Finally Savoring Something

I have become thrilled with all aspects of cave surveying of late. Mapping the unknown appeals to me. So, I agreed to visit my friend Mark’s latest project—Savor It Well. I knew going into the day that the hike in would be steeply downhill, so going out was guaranteed to be brutal. Still, Mark wanted people to survey, and I wanted to practice sketching. A redundant sketcher sounds like a good idea in theory, right? More than one perspective would be useful, and perhaps one sketcher could keep a running profile. I was happy with my role in the scheduled events.

So, I hiked in following Julie, carrying what seemed like all of my gear. Vertical gear, rope pads, wetsuit, sketching supplies, and my pack with essentials for the day. We could not have asked for more beautiful weather; the sunlight filtered through the trees, and the seventy-degree weather was magnificent, enough to tempt this caver into staying on the surface. But the underground beckoned.

We came across a few new possible cave entrances on the way to Savor It Well, marked them, and moved on. Adventures for another day. I donned my wetsuit at the entrance and threw the essentials into the cave pack. I was already heating up as I wrestled my vertical gear on. I know it doesn’t seem like a little wetsuit layer should turn putting a harness on into a wrestling match, but it does. I wriggled and won. Thoroughly attired, I followed Mark into a tiny crack. I don’t know how everyone else made it through. I was miserable enough, and Mark seemed to think I could mostly free climb, make my short legs reach impossible holds somehow. Nope. I rigged my rack for the six feet to the floor.

I was mostly unamused by that point. It’s a sign. You should just turn around. Back to the sunlight. But I can’t listen to that sensible inner voice. That ninny has no sense of adventure. Everyone else had already been to Savor It Well, so I followed Mark forward as they shimmied through the crack. The way onward was not intuitive. I wanted to follow a big walking passage, but the path actually took us through a small belly crawl, near the edge of a pit. I inched along with my vertical gear catching at the ledges in the floor. Mark rigged the pit with Brandon, and Julie came through to keep me company as I steadfastly refused to hang around the edges without a safety. And Mark rigged one to the bolt so that I could make the scary traverse across a stone spanning a pit, to the edge of the second drop. Mark and Brandon went down first, and there were calls for more rope pads along the way. (For non-cavers, we pad the sharp edges so that they don’t cut the rope while we are climbing back up.)

I just love when we need a ton of rope pads. Julie joked that she remembers the drop as “98 rope pads, 102 edges”. No one tells me these things until I’m right on top of them, of course. I made it this far; I’m all in. So, I rappel over the edge of the ~100 ft. drop, setting a new rope pad along the way. I land on a gravel slope where Mark and Brandon are sitting on a ledge—twenty feet from the actual floor, much to my horror.

The ledge was wide at least, but I don’t like unclipping on ledges. Period. And the gravel slope had me worried. The stones felt loose beneath my feet, and I imagined them dropping onto the floor below. I carefully scooted across the pit’s edge, to sit under a rock with Brandon. That rock was the only shelter from the incessant rain. Again, no one mentioned I’d get rained on. But I’m a tough lady. I would deal. Julie made it down to us, and we four huddled under the rock shelter to discuss survey plans. The last survey station was on this ledge, and we needed to get to the bottom of the pit. I hung out up top, sketching the drop with Mark while Brandon read the instruments and Julie set a station below.

I was relieved to finish up and get off of the crazy ledge. We set yet another rope pad at this spot. (I think that made four?) And I put my feet on solid ground. I sketched with Mark again, and we dedicated our time to moving forward into a watery, stoop-walking passage. I had a difficult time keeping up. The roar of the water made hearing readings, as the fourth person in line, nearly impossible. And I am not a fast sketcher. I don’t think I’m particularly slow, but Mark was sketching nearly as quickly as Julie and Brandon could set up stations. I trudged on, sketching as well as I could, finding Brandon and Julie were finishing out a loop. No matter how I sketched that loop, it just wasn’t closing. Mark couldn’t get it to close either. Behind on readings, sketching too slowly to keep warm and keep up, I declared myself done. A redundant sketcher is just that—redundant.

I followed the team forward, but I didn’t press a miserably watery crawl Brandon ventured toward. I would fit, but I was already shivering. The idea of lying down in water was insanity. So, I remained with the others, waiting for Brandon’s report. And it goes. However, everyone opted to explore that section on a drier day, and we finished out the loop we were in. Between the cold and futility of being there, I was miserable. I ate a snack when we popped back out in the main room, but I ran out of food. I contemplated staying put as the team pushed onward to a different passage. I was already cold following them, and this was a large room at least. But Mark and Julie encouraged me to move forward, and I pressed miserable crawly leads with Brandon. At least I moved enough to keep hypothermia at bay.

This passage, too, looped to the stream flowing toward the third drop. The water rushed around my boots, and I worried about where the water actually fell. Don’t get too close to the edge. Down is death. I held the tape and set the stations with Julie, and we stopped for the day before reaching the third drop, which was a wise decision. All of us were frozen, and none of us were ready to be pounded by a waterfall during a rappel and climb out.

