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. 

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.