Smoketree Slide: A Forgotten Survey Collides with Chance Conversation

Today, I went to the Alabama Cave Survey meeting, the first one in two years. And cave surveyors can be an odd lot, territorial and secretive, all while wanting to share information with each other--in theory. I have been involved in many surveys now, and I know what I like and don't like. I like an accurate survey run by a crew obsessed with getting it right. I like working with skills that complement mine. 

A few years ago, before my world fell apart and got reassembled, before I had been nearly beaten to death by a man I dated and had surveyed with, I was learning the skills to sketch caves and draft my own map. Smoketree Slide was supposed to be the first map I drafted on my own. 

I took two survey trips there with the man who later tried to kill me, and with two others. And I sketched passages as best as I could. It was not a cave that would win any prizes. Honestly, in some ways, it was painful, contorting myself into cracks to get to the third drop and pinching rope so tightly into a stahl that there was no hope of it coming out. 

In the meantime, my personal life became increasingly dangerous. The man I loved was violent and a stalker. I didn't understand the beginnings of crippling anxiety or the PTSD that followed when he tried to kill me. So, sketching that map was nowhere on my priority list. In fact, it was a painful memory because Tony and I fought over it. He didn't want me to turn the cave location in because he wanted credit for the find, while perversely refusing to submit the cave himself. The issue was exacerbated when after my attack, every paper I owned was like a deck of cards, thrown into the air and brought down around me. Or maybe more like a casino's worth of decks of cards. I couldn't find important documents, mixed with old phone bills, mixed with handprints on construction paper, mixed with mementos of a life that didn't feel like mine. That sketchbook was one tiny part of a frightening stack. 

When I attended the meeting today, the sketchbook was buried and almost forgotten. I was unsure of my welcome post-attack and following my epic truth-telling that rocked a different well-respected organization. (Sometimes you know what you have to say. You know that you might be hurt in the saying, and you say what's right anyway. It didn't make me universally loved.) I was surprised anyone spoke to me at all. I attended because my husband loves me so well that I can be an island wherever he is. I would endure a lot of derision to watch him light up over cartography. But I was wrong. I have friends still and kind people who still treat me like a normal human without Ben looking menacing next to me. I was happy to be wrong. 

And I was talking to a couple of those kind folks who made my day when one of them asked the other about a cave that sounded eerily familiar. And they both survey far more often than I do now, so I am not a likely source of information. But I knew from the description that Scott meant Smoketree Slide. 

And here's the moment when things often go sideways between cave surveyors. I could have gotten angry and asked him his intentions. He had turned in the cave already, but not mapped it. But, honestly, I knew over the years that anyone might find the cave and submit it. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So, I instead asked him if he would like the data and sketches. And he was thrilled to get the full story and find out why a map had never been submitted or even just the cave location itself. And in a win-win for cavers, he plans to draft the map. 

For a few reasons, the map is a painful one for me to revisit now. But I happily dug through the stack of random papers and sent him data, getting myself some closure in the process. I didn't close any map loops this time, just mental ones.

If you, like me, find yourself sitting on data, thinking you'll get to it eventually, I recommend handing it to someone else with time to dig into it. Alabama caving could greatly benefit from more collaboration and less project possession. And I'm really looking forward to the final outcome.

Stephens Gap Wedding

I didn't want to get married at Stephens Gap. I tried to talk Ben into other places. But he can be tenacious, and I would give him the world, so he won. Stephens Gap used to be a wonderland for me, my favorite cave, my favorite pulldown. 

But I have since almost died in the pulldown on a high water day. I got swept over the edge in a raging waterfall, and I had to be hoisted back up because I didn't have the strength to fight against the water. And I also responded to three body recoveries in the cave over the years. I try not to remember the details when I look at the main pit. It's much easier in the day time because rescues are usually at night when people realize someone has not come back. I used to set aside all of my feelings to keep my fellow rescuers safe. But PTSD has wrecked my ability to manage adrenaline, and I worried about this plan. 

I agreed to do what Ben wanted, but I knew I couldn't actually rappel over the very exposed edge into a pit I have pulled so many out of. So, what y'all didn't see is that I didn't actually rappel from the keyhole to the pedestal in my floofy dress. 

Here's the actual sequence of events: 

1. Rigging floofy dress for safely rappelling. 

I wanted to wear black, and I already owned a black dress that would work. I saw no point in buying something that I would damage. So, no shopping required. I decided that there was no way to do this that didn't involve wearing leggings and then the harness with the dress over it all. The problem is that you need a place for the rope to go between your legs when you climb and rappel, and you need a place for the gear to emerge. I decided I wanted a reverse bustle of sorts, and Ben and I tied up the front of the dress, rolled up, with paracord. My harness and gear were beneath it, with the exception of my croll.  (chest attachment) 

I like to call this picture--"Are you seriously not going to help me get out of this nonsense?!" 😆 But you can see the dress rolled up with the harness beneath. I wore black leggings the day of because I am *so* stylish. 

2. Getting there with gear and rigging. 

We had to hike in with ropes, vertical gear, and formal wear. Even with our friends along, it was a lot. 

Amata also surprised me with something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. 