I climbed out first, stopping at the 20 ft. ledge, unclipping again. Yes, my inner voice of reason and self-preservation screamed at me once more. She’s quite an unreasonable harpy.

I had to stop there because no one at the bottom could hear anything from the very top. A person on the ledge could relay information. So, I did. Julie came next, carrying a rope. And I told her to keep moving. There was no sense in getting off of the rope and letting me on. So, she did, after some trouble with the rope pad, which had to be tied to the rope.

I had planned to pass it like a knot. She took it off, planning to put it back in place. I agreed to take over that job, silently dreading my role. I waited until she got off rope, then I crept to the edge, velcroing the pad in place and tying it back to the rope. Then, I sat back, scared to move and knock rocks onto my friends below. Mark weighted the rope, and of course, the pad was too low then. My heart sank as the rope rubbed the edge, and I shouted for Mark to stop climbing. I crawled to the edge once more, pulling the rope pad higher, cursing the situation in general and releasing my ire entirely upon that poor rope pad.

When Mark reached the edge, I was still only a few feet away, terrified to move and accidentally brain him with a rock. The only words I said to him were significant ones, “I’m ready to be off of this ledge now.” I imagine this came out firmly, in a determined voice. More likely, I squeaked the words at Mark, and my skin was a shade lighter than pale, so he handed the rope off to me after he landed on the ledge.

I frogged up in my wetsuit, the motion rubbing the backs of my knees, keeping my joints from bending right. Wetsuits aren’t made for caving. Fifty feet up, I saw what I couldn’t see from the floor. The rope rubbed one of those countless ledges. Please don’t be rubbing my rope. I frogged as gently, as gracefully as I have ever done, until I could see the spot and determine that my rope wasn’t damaged. Able to inhale completely, I continued onward, negotiating the edge without issue and traversing the pit’s lintel once more. Then, I reached Julie, and we moved forward through the crawl. And after my spirits were drained away, leeched out of me by the numbing cold, she was still animated and happy to carry the conversation.

Earlier in the day, I had warned her of my arachnophobia, lest she wonder at my horror of crayfish and spiders. And I am relieved I did so. The eight-legged horrors had been busy as we explored and surveyed. She knocked six webs down, just calmly telling me to stay put. She found three more after. I thought that the bone-chilling cold was the last straw, but, no, Mark bringing me to an awful place where spiders seal you in with their webs—that’s the last straw. I am eternally grateful to anyone who saves me from the spiders. Seriously. So, I was concerned when Julie began protesting at Mark’s rigging as she tried to exit the cave.

I normally just curse my way out of such situations, but she reiterated, “This is not how I rig this spot. We are definitely showing Mark how this spot has to be rigged before we leave.” Her way is constructive, but maybe less satisfying and humorous for those below. I was at a loss for how to help her from below, but she didn’t really need my help. She wiggled her hips through the crack until she found a way through. I had to do the same constrictive dance, and we were out in twilight.

I was relieved to be done, and we dreamt on possible food. Pizza is my dream food after a rough survey day. I stripped off my wetsuit and was dismayed to discover that I didn’t have a dry shirt left. The sopping wet ones had no appeal, so I was gearing up to hike out in my sports bra when Julie saved me from a cold evening, handing me a shirt. I thought the guys would be along shortly, but night fell. There was no food left. My dreams of pizza became a raging need for it. And Mark and Brandon finally emerged—too late for us to acquire my food. When they were all packed up, we prepared to don our gear and hike/climb out. (For the record, on the way in, my pack felt like ½ a Brandi.) But all of that gear was now wet. And as I swung my pack on, for the first time in my life, I fell over backward with it. Yep. That happened. I was at the hysterical laughter portion of the day, so I laughed at myself with everyone and slowly rose with my ¾-a-Brandi-weight pack.

You’re thinking by now that this tale has to end, right? Surely the misery is over? No. This day just kept on giving. We hiked at a steep angle out of the sink, and I groused the whole way, naturally. Brandon kept saying that we were almost at the old logging trail. Almost. After the third time he said that, I started shouting back about the “mythical” logging trail. We eventually hit a level patch, but that was almost out on the main road. There’s simply no easy way out of that sink.

When we got back to our vehicles, I was paranoid as I stripped because this road was well traveled. That’s just what I need—to have to explain to some cop why I’m topless on the side of the road. So, I speedily stripped and hastened to throw clothes back on. Meanwhile, Julie and Brandon were complimentary about Savor It Well, already planning a trip back. I just looked at Mark and said, “I love you, Mark, but I’m not coming back.”

In the car, on our way to civilization, to amenities like cereal and milk, Julie joked, “What? You didn’t savor it well?” I let my voice drip with sarcasm as I settled back in the seat and said, “I’m finally savoring something.”  

