My trip to the Iliad/ Odyssey cave system was a small-scale epic. I expected that going into it. However, at the end of the day my experience
became rapidly normalized, and didn’t end the way I had thought it would, based
on the physical and emotional hardships that incurred. Does this just go to show that by undertaking
these activities we can live so close to risk and injury, but still be able to
return home for dinner? What does that
say about us, and our chosen ways to spend our free time?
As of now I have spent the last 5.5 years of my life caving,
rock climbing, and mountaineering. I do
this with a voracious appetite, and just cannot get enough of it. All of these are high-risk activities using
specialized climbing equipment and ropes.
All carry the potential for injury, and if you are not careful,
death.
When you learn the basics of climbing or caving, there are
rules you follow, rules that will keep you safe. The more experienced climbers and cavers pass
these down to the folks who are new to the game. But, if you do this long enough you will end
up in a situation where all the rules go out the window. What does your experience teach you, and how
well do you know your physical limits?
These are the questions that, at least in these situations, help us stay
safe and accomplish our goals.
I’m sure by reading this, you will be expecting a story
where everything goes wrong. What about
when everything goes right? When
consistently, for years, your equipment never fails you, you are always strong
enough, and always make decisions so quickly and confidently that they become
instinctual. Does this breed a complacency that will ultimately get you
killed? Should we stop along the way,
step outside ourselves and reevaluate our choices from an outsider’s
perspective?
In rock climbing, we hear about it all the time: Seasoned veterans, masters of their sport,
getting killed by rookie mistakes.
Rappelling off the end of the rope.
Kurt Albert died taking some friends top roping at the crag near his
house. John Long, as Yosemite Stone
Master, got a compound fracture in a rock gym two weeks ago. He literally wrote the book on Big Wall
Climbing, and Rock Climbing Anchors, yet he tied in with a bowline (long known
to be an unsafe knot for tying in) and when it came untied, fell and watched
his shattered ankle jut out of his skin.
Of course he knew better.
We make rules to keep us safe. Knots you use, things that are safe to rappel
off of, techniques that are tested, survival essentials to be in your
backpack. But the better we get, the
more we cut corners. Once you do
something that you know is unsafe, yet suffer no consequence, can you return
from that, or have you stepped over a line that you won’t cross back from?
I approach these activities in a very conservative way. I have big aspirations when it comes to
mountains, rather to be on top of, or below them. I want to live long enough to accomplish all
of these, and still make it home to sleep in a warm bed with my wife. So I take care not to violate the rules, or
at least not make a habit of it.
Sometimes you have no choice but to rappel off of something that does
not make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
But we all know the risks, and we know what we are getting into when we
start hiking off towards the mountains.
Anyway, I do my best to play it safe, and sometimes that means turning
around, even when there are implications to turning around.
One more thing I would like to mention is the fear of falling. I spend a lot of time climbing things, and
that fear is always there. It has been
said, and I agree, that the best climbers are the ones who manage their fear
effectively. The confidence to succeed
will take you just as far as your ability.
But falling is always there, the void is always below us, and you can
always look down and see it. Exposure is
often constant and your decisions are committing. The fear of falling is a primitive and
instinctual fear, and it’s hard to shake.
On Saturday I would eventually find myself alone, ascending a fixed rope
(one left in the cave, and not by us) and watching it bounce around and rub on
the edges of the rock as I came up. From
my vantage point I could tell if the edges where sharp or not, but I couldn’t
help but wonder.
The Iliad is a physical cave, with 9 drops in it that have
to be rappelled. I would venture to say
that beyond the second drop, rescue is impossible. Certainly it is impossible beyond the nozzle,
a bottleneck feature, which constricts into a tight crawl space full of rushing
water. In this cave a broken leg would
mean that you would never see the sunlight again.
This trip takes a twist, at least for me, which has led me
to a lot of introspection about the nature of caving, climbing, and
exploration. I try not to make it too
self centered, but then again, the only thing I have for comparison are my own
experiences. It’s not one that I would
turn into the Birmingham Grotto Newsletter, because it doesn’t reflect the
experience of the group, just me:
The Odyssey Cave, Iliad Entrance, January 5th,
2013.
It’s 10am and Jeff Harrod and myself are driving through the
Big Coon Valley, towards the Skyline WMA. We are in a caravan of three trucks,
and Shane should already be there, waiting for us. The plan is to split into two teams, one
entering through the Odyssey Entrance and one through the Iliad, and ideally
meeting in the middle. The cave system
is massive, and we are prepared for a 12-hour day underground, complete with
wetsuits. There has been plenty of rain
lately, and there is no guarantee that all the passages will even be passable.
We shamble around in the parking area for about 30 minutes
or so, organizing ropes, trying on wetsuits, and talking about the possibility
of driving up muddy road. It goes pretty
much straight up hill, and two years prior Allan had to abandon his truck there
for days, as he couldn’t get it back down.
The road is drivable, but even in light rain it turns to peanut
butter. We talk to some hunters about
the validity of driving up there, or at least driving across the creek so we
don’t have to carry all our gear through it.
