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.