Crickety Kennamer Trip

Mark and I were determined to check up on Kennamer Cave soon, especially since the last time we saw it, the cave was flooding during the holiday Paint Rock River overflow. I suspected at the time that the cave had sumped at the lower entrance, but had no evidence for the theory. So, Mark, Tony, and I met up and hiked to the lower entrance. Mark was determined to do a bottom-up trip, but I find those difficult to manage. There are some places that it’s just easier to wriggle down than launch upward.

Still, I am always trying to improve as a caver, so I agreed. We made the crawl through first, and I always forget how awful it is, getting wet in the pools. If you are a typical caver, you’ll get wet from the thigh down in the lower crawl. And though the water chills me, I am still petrified of all things arachnid—including crustaceans. And the crayfish are quite at home in these lower pools; their albino outsides standing out in the clear water are a stark reminder of their presence. I’m not sure what’s worse: going first and seeing all of the crayfish or going after someone has muddied the water and not seeing all of them.

My flood theory was confirmed as leaf debris clung to the low ceiling, and my imagination went into overdrive as we crunched through more debris in the pools. Kennamer shouldn’t be crunchy. Why is a cave I love crunchy?! And the pools reeked of rotting plants. Just rotting plants, I tell myself. I had a difficult time reconciling the cave I love with its new swampy state, and Tony has seen me caving only a couple of times. By now, I’m sure he’s decided I’m a wimpy lady, but I grit my teeth through the weird cavy textures and sounds and push forward, despite my misgivings on the issue. Out of your comfort zone, Williams. Get out of your comfort zone. I try to give myself a pep talk, but I’m having none of it, as the wimpy part of me says, We are way the hell out of our comfort zone. We passed that a couple of hundred feet ago. There’s nature on us!

I follow Mark through the familiar path, backwards from how I’m accustomed to. We get to the bypass next, and Mark scrambles up. I am not yet so fearless. Or maybe I just value my life. Either way, I brought a webbing harness and QAS to hook onto the rope—the rope I insisted Mark bring. Tony started to climb up without issue and without rope. I am terribly jealous of such bold skill. He waits on the ledge as I slowly, slowly slink up the rope. And I was happy to reach the end of the climb, until I noticed that Mark hadn’t really rigged the rope to much of anything. It passed over a smooth rock, and the end was under his foot. But there was no knot to be seen. This is why I have trust issues. But I lived to tell the tale.

After we made it through the bypass, I scrambled forward and upward through the rocks, into an area I normally don’t visit. Mark let me take a wrong turn, and I’m glad that I did. I saw a top-view of a canyon I’d never witnessed, and some tiny wannabe cave pearls. I dubbed them the “white corn of Kennamer”. They do look like corn kernels.

After a course correction, I made it into an area that finally felt familiar and into the register room. My favorite route normally avoids the oh-so-friendly bypass. I was happy to narrate about previous trips as we went to Tony, who was seeing a large, technically horizontal cave for the first time. From there, I recognized all of my favorite landmarks, and the cave was full of unusual life washed in from the flood. There were dozens of forest salamanders, scurrying out of sight. Salamanders are common in caves, but these had different coloration than I typically see. And there were new bugs along the way, gnats plaguing us in the crawl, and more crickets than I’ve ever seen in Kennamer.

Though we had not experienced a recent rainfall, we still came upon a pool in our route. I had trouble recognizing a few parts of the path, and I thought perhaps Mark was kidding about going through the water. Nope. He wasn’t. I balked at the water. I didn’t bring my wetsuit. I’ll freeze in this. My absolutely-not expression must have shown on my face because Mark came back and toted me piggy back through the pool, much to Tony’s amazement. He quipped, “Are you gonna carry me, too, Mark?”

The only good reply in this situation is a smart ass one. So, I batted my eyelashes at him and explained, “Well, you are going to have to bat your eyelashes at him.” I’m pretty sure he thought about splashing me.

After pointing out the formations that draw me back to Kennamer, we were getting close to the second bit of climbing I dread. I have been practicing my canyon skills lately and am buoyed by the hope that I am better at this than before. However, reality quickly set in as I saw that these walls are completely different and inhospitable compared to those I’ve recently climbed. These are slick and wet with few good holds. I can make it halfway, up to the stone we all pause on. But then I arrive at my usual problem. There are footholds, but no handholds to drag myself to the top. Just smooth edges everywhere. Mark has launched himself off the foothold to the ledge before, but I don’t have that much courage yet. Or perhaps insanity. I had hoped he would scramble up and dangle webbing for me to use. But no. He decided that now would be the opportune time to see if I’d become a serious canyoning woman.

Well, I’m not. And I’m still not crazy enough to launch myself toward a ledge and hope for balance and force to work in my favor. So, Mark shoved me upward, and I sat there on the precipice, watching the skilled guys negotiate the climb without issue.

