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.