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.