After that, I had little left to dread. The normally drippy domes were raining on us fiercely as we passed. And I saw another animal I’d never seen in Kennamer as we moved past Moby Dick. In the side passage beyond the massive boulder, a cave rat scampered, terrified of us and our lights. I called to Mark, but the critter hid before Mark could make his way back to us. And we scrambled up the mud slope, the spot where I normally pause to appreciate the massive scale of Kennamer with its ceilings towering far above me. The water drenched me again on the way out, and that wouldn’t have been so terrible so close to the Dug Entrance. But Tony and Mark riled up the crickets. The most crickets I’ve seen in Kennamer. So, they were terrified and leaping off the walls, at my face, on my neck. Oh, no. Is there one in my clothes?! Please don’t let there be bugs in my clothes. So, shrieking like the good Southern belle I revert to under pressure, I climbed out of the Dug Entrance, happy to embrace the inky night and exit cricket hell. 

Green Grotto Cave Parts 1 and 2

Green Grotto Cave Trips 1 and 2

            Recently, a friend of mine approached me about exploring a cave on some newly acquired property. Any caver knows how exciting such an offer is. I had looked on the survey, but I didn’t come up with a cave in the area, and I was excited about the possibility. So, Mark, my two friends, and I headed out with lots of gear to the cave as my friend had explained that we would need rope to rig the drop. We hiked into a sink, and the entrance was beautiful, a huge dome framing our way. I began removing gear from my bag, longing for rope to avoid the crazy ladder that people were using to enter the cave. But, alas, due to an extraordinary miscommunication, Mark and I had failed to see which of us was carrying the rope, both assuming the other had it. We got all of the way into the sink with no rope! Still, I wanted to see what I could, and Mark agreed. I bypassed the fragile-looking ladder that someone had rigged. I find the webbing and rung ladders more terrifying than free climbing. So, I took my time climbing into a crack off to the side, using stones as my holds until I got to the same spot everyone else landed in. The entrance had a nice dome and an obvious path onward, filled with wood and leaf debris.

            It didn’t take our group long to arrive at the pit’s edge. I didn’t want to be anywhere near it, but Mark looked down and declared it to be about 25 feet. Still, it would be impossible to free climb, and I was ready to turn around. Then, Mark looked at a spot under my feet, and said, “Look, a Brandi hole!” (Brandi holes are any kind of miserable crack or crawl that Mark wants me to check out before he stuffs himself through.) And sure enough, there was a crack that I could try. I climbed down to the entrance of the crawl and had to go through on my side. I was pressed in and the rough edges felt like sliding through a cheese grater. I cursed for the duration of the crawl.

            My two friends were on their first cave trip, and they didn’t know that I could curse quite so proficiently. I think they were getting a little alarmed even. I heard Mark reassuring them, “Oh, she’s fine. She’s loving this.” I wanted to curse more upon hearing that little statement, but I kept my profanity in so that I didn’t alarm the new people once I saw that my crawl opened up into a beautiful dome room. I began excitedly shouting for Mark to follow. The dome overhead looked to be a bit more than 30 feet, and it was raining water down on me. I wasn’t sure if the new guys would be brave enough to follow, but I badly wanted to explore and hoped they could overcome any claustrophobia they possessed. One followed. Then, Mark and finally the last guy struggled through. I could tell he found the squeeze challenging, but he wasn’t cursing or hyperventilating, and I was impressed that the new guys managed that tight space on their first trip.

            I loved watching the surprise on their faces as they looked up into the vast space. Being underground is astounding.  The vast rooms and carved domes stupefy us all. And I could tell they were ecstatic to witness a new realm. We followed the water to an even larger water fall with an amazing, pounding flow. Mark scrambled up to see its entirety, and I opted out because I didn’t want to be soaked for the rest of the adventure. And the others followed my lead on that issue.

            Mark returned, and we went down a side passage, noting a pool as we went. Mark believed that to be where the water went and of especial interest. But that was not on my agenda for the day because it looked like a tiny wetsuit-requiring squeeze. Instead, Mark and I went down into a shallow canyon area, following the walls into a large, sandy room. The other two went over the top where we went down, and we were surprised that we all popped out into the same area. Mark and I pushed the edges of the whole space, crawling into tiny areas of leafy debris even. Mark believed that entire space to be an overflow room. We reluctantly parted the area, unsure if there was a cave map for it and made plans to return.

            On the day following the trip, Mark did a thorough search and found a map of the cave. Alas. Not an original find. But that didn’t stifle my curiosity. The drop that I didn’t get to do on the first trip was haunting me, and, like Mark, I wanted to see where the water went. So, we made plans for another weeknight trip. One of our party had to bow out, and I am always sad for anyone that can’t go caving. But we were still a party of four and carried on. We hiked into the sink and rigged the drop this time. The two people with us were not vertically qualified, and they prepared to do the crawl that would get them through the rest of the cave. I did the rappel and was amazed to see the spot where there was a pool last time at the bottom through the crack. And it was dry now. I climbed up into a crack that had gotten a “too tight” symbol on the map, and it was, indeed, miserable. I didn’t go all of the way, but I suspect it came from the surface. It was filled with debris. And our pool was missing. So, we went back up, tracing the water.

