmetry to repeatedly being asked to go to Green Grotto Cave. It's the first cave I took the man who attacked me to. I never thought I would go back, and this year I am on my third trip somehow. 

Ben agreed to take an enthusiastic newbie there after he found it while lost on the preserve. (It's not really a good first cave trip, but when you're eighteen, you're immortal, right?) 

I enjoyed the hike. I've learned to slow down and enjoy the details around me, but it's not something teens are good at. And I did my best to keep up with the tall people. 

When we got to the cave, the waterfall at the entrance was roaring, and the crevice I normally climb down was pouring water. 

That wasn't ideal, but I prefer to rig a rope and tie a hasty harness with two ascenders. It's about a six-foot climb down, and I can downclimb that way or Texas up. Still, I did not enjoy looking for the right footholds in the waterfall. Ben was chivalrous and stood in the water to tell me where to place my feet. 

Water pooled at the bottom. It was dry on my last couple of trips. We went on to the main passage, and we pushed through the cheese grater crawl so that we didn't need to do the 25-ft. drop with the non-vertical new caver, Nate. I usually don't mind squeezes at all, but PTSD has changed my life. Things that used to induce adrenaline and be manageable are panic attacks now. I was okay wedged sideways in the rock, cursing the squeeze that wanted to take my pants with it. But there was a small stream of water flowing from the top of the crack. At the peak of misery with my hips wedged, the stream was in my face and water filled my ear. I started hyperventilating and questioning my life choices. (Nate didn't know this. He'd already gone through and Ben coached me from the other side.) 

I could be one of those women who shoe shops on the weekend. Their ears aren't full of water while they are stuck between limestone walls. 

I wriggled until I got out, with Ben encouraging me from the far side. He's much taller than I am, but I am considerably curvier. I'm not sure who has it worse in that crawl. 

I have gotten particular about who I cave with. Some people think less of you if you hyperventilate over things that used to be easy for you or that are easy for everyone else. And some people can't handle a person panicking at all. Ben is used to it after the year living together, and he doesn't try to turn me around, he just gives me what I need to make it through. 

My struggle was rewarded with a waterfall view immediately. 

We took a side trip to the dome, but Nate wasn't so certain about that climb up. It's exposed and not very easy, especially with water pouring over the side. I was relieved when he decided not to push his luck, and Ben climbed back down. 

I had been pointing out fossils and water flow along the way. There's a tantalizing spot in this cave where all of the water flows into the floor. Dig project, anyone?

We went onward next towards the sand room. There's a nastily slick spot where you can slide into a stagnant pool along this path. Ben grabbed me because I lack the six-foot span to reach the handholds. He kept me from going into the water once for sure. 

We climbed down into the lower slot and went on to the sand room, soaking wet and covered in grit soon after. I had explored all reaches of the room before, so I didn't feel the need to see every slope again. I sat down and drank in the room while Ben and Nate climbed into the new-to-them spots. I love the bacterial colonies on the rocks and the water droplets sparkling in my light. 

After sitting still for a few minutes, I let Ben know that he was going to have to snuggle me if we didn't get moving. Hypothermia is a not insignificant risk after you've been drenched in cave water. 

(We'd all been wearing masks, too. And that was drenched as well. So far, I have had no difficulty caving in a mask, but if they get wet, you can't breathe in them so easily anymore. I stubbornly kept it on until we got out of the cave, when I got some distance on the trail from Nate.)

We retraced our steps, and I made it through the crawl without panicking this time. I went first to set up for photos. 

                     Ben in the misery. 

And we were out in short order after the crawl was done. Every time I go back, my memories have something new to coat over my past. And this time, it's a feeling of beauty and of compassion as Ben quietly helped me, almost so that no one knew I needed help. 

Limrock Cave

Ben and I took the kids to Limrock Cave today with Amata and Brian. It's always amazing to have more adults than kids on a trip, so we happily accepted their trip invitation. 

My daughter wears out quickly on cave trips, so we'd discussed splitting groups when she became tired along the way. The water was low near the entrance, nothing to worry about, and we stoop walked into the cave, soon hearing the first waterfall pounding the rocks. I longed to stay and soak in the sight, but my crazy kids were unamused that the cave is sucking cold air in near the entrance at this time of year. 

Brian walked down the rickety metal beam near the entrance, and I instructed the younger kids in sliding down the bank into the stream. Alex was immediately dismayed. You may not know this, but water is wet. And cave water is cold and wet. He paused at every stream crossing and whined as the rest of us either accepted that feet get wet while caving (or were wearing knee-high boots). Lilly pranced through the streams thrilled with her hot pink galoshes--because the water wasn't over the top...yet. 

We made it to our first turn to avoid the stream passage continuation, and Alex was still devastated about the wet shoe situation. I offered to go back to the car with him, but he said he didn't want that. However, we did remove the boots, dump the water out, and continue on with grousing. For once, I was ready to just walk in the water, and my son wanted someone to crawl atop the clay banks near the ceiling with him to stay out of the water. So, away I went. 

We went the crawly way on to the lovely rimstone dams, and we made it to the waterfall and 70-foot dome. After that, we fed the kids because Alex was ready to have a tantrum. (A lot of that is hanger with him.) And all spirits were higher after that.

Photo taken by Amata Hinkle of Sunguramy Photography. 

