Stephens Gap Pulldown

I led a trip today. I definitely didn't want to and didn't know I was in charge. But that's what happens when you cave for a decade. People think you know things. 😆 And I suppose I do. 

I reluctantly took people with shiny new vertical gear to Stephens Gap. Selfishly, I just wanted to go on the pulldown route with nice people. I wasn't planning to teach anyone anything. But once I realized I was in charge, I decided to do the thing properly. 

We attended a last minute vertical practice to make sure people were ready and see what skill level I could expect of the new froggers. I honestly had a panic attack because I haven't enjoyed caving much since my attack. If I didn't even know if I wanted to cave, how could I lead a group? But I sat with it for a day and decided to at least try. 

After I saw enough skills that I didn't think my group would die, I agreed to meet them at the parking lot. And I hiked in, geared to the teeth, for most eventualities. (Pulleys, first aid gear, extra ropes, webbing, spare batteries, extra food, hypothermia gear. No one was dying on me.) 

We rigged the ledge over the entrance so that the new vertical cavers could practice rappelling and then walk out if they wanted. I hate watching my husband rappel. He's competent, but I know too much about how many ways there are to die. And I can't control everything. So, it's anxiety inducing to see him confidently tell me he doesn't need the sixth bar on rappel. 🙈 

Then, I coached three people over the edge. I am so proud of my friend Helen, who overcame a lot of fear to rappel today. She's been gunshy, but steadily moving forward to become vertical. 

If we'd done nothing else all day, I'd have been satisfied. 

But we also went to do the pulldown route I wanted to revisit. I nearly died last time I was in it. On that trip, the leader seemed to have a death wish in the high water of April. And I became caught on a safety line in the third drop in such a way that I couldn't release myself and I couldn't pull myself up because the water was beating me down and stealing my heat. (For those of you who know the cave, the water was shooting out of the drop, and I didn't realize there were drop downs to approach the bolt because there was so much water.) 

And I wanted to experience it all in low water, with safe people. I took two experienced cavers and two of the new cavers. I was in charge of the rigging plan, which still feels strange to me. I'm still looking around for an adultier-adult. But I rigged an alpine butterfly pulldown with a carabiner. And I mother henned everyone. "Not the knot!" (If you rig into the wrong side of this, you die because the rigging is designed to pull the rope behind you from the bottom.) 

I'm not afraid anymore. I exist in adrenaline with PTSD. So, dropping into the first waterfall is as calm as walking to class. The spiders that would normally have me shrieking are only a slight unease now. (I do hate walking into webs still.) 

I forgot that the second drop required a step across to get to the bolt. I think it was full of water last time and didn't seem so scary, though that's definitely worse. I didn't want to step across, so the guys tossed me the rope. But that meant if I didn't maneuver correctly, I would swing out and into the chasm walls. So, I rigged in and moved laterally until I was positioned under the bolt and wouldn't swing. Then, I rappelled to the bottom of the second drop. 

As the first down, I had a wait, and I went to see what I could in the tunnel. I found an interesting larva in a water droplet, clinging to existence on the wall. In a decade of caving, I had never seen that! 

And I saw so many ammonites! I just finished reading a book with a whole chapter on them, and I remembered how much of their actual structure is still a mystery. Stone only captures so much. 

I was anxious about the third drop. The spot that tried to kill me. I was shocked as we approached the bolt on a safety line, and I realized there was a five foot drop and four foot drop to get to the bolt. I couldn't see that last drop at all last time in the torrent, and it almost killed me. 

This time I gingerly lowered myself. And I double-checked the rope. Not the knot. Not the knot. I swung out, tested my rappel rack, and rappelled. It was so much less insane today with a trickling fall. I didn't nearly die of hypothermia before having to rig in while still uncoordinated.

Relieved to see my four companions on the ground with me, we gathered the rope and exited into the main chamber--my favorite cave room. And my friend Helen was there, smiling and waiting. And I was shocked to be smiling back and truly meaning it. 

Howard's Waterfall

This was my third trip to Howard's Waterfall, an SCCi cave. My first trip feels like a lifetime ago, with an old caving partner I outgrew. We'd gotten to the edges of the Disaster Room that day and routed early. 

The second was with my kids and Amata, taking an unintended turn and still winding up in the same spot. My daughter was done early, and I left with her while my boys pressed on with Amata. 

On the third trip, we took a few new cavers and were at least confident of how not to go to the Disaster Room. The goal was the Haystacks on the opposite side of the cave. Though I dislike the graffiti, I enjoy the big passage in this cave. 

The Most Unserious Group Photo by Amata Hinkle of Sunguramé Photography. 

We took a turn we did not intend to and went all the way to the right fork, to a dead end on the map. Backtracking, we finally got to a rather obviously pivotal spot and went left. Then, because we could not take chances, went left again. 😆 And if you know Howard's Waterfall, you know that put us in the sand crawl. We crawled and rolled for what seemed like a long time. I was extremely impressed with the new cavers who crawled about 800 feet. 

I was happy to hang out with new people and advise them on how to crawl more efficiently. And I took photo breaks when I found nice spots in the crawl. 

When I emerged from the sandy passage that brought us all to our knees and bellies, I saw a scratched "No" and arrow that seemed to point to the spot from whence I'd come. And I agreed. No indeed. 

Sometimes there's no other way. A nasty crawl can be necessary going in and exiting. But this time, we were in luck and opted to take the other way out. 

But before beginning that journey, most of our group crossed the breakdown to visit the Haystacks. I stayed behind with one of the new cavers and Brian. And I liked it. I'm learning my limits after my attack and how to build upon them. First, I started caving with people who respect my past. Then, I started with caves I am fine with taking beginners to. My latest progress is learning to stop while I am still having a good day. 

I felt weary after that crawl, and I ate my food and enjoyed the silence as I waited for my husband and the group to return. We took a much more pleasant passage out, and eventually we were back on the same path we entered through. 

I felt the exit fever fueling my steps, and I longed for the green outside hues, as my palms ached with every hold after the crawl. Those cobbles on the way out reminded me I'm delicate and had put my palms through a lot in the sand crawl. 

A muddy after shot. 

I love this man. He was tired and mud covered, and he set about picking up all of the trash he saw in the parking lot. Maybe no one else sees it, but I do. 

It was a beautiful day trip to a cave I know well enough to lead through now. It sounds like an unremarkable trip, but I had no panic attacks and didn't hate spending my day underground for the first time in years. 

(I obviously have stubbornness issues. I never gave up trying to cave, but I looked for all iterations of why I was unhappy instead.) 

And then this amazing day happened.