            I saw a flash of white in a pool and was astonished to see not a crawfish or a seed pod as I’d thought, but a white-finned catfish, trapped in a puddle. We had no way to remove him and tried to leave him alone. Mark and I went onward toward the waterfall climb that I now wanted to do, and our friends opted to explore the Buddha Room at the bottom. On our way to the bigger dome, we saw that all of the water was disappearing into the stony floor. The cave takes a good deal of water, but if you wanted to find out where all of that went, you’d have to dig.

            That mystery was somewhat solved now, and I scrambled up the rocks. I paused to enjoy the high—87 ft.—dome. The water was pounding out of a tube near the top, and I am certain that there’s got to be a third entrance up there somewhere. We walked around on the upper level, and Mark did the step across to see the rest, while I opted to enjoy my perch near the waterfall. We returned along the same route and were caving back to our packs through the crack. Right before I could go through, a cave rat scrambled before me. You’ll be thrilled to know that this daring adventurer did not shriek about the rodent. However, I may have hesitated in following it through, and I might have been worried that it was hiding in my vertical gear. If you’ll recall from my recent Blevins Gap article, I only recently discovered that cave rats actually exist, in spite of my years of caving. They are still shocking to me.

            The little guy must have been frightened and hiding because I didn’t see it again. We donned our gear, climbed out, and rejoined our group as we de-rigged. They seemed thrilled to be underground again, and I am glad to have some of my big questions about the cave answered. I groused my way out of the sink, and I’m sure those guys were thinking, “How the heck has she been caving so long? Don’t people hate her?” And the answer is, the ones who love me have started to ignore the complaining. It’s a coping mechanism. And I’m sure that in spite of my onslaught of complaints about our angle of ascent on the hike out, that those excited faces will be back underground. They may even be back underground with me.  

Blue Spring Cave and Crabb's Quest for Crystals

           I know that I can’t be the only person in TAG obsessed with crystals. But, seriously, when I’m in a room full of them, my large vocabulary becomes irrelevant. I get lost in wonder, and the only adjective I seem to remember is shiny. I found out that my friend Jennifer Crabb feels the same way, and I knew that she had to see my favorite place—Blue Spring Cave. It has all of my favorite things—mostly dry caving, gypsum, and crystals.

            So, I plotted the trip and managed to convince two other people to join the crew. We piled into my van bright and early on Sunday morning, and off we went. After a second breakfast in McMinnville, the journey was without incident. We piled our gear together, lamented the fairly cold morning as we hiked to the entrance, and made it to the door, where I wrestled the lock. There were three keys on my lanyard. And I must have chosen poorly, but the key went in, and I thought there must be a magical trick to making it turn. So, I flailed, my arm lost in the door’s orifice. Crabb finally had mercy on me and came to help while Mark looked on with amusement. She got a different key to work, and we were blasted with air.

            I love the first part of Blue Spring. It’s almost like tourist caving. Easy gravel and beautiful formations. And we made it to the ladder in no time. Mark convinced Crabb that the register was up the ladder, and she was determined to sign it and see it. She was halfway up the old thing before I realized she’d been taken in. Mark was gleeful that there was finally someone with us not afraid of heights at all. Together, they explored the historic entrance, and I remained happily at the register with Jeff Burchfield. I kept thinking, I don’t think anyone actually climbs that ladder. Who does that? Don’t they know it leads to a gate? And poor Crabb might not have known, but Mark certainly did, and back down the ladder they came.

            After that fool’s errand, we recommenced our journey. Our destination was the Cathedral Room; Mark was getting over a nasty cough, and we didn’t want to exacerbate the situation with a strenuous trip. I was in the lead for much of the day, occasionally taking wrong turns as I fought to remember the way. Sometimes there are obvious mud trails, and other times there’s mud everywhere. I almost took us down the Joop Loop. I knew of its existence and have heard enough stories to know that I don’t really want to go that way. I began down the crawl, and Mark was entirely too thrilled. When he starts laughing and sounding ecstatic, I know I am in for a rough day. Luckily, I had barely poked my head in before the tell-tale laughter began.

            Then, I scurried backward and made my way along the correct route and to the bridge. Down the ladder and onward. The main borehole is starting to feel quite familiar, my old friend beckoning me to its depths. I remembered the correct turn off to the left and was feeling quite pleased with myself. I would have missed the turn off for the Cathedral Room though. I’ve only been there once, and I probably wouldn’t have realized my error until I approached the familiar BO Crawl. Mark had no intentions of letting us go that far astray, so we made our turn. I may have further explored another bit of side passage along the way. But, luckily, all of the passages I find are completely foreign belly crawls that no one would endure for long. So, I backtracked and went onward.