Brian rigged the main rope while Ben and I changed into formal wear and worked with Amata below. 

She rigged the safety line to the pedestal. The pedestal seems safe to people to climb to, but it's 50 feet to the ground. I will take no chances; I used ascenders to clip to the rope and downclimb so that I didn't die from tripping on the floofy dress. Amata and Brian also brought radios so that we had a prayer of communicating over the raging water. 

3. Having a plan for getting the photos efficiently. 

I knew I couldn't do that long rappel into the pit in the pile of delicate fabric. So, I climbed down on the safety line to the pedestal. Then, I frogged up to the point Amata motioned to. (Radios were not so useful with the water raging like it was. But Amata is amazing with signs and making new ones up.) I changed over eventually and did the world's slowest rappel for photos. The groom had plenty of time to crack jokes on the pedestal. 

The dress kept getting caught on the velcro from the knee pads. 

Ben was making me laugh because he'd heard what I was supposed to be doing, and I had done the opposite. Of course. 

Here's that safety line I mentioned. 

And at the end of the trip, Ben rappelled his new deepest pit. 

Overall, I am glad I capitulated. Ben has taken so many places I have terrible memories of and given me such amazing new moments that I am having the world restored to me--cave by cave, room by room. Stephens Gap is no longer a place I have recovered so many from. It's the place I married Ben. And my memory is now like the cave itself--more light than darkness. 

Green Grotto (Trip 4): Climbing Out of My Memories

There's a weird symmetry to repeatedly being asked to go to Green Grotto Cave. It's the first cave I took the man who attacked me to. I never thought I would go back, and this year I am on my third trip somehow. 

Ben agreed to take an enthusiastic newbie there after he found it while lost on the preserve. (It's not really a good first cave trip, but when you're eighteen, you're immortal, right?) 

I enjoyed the hike. I've learned to slow down and enjoy the details around me, but it's not something teens are good at. And I did my best to keep up with the tall people. 

When we got to the cave, the waterfall at the entrance was roaring, and the crevice I normally climb down was pouring water. 

That wasn't ideal, but I prefer to rig a rope and tie a hasty harness with two ascenders. It's about a six-foot climb down, and I can downclimb that way or Texas up. Still, I did not enjoy looking for the right footholds in the waterfall. Ben was chivalrous and stood in the water to tell me where to place my feet. 

Water pooled at the bottom. It was dry on my last couple of trips. We went on to the main passage, and we pushed through the cheese grater crawl so that we didn't need to do the 25-ft. drop with the non-vertical new caver, Nate. I usually don't mind squeezes at all, but PTSD has changed my life. Things that used to induce adrenaline and be manageable are panic attacks now. I was okay wedged sideways in the rock, cursing the squeeze that wanted to take my pants with it. But there was a small stream of water flowing from the top of the crack. At the peak of misery with my hips wedged, the stream was in my face and water filled my ear. I started hyperventilating and questioning my life choices. (Nate didn't know this. He'd already gone through and Ben coached me from the other side.) 

I could be one of those women who shoe shops on the weekend. Their ears aren't full of water while they are stuck between limestone walls. 

I wriggled until I got out, with Ben encouraging me from the far side. He's much taller than I am, but I am considerably curvier. I'm not sure who has it worse in that crawl. 

I have gotten particular about who I cave with. Some people think less of you if you hyperventilate over things that used to be easy for you or that are easy for everyone else. And some people can't handle a person panicking at all. Ben is used to it after the year living together, and he doesn't try to turn me around, he just gives me what I need to make it through. 

My struggle was rewarded with a waterfall view immediately. 

We took a side trip to the dome, but Nate wasn't so certain about that climb up. It's exposed and not very easy, especially with water pouring over the side. I was relieved when he decided not to push his luck, and Ben climbed back down. 

I had been pointing out fossils and water flow along the way. There's a tantalizing spot in this cave where all of the water flows into the floor. Dig project, anyone?

We went onward next towards the sand room. There's a nastily slick spot where you can slide into a stagnant pool along this path. Ben grabbed me because I lack the six-foot span to reach the handholds. He kept me from going into the water once for sure. 

We climbed down into the lower slot and went on to the sand room, soaking wet and covered in grit soon after. I had explored all reaches of the room before, so I didn't feel the need to see every slope again. I sat down and drank in the room while Ben and Nate climbed into the new-to-them spots. I love the bacterial colonies on the rocks and the water droplets sparkling in my light. 

After sitting still for a few minutes, I let Ben know that he was going to have to snuggle me if we didn't get moving. Hypothermia is a not insignificant risk after you've been drenched in cave water. 

(We'd all been wearing masks, too. And that was drenched as well. So far, I have had no difficulty caving in a mask, but if they get wet, you can't breathe in them so easily anymore. I stubbornly kept it on until we got out of the cave, when I got some distance on the trail from Nate.)

We retraced our steps, and I made it through the crawl without panicking this time. I went first to set up for photos. 

                     Ben in the misery. 

And we were out in short order after the crawl was done. Every time I go back, my memories have something new to coat over my past. And this time, it's a feeling of beauty and of compassion as Ben quietly helped me, almost so that no one knew I needed help.