We continued on through The Raceway. And I pointed out the places people had grafittied to the kids and discussed why we shouldn't do this...for the umpteenth time. It seemed worse than I remembered with huge scratches into the ceiling for no good reason. In some ways, the scratches are worse. They are harder to clean and hide. And the more grafittied a place is, the more people think it's okay to leave their mark, too. 

By the time we got to the register room, Lilly and Alex were flagging. Lilly had continued because Ben had promised her a candy bar at the halfway point. Ben added our names to the notebook in the register, and Brian, Alex, Lilly, and I headed back out. Aiden and Ben had never been to the end of the cave and wanted to go all of the way through the second breakdown. 

A crystalized crinoid. Photo by Amata Hinkle. 

Photo by Amata Hinkle. 

We took the kids on a detour on the way out to Caramel Falls. That view never gets old for me; the way the water carved away the stone layers until they look like wood grain is breathtaking. 

But Lilly got her feet wet on the way. The water finally went over the top of her boots, and she reacted exactly as her brother did. I think she barely noticed the flabbergasting view because she instantly had to empty the boots. 😆

We squelched in our sloshy boots the rest of the way out and hiked the short distance to the car, beginning the long wait. Three interminable hours later, we saw headlights in the darkness coming towards the car. Aiden was on cloud nine because he got to finally go somewhere only grownups usually got to go. And the most relatable pose is the one Ben is currently striking. 

As usual, many thanks to Amata and Brian for the company and awesome photos! And we are always grateful to the SCCi for preserving caves for future generations. 

Rusty's Cave--Trip 2

Caving has been different with PTSD. Since my attack, I thought so many kinds of things. I thought maybe if I caved, I would feel like myself again. I beat myself up for not loving everything I used to love. And over the last year, I have finally put my finger on my love/hate relationship with caving. 

I was always petrified of heights, but I enjoyed overcoming my fear before. I felt the adrenaline rush and loved it. But now my body is always full of adrenaline. My body always thinks we might die, someone might kill us, no matter what I am doing. Now, adding extra adrenaline has meant panic attacks at times. 

I have had peaceful trips with my kids, never doing anything too scary. And I have overcome discomfort on rope to teach Ben how to rappel, to belay him at the bottom of pits. But I still crave cautious trips. Today's choice seemed to fit that bill. I remembered Rusty's Cave as an easy, happy trip. We got our permit beforehand, and we ventured out early this morning. It's a bit of a drive, so we got to the preserve at 10:00. After turning too soon, we had some bushwhacking to make it to the pit entrance. (Alexander had the forethought to plug coordinates into his app before we left.) 

The pit entrance was as I remembered it, but there was a bolt this time for easier rigging. Alexander rappelled first, followed by Ben. I talked Ben through everything. It was his second vertical cave rappel, and I worried, though I shouldn't have. 

I have more vertical experience than the others, so I went last. But it all feels new after the attack, new with PTSD on top of old fears. And I was shaky and determined as I rigged in. I tested my rack and rappelled the 35 feet to the others. The drop is close for half and then opens up to a free hang for the last 15 feet or so. 

We took off our gear when we landed in the stream, no further vertical required. I insisted we go to the right and see the formation galleries I remembered. I craved beautiful sights along the way. And quickly I was rewarded with columns and draperies. A bit of scrambling over breakdown yielded a forest of formations and soda straws.

I played with catching water droplets in photos until Alexander and Ben lost all patience and insisted we move on. (There's more cave!) 

I loved the microrimstone and every pristine white formation. I am choosing to see hope in the heavily trafficked places that everyone still leaves untouched. 

This is Alexander's wall. "Brandi, you've got to appreciate these layers. It's geology!" It also happens to be where we had lunch. 

I loved this dome. I crawled through a watery spot and into a constant rain to see it. And the guys are standing in the drips to light it all up. 

Here are the guys standing in the drip zone. They were mostly good natured about being my lighting crew. 

And the pictures stop here, but the story doesn't. I don't do well with heights anymore. I used to straddle canyons in Fern, but I always hated exposure. I took time with careful placement of feet and hands not nearly as long as Ben's, as I followed in giant footsteps. There were no serious drops, probably never more than 20 feet. But it was still that extra adrenaline in my flooded system. We made it into a crawl area with stream and cobbles. I opted to not continue while Alexander and Ben relished the misery. I stayed behind in a warm spot with the only bat I saw. And I reviewed my photos, thrilled with my progress. 

I was tired as we routed and turned back to the entrance, but still in good spirits until we got back to the dome and canyon section. We did a lot of up and down through there to find the best route earlier. And I was frustrated because the guys told me to climb up and then decided about three steps later that I should really stay down. *Facepalm* I haven't learned my PTSD adrenaline/cave limit yet. I had a panic attack today on the ledge when I had to get back down after. To their credit, Ben held me, and Alexander produced a Snickers when I was not at my best. 

I remained at the lower, grabbier, tighter level as much as I could. And I barely noticed the formations that enthralled me before. We got back to our gear pile, and Ben climbed out first. I went next, and I was grateful to frog out. I felt so sure on the rope, climbing back to the top. Then, Alexander made it out, and we packed up. Our hike out was much easier than going in because we had a trail this time. And my spirits were a bit lifted to make it to the car before dark. (Unlike so many Byars trips before!)

Many thanks to Ben and Alexander for working with me and to the Southeast Cave Conservancy for preserving caves for all. If you enjoyed my photos and trip report, please consider donating to the SCCi here.