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.”