            I saw a passage ahead that looked familiar, and we were all spellbound by the glittery walls and ceiling. Crabb announced that I must be her only friend because none of her other friends had taken her here. I was pleased that one of my favorite places was so well appreciated by others. We clambered up a small spot, and made it to the STOP rock above. I always chuckle when I see that small rock because someone felt compelled to put it there. I wonder if anyone has actually gotten so lost in the glittery moment that they simply walked over the edge. Without much further to go, we made it to big borehole again and journeyed toward the Cathedral room. It was mostly familiar. I remembered the giant flowstone wall and the cussing hole. I couldn’t remember what side the cussing hole was on, but it wasn’t relevant, as the left side was completely flagged off to protect the rimstone. So, I used the right wall for leverage and made it to a flat level that we could walk to the left side on and the tiny entrance. I made it through without much fuss; mostly I tried to avoid the water. A day in the Cathedral Room means wet legs, and wet clothing is frigid to me. I don’t know why I climbed so gingerly. I knew there was a pool to get through next. I have misstepped in that room before, and I had no intentions of letting Mark muddy up the water and put me in hip deep, breath taking liquid hell again. I went first, warning Crabb as I went to feel for her foot holds, lest she suffer the same fate.

            We made it to the other side, and I suddenly remembered the bits I’d repressed, for I am excellent at repressing unpleasant experiences. It’s how I keep caving with Mark Ostrander, after all. There was a knotted handline, and I was supposed to use it to climb up. I remember how scared I was the first time I did that, convinced I would fall, that my puny arms would fail me, and I’d skin my body as I slid down. Now that I’ve been canyoning lately, I know my arms are stronger than that. And after straddling death-defying chasms, the flowstone didn’t look so terrifying anymore. My mind was shocked that this graceful body belonged to me.

            I love the giant draperies at the top. They remind me of wings tinged with water, and I can’t look away. But eventually someone always comes up the slope, and the moment passes. We move onward through the room to our destination. And even more than the flowstone I’d just climbed, I had buried the sketchier climbdown that awaited me deep in the recesses of my brain. My stomach sank as I approached the end of the line, and I remembered the pool and pit. And I saw another knotted rope. I don’t know how Mark talked me through that during my last trip. I am certain that I was probably a shaky mess. This time, I went first, and I didn’t have any moments that were unmanageable. Jeff and Crabb didn’t know what a huge achievement that was for me, but I was proud of the moment. And I was rewarded with the pristine white splendor I could glimpse across the way. The others have no fear, and they made it down without any problems. We paused to get the full effect and continued on toward our goal.

            We made it back to the Cathedral Room, and I’d forgotten the scale of that place. What I didn’t forget was the formations and the way the pure white ones glitter with a riot of color. I was content as I heard Crabb’s squeals of glee. This is what it’s about. Sharing the places that are so beautiful to me they seem sacred.

            After we’d exhausted the wall of beauties, we went through some breakdown. And Mark was sitting on an undercut rock, and we all watched in horror as it gave way. There was nothing I could do. If any of us had been closer, we would have been crushed anyway. My heart stopped as the moment happened in slow motion. You’re probably waiting for catastrophe here. It never happened. Mark proved himself to be the legend he is in my mind as he rode that shelf down, surfing on the rock, and landed on his feet like a cat. He was unshaken, while I was left nearly hyperventilating from the experience.

            After a close call, I was happy to leave the Cathedral Room. But we’d packed our vertical gear and rope in because Mark had unfinished business with a chasm that wasn’t quite free-climbable on our previous foray to the Cathedral Room. So, on the way out, I rigged the rope around a nice large rock, and we rappelled to the bottom in pairs. There wasn’t a lot of space to stand, but there was a beautiful pool that no one wanted to disrupt because the crystals were shining through the water.

            Upon packing our gear away, we had a brief chat with the Nashville Grotto group and went to the Moonscape Room. I find it interesting, but not a serious draw. However, Crabb couldn’t turn down the opportunity, and it was right there. We all speculated on how the sand piles got that way. Most of our explanations sounded like the start to some horrid B sci-fi movie. Then, we journeyed out. And, for once, we made it to the cars in daylight. I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before. And we may have looked like vagrants with our muddy arms in Applebee’s as we ate a serious amount of food, but we were the happiest group in the room, huddled over the Blue Spring map book and plotting the next trip.  

Blevins Gap Cave, Or That Time I Was Stuck Like Winnie-the-Pooh

On February 13th, I found myself in need of a caving fix. I was in the middle of a visit to the middle of nowhere MS, and I chose to drive back to the Rocket City to go caving with friends. I had suggested the trip to Blevins Gap and was, therefore, declared the unofficial trip leader. I had wanted to go for a while, but for reasons I didn't understand at the time, no one wanted to go with me.

Six of us met and went for a short hike to the cave entrance. Blessedly short, as it was below freezing out. Knowing beforehand that it has an entry drop, Brian rigged the rope and we went down into a beautiful, large entrance. I was immediately in awe of the many towering formations around me. We waited on a leaf-strewn slope until everyone made it down because only Brian had been there before. And the next room was as beautiful as the one I dropped into.