Our inquires lead us to learning that Shane and Josh are already on the
other side, waiting.
Eventually we decide to drive across the creek and see for
ourselves. We pile all the backpacks and
ropes into the back of Daniel’s truck, with four of us sitting in the bed. For some reason, we don’t shut the
tailgate. The creek isn’t that wide, and
we’ll only be in the back for about one minute.
Dan plunges into the water with no problem. As we come out of the creek his back tires
start to spin and he gases it. The bed
of the truck has a thin piece of plastic in it that fits perfectly between the
wheel wells. It starts to slide. Hobbs, myself, and about 4 backpacks are
sliding towards the tailgate. We are
essentially riding on the backpacks, and headed straight into the water!
Somehow we stop just before anything goes in.
We are trying to hold on, but there is nothing to hold on too. Then the truck jerks forward, on to dry
land. I let out a sigh of relief,
thinking that we just narrowly avoided taking a dip in the creek. Hobbs looks at me, cracks a smile, and then
all of the sudden he and three of the backpacks are gone. I try to reach for him, but he and the whole
pile are laying in the dirt now. Daniel
doesn’t realize and drives off. We are
about 30 yards up the road before he stops.
Hobbs is fine, and we all have a good laugh. Everyone is in good spirits. Hopefully the rest of the trip goes more
according to plan. The whole crew is
here. Shane, Josh, Jeff, and Daniel are
going to head in the Odyssey entrance and see if they can connect to us in the Iliad. Dave, Hobbs, Allan, Casey, and me are going
into the Iliad entrance, with every intention of bottoming it.
A group of five is about the minimum we can get by with and
still be able to haul all the ropes. We
will attempt to join up both groups in breakdown room and head on
together. We don’t have a time frame,
and rather than waiting around in the cave we decide on a system to signal the
others of our intentions. If for some
reason we can’t get through, or have to turn around, we can’t pull our ropes,
because the Odyssey team will need them to ascend out of the cave. We decide that if anyone turns around to head
out, we will tie a big fat unmistakable figure 8 in the rope. This will signal the other team that we have
climbed up it.
We decide to hike up the road rather than risk having to
deal with a stuck vehicle later tonight.
Its something like 1300’ elevation gain.
We have big packs and a lot of gear.
About halfway up we encounter some hunters who are asking us about
caving. We talk to them for a few
minutes. It’s a guy in his forties with
two teenagers, about 17 years old. Those
kids do not look excited to be out hunting.
As we pass them up, Shane is clearly thinking the same thing, “I bet
those kids can’t wait to get the hell out of the woods and go play arcade
games. I bet they both have a pocket
full of quarters right now. I can almost hear them jingling from here!”
We hop off the trail because a jeep is coming down it. He’s got big mud tires, but his brakes are
locked and he’s sliding. He stays in
control, but he’s sliding about 15ft for every 2ft of traction he gets. He’ll make it down, but I’m glad it’s not my
truck up here.
We get to an intersection where an old logging road strikes
off to the right of the main road. The
road is over grown, but still wide and passable on foot. It’s still maybe half a mile to the
entrance. Eventually we leave the road
and head off trail, traversing across the hillside. We cross a series of dry streambeds and Dave
says we should mark this because, “This is where we always get lost.”
We continue on towards the Odyssey entrance, and encounter a
new cave that is coming open in one of the streambeds. Shane crawls in, and says it goes. It’s a shame to not explore it, but its
almost noon and we have a twelve hour day ahead of us. We aren’t even at the entrance yet.
Shortly after we find the Odyssey. It has a sinkhole type entrance, with a crack
in the middle of it. From where I’m
standing it isn’t apparent if you need to rig a rope from the top, or can climb
down into it before needing to rappel. I
don’t focus too much on it, I’m anxious to get in the Iliad.
The Iliad is about 100 yards away with a crawl in entrance
underneath a natural bridge. Shane heads
over with us and drops off gear, food and dry clothes, as their group plans to
exit this way. Wetsuits are going on,
it’s a mad dash to get organized and inside.
I organized everything the night before, so I can just pull my cave pack
out of my larger backpack.
I am wearing capilene top and bottoms, with a sleeveless
shorty wetsuit over it (2 or 3mm) and then another capilene top, and some
athletic shorts. Kneepads and a harness
go on next. I have a headband as well,
but I’m already hot as hell. I think
about taking something off, but I remember how cold we got in Stoned Well in
2010. I pack a foot long subway
sandwich, a snickers, a granola bar, and a 6 pack of cliff bar energy
shots. I have two water bottles full of
Gatorade, and pump water filter so we can fill up in the cave. I’m planning on a calorie binge to keep my
body heat and energy levels up.
Dave rigs up a rope near the entrance. I had been concerned to see him carrying up a
tiny 7mm rope, but it proves to be a long tether for his dog Pete to hang out
by the entrance. Dave sets up Pete with
food and water, and we make him a pile of backpacks to lie on beneath the
natural bridge. All is well and we are
ready to head in. Them some one says,
“Where is Pete going to piss at? On our packs?”