I saw the leaves on the edges at about head height, and I've heard cavers say that different piles of leaves and debris are pack rat nests. But I had never actually seen a pack rat until that day, and I definitely wasn't anxious to get close to the critter then. I peered at it as it stared at us. It looked quite a bit less frightening than the picture my imagination had painted. I had envisioned giant, monster rats with feral eyes, flying off of ledges and terrorizing me. But this little guy was content to remain where he was.

Photo by Michelle Edwards.

I was disappointed to learn that the cave is actually not that large, though it is quite beautiful. However, half of its somewhat small footage is down a drop that only the smallest people can squeeze through. When we got to the 17 ft. drop, I stared at the small opening, perhaps underestimating my size. I always think I can squeeze myself into impossible crevices, until the reality of my dimensions fully hits me, usually when I'm stuck--literally--between a rock and a hard place. Because my friend Michelle is slightly smaller, we sent her down the drop first. And I became anxious as I watched her struggle a bit through the entry. Still, I thought, Michelle is not that much smaller than I am. I've got this. 

And this is when things get iffy. I am wedged in the drop. Photo by Michelle Edwards.

I managed to wiggle my hips enough to make it through the tiny spot. I rappelled down the slick bell, landing safely. This exclusive room was more beautiful than the one before. We'd heard rumors of a calcified bottle somewhere on this level, and as it was only about 150 ft. to explore, we went in search of it.

Calcified bottle on an island. Photo by Michelle Edwards.

We ventured to our left, climbing over a stone to view a gorgeous pool with tiny islands, one of which had the sought-after bottle. We didn't want to touch the water and muddy the pool or disturb anything. So, we stood on the far bank, enjoying the wall of formations and watery vista. After Michelle finally snapped a photo that she was satisfied with, we explored the rest of the room we dropped into, including an awful muddy scramble.

I didn't really see myself squeezing back through the tiny drop unless there was some extraordinary purpose, so I wanted to make sure that I saw everything on this trip. So, we braved the peanut butter mud to see what was at the top of the slope, but, alas, it was only a few soda straws and a tiny spot to sit in. We'd gotten fairly filthy without tremendous reward this time. However, not wanting to muck up our gear, we'd removed it beforehand. So, at least there was that. 

We donned our gear, and Michelle beautifully frogged back up the bell and squeezed through the gap without much issue. I knew how much I had struggled getting into this room though, so I was concerned about getting back out without gravity aiding me this time. When it was my turn, I frogged the distance to the gap without issue, but I quickly had to turn my head sideways and get my shoulders out ahead of me so that they could be useful. I moved my ascenders forward each painstaking inch that I could. My chest cleared the narrow point, but my hips were sticking. Michelle, in her rock climbing harness, had a bit more flexibility and had been able to get her legs higher to help. My legs were more constricted in the caving harness I usually adore. Three of the cavers up top were also rescue team members and were already prepared for the fools who only thought they were skinny. They had a haul rigged in this eventuality. And I opted for the easy way out instead of flailing for long. They hooked me up and yanked on me, but I was wedged and eventually had them stop. I kept thinking about the Winnie-the-Pooh quote. I felt like a "Wedged Bear in Great Tightness". I wiggled my hips some more and looked behind me to see that it was the width of my harness strap trapping me. 

Because catching me stuck is unusual enough that someone had to snap a picture. Thanks, Michelle.

But after my dear friend snapped that picture, she yanked on my harness, and I was free!

The face of someone who's thrilled to be unstuck. Again, Michelle is snapping pictures.

Not long after that, we'd all climbed out into the darkness and made our way back to our vehicles.

Me, Crabb, and Jeff after our adventure. My face is numb. It's freezing... Michelle is taking pictures.

Feeling rejuvenated after checking another cave off of my mental list, I only had two concerns upon leaving--warmth and whether I could talk my health nut friends into comforting pizza. For the record, I did.

Not Really a Delight...Unless You Have a Wetsuit.

Doc’s Delight Cave

For the record, I think Doc was a sadist. Or maybe he never visited the cave when it had recently rained. I found very little to delight in.

            I set out to Doc’s Delight with a somewhat large group—eight of us, four of whom were newer cavers. I was optimistic and somewhat anxious to be underground as I hadn’t managed that in a couple of weeks. We were off to an inauspicious start as we had trouble coordinating with a member of our party from the beginning, and I am sure that this miscommunication rested most squarely on my shoulders. But we managed to all meet at the local landowner’s property and park in his field. Geared up and looking equipped for anything with massive packs, we more experienced cavers were more weighed down than the new people. Doc’s Delight was reported to have an entrance drop, and I planned to do it comfortably and safely. So, I brought full vertical gear plus my usual in-case-I-freeze kit.

            Our hike was meandering with comfortable trail at first that quickly turned into applying the Mark method—The cave is straight down there. Who needs switchbacks or trails? So, off we went through the woods, leaves, hidden stones, and briars. I was used to the treacherous landscape and followed without comment, while I saw the newer people look askance at leaving the trail. I hear you, new people. I feel your pain.

            After a mostly downhill hike that had me dreading the return trip, we came to a large entrance with boulders leading down to the promised drop. Everyone scampered down as I geared up to use my frog on the bit of vertical fifty feet from the entrance. But just to make sure that the whole event didn’t go undocumented, the new guy behind me caught my actions on his GoPro. As I went in second from last, I offered sarcasm as we faced a gaping hole in the floor, and Kevin offered to trade spots with me. I could see that he was planning to shove me past the chasm of death if he needed to. I kept looking for the drop, but there was no immediate drop. We went up first, and there were plans to shove me upward if my puny arms failed me. But I had ascenders and a plan. So, I made it to the precipice above, which was actually the top of the drop into the cave. And, boy, was I in top form. Brandi Williams, cave rescuer extraordinaire, dauntless crawler into impossible places, promptly caught her shirt in her rack on a 10-15 ft. rappel. Seriously.

            It was a first for me and harder to deal with than I had thought, but Kevin helped me out of my situation with some thrilling heroics and much joking at my expense. I could have just changed over, but his way was quicker. I didn’t have long before I regretted the full frog system either. There was a bit of crawling that all of my gear wanted to snag at before we came to an open dome area and left the vertical stuff behind.

            We did some climbing down a few boulders and came to another dome area with a roaring waterfall. I am coming to hate that sound. I hear the roar, know there’s water, and can anticipate my shivering. I felt panicked because I had no wetsuit. Mark, whom I trust perhaps to my detriment, told me he didn’t think I would need it. Skinny, cold-natured girl. No wetsuit. I should have thrown up my hands and left there. But I’m no quitter. And there was, after all, my fierce reputation to protect in front of the newbies, who were soldiering on, impervious to the cold.

            Not long after the roaring, there was a rimstone pool full of water that we had to crawl on top of to continue deeper into the cave. Through some acrobatics and with much fierce cursing of Mark’s name, I managed to get through the squeeze with only my waist down soaked. I was determined to not become completely immersed. But I have not yet mastered levitation, so I was chilled as the cold water burned my legs.

            Misery loves company, and I was thrilled to have someone as anxious to avoid the water as I was along. Michelle mimicked my movements, and I followed her strategies at times, both of us straddling pools and skirting ledges to keep dry. But it was to no avail. The rooms of formations drew everyone in, and eight people don’t fit in every beautiful alcove. So, we waited in turns, and my burning cold became number skin. The formations were beautiful, but I wouldn’t go so far as delightful.

            After more watery misery and much chuckling at the glowering expressions etched into my features, my patience was wearing thin. Another rimstone pool, this one complete with a drop down and one foot rushing waterfall to negotiate in a crawl. I had no idea if anyone could stay dry through that. I would have dug in my heels, but Michelle tried to maneuver around the icy hell backwards. The ceiling was just tall enough that she managed to keep her chest, neck, and face out of the water. She began squawking shortly after and trying to kick her foot, nearly going face first into the mess as someone picked on her from the other side.

            After she made it through, I thought, Damn. Michelle made it; I better give this a go. So, down I went, and my anger brought me out of my chilled haze. I could take anyone messing with me, but I didn’t like people messing with my friend. As I came out of the crawl, I looked forward and realized that my ire was irrelevant. The new cavers were straddling a void that looked impossible for me. (I was the shortest person on the trip.) Their legs stretched from wall to wall with rushing rapids below. Starting to shiver and feeling my snarling mental remarks about to become comments everyone else got to hear, I sat down and opened my hot veggie chili thermos. Mulishly, I refused to go on, and Michelle loyally remained with me.

            I thought we endured a hellish bit to get into the cave, but the cave wasn’t done with us. After we made it through the water and reattached our vertical gear, Michelle began to climb. There isn’t much space to wait, and I was nearly under her feet as she began her ascent. As she was just near my face, I heard an angry hissing. I screeched and nearly climbed Michelle as I looked around in panic. Both of us were convinced that a snake lurked somewhere in the tiny space with us. I felt ridiculous when I discovered that I had angered a bat. The bat was fine, and we were fine. I laughed at my own absurdity. When Michelle got off rope, I began my steps upward, and at the tightest point near the entrance, right before I could get back to the ledge and off rope, I came face to face with a large spider.

            There was nothing I could do. The only escape was climbing up and ignoring the monstrous eight-legged beast an inch from my face. So, I did what any girl would do. I screamed and whined about spiders while Michelle, reassured that I wasn’t dying, looked on in amusement. After a roundabout hike employing the aforementioned Mark method up the hillside, Michelle and I drove back into civilization, resolving to spend the rest of the day doing something “civilized” at my insistence.  I could have kissed the beautiful concrete parking lot as we went to the movies later I was so grateful to be warm and out of the wilderness. But no worries, friends. I have mentioned my stubbornness issues. I was back caving the next day.