It’s somewhat concerning, but he seems to have enough room to find
somewhere other than our packs.
The entrance to the Iliad is a long snaking crawl. The passage is S-shaped and just high enough
to make you think you can crawl in a regular fashion, rather than belly
crawling. You can’t. It’s a somewhat heinous crawl, full of
grapefruit sized rocks that make it all the more a pain. It is punctuated every few feet by pools of
stagnant muddy water. It smells
putrid. If we are crawling through this
stuff, who cares if Pete pees all over our packs? We probably wouldn’t even be
able to tell.
For some reason the day before I got amped up about this
trip and decided to do 40 pull ups. Now
I regret it. I’m pushing my pack and two
ropes in front of me in a belly crawl.
My arms are aching. We have been in the cave for three minutes, and it
already hurts.
After 10 minutes or so, maybe a little less, the crawl
starts to open up. We come to the first
rappel. Dave is in the lead and has it
rigged when I get there. It’s not far,
25 or 30 feet. The drop leads down into
an open room, at least more open than the crawl. Directly across from me is a flowstone step,
about 4ft high. There is obviously a
larger passage on the other side. Behind
me, over my left shoulder is a narrow slot canyon. Dave has already gone on ahead. I yell for him. He’s down the canyon.
I wait until Casey is in view so I can signal her as to
which way we are going. I head down the
canyon. It’s a tight squeeze for
me. I’m turned sideways and I’m having
to exhale in some spots just to pop through, and I’m one of the smaller people
in the group. At a couple of places I
have to slide my pack and ropes down through the lower part, and then crawl up
over a feature. I’m still sideways; at
no point is this canyon wide enough to for your shoulders to pass.
Dave is at the end of the passage. The second drop has a rope already fixed to
it. Fixed gear is always suspect, but it
looks solid. We decide to use it. We leave rope #2 coiled at the top of the
drop. Before hand we had all over our
ropes coiled and numbered so we wouldn’t have to guess at anything in the
cave. I have ropes 7 and 8. I need 3 and 4, so Dave and I can continue
ahead to rig the drops. I decide to wait
for the others.
Casey catches up to me, but she doesn’t have the ropes we
need, so we wait. In a few minutes Allan
and Hobbs show up. I take the ropes and
get on rappel. It’s an awkward to
transition from the passage to the rope.
I get Casey to hand the ropes over my head so I can clip them to my
harness. I rap down about ten feet and
Dave yells for me to stop so he can take some photos. I’m in a small waterfall, getting
sprayed. It’s a relief to wash off the
smell of the stink water, and cool off some.
These layers are keeping me warm, but the wetsuit definitely restricts
movement.
I come down to the floor and get off rope. Dave is sitting up high on a formation,
taking photos from his vantage point. Off
to the right side of the room there is a climb up. It’s not high, but high enough you don’t want
to fall - ten feet or so. I think it
through and find a sequence to get up it.
Casey is down and coming up the spot I just climbed. I go over to offer her a hand, but she
doesn’t need it. The back of this
formation has an interesting climb down.
It’s a sloping mound that comes right up to the wall of the greater
passageway. It creates a crack where it
almost meets this wall. It’s not quite a
chimney, but I wedge my body into it.
There are a bunch of little knobs you can use as hand holds. I don’t want to commit to the knobs though,
in case one of them breaks. I climb
down, partially chimneying down the crack, and using the knobs with my right
hand. It’s fun, but a potential ankle
breaker if I slip.
It seems like every room in the cave is a little
different. The next is a low horizontal
passageway. Its fairly open, but you
have to crawl. There is a hole in the
floor leading to a lower level. We step
down into it, but just to aid crossing into the passage we are already in. The room below is full of mud. My boots want to stick to it. I climb up and through and meet Dave
again. We lay on our backs and wait for
the others. We debate the finer points
of how long it will take a fart to escape a wetsuit.
The gang’s all here.
The crawling passage takes us to the third drop. There is a rope laying on the ground, but not
rigged. We inspect it. I’m more skeptical of this one than the one
at the second drop. For one thing, it is
way shorter than the rope we had measured out to bring. Dave ties it around a rock feature that is
jutting out of the drop. The rope
reaches the floor. I don’t like the rock
feature. It’s a little too horizontal
for me. The rope is secured on it, but
there are two shiny new bolts a little ways back. I’m skeptical, but I rappel. Its only a short drop, I could probably free
climb it if I had to.
We carry rope #3 with us, as a back up, just in case. From here we come to the breakdown room. This is where the Iliad and the Odyssey
join. There is no sign of the other
group, but we had decided not wait on each other. As soon as everyone makes it off rope we head
on. We are approaching the nozzle, a
feature that will decide if the rest of the cave is even accessible.
We are gorilla walking through a low passageway, hunched
over like we should be in Clan of the
Cave Bear. This leads to a climb
down into a tight canyon. The climb down
is something like 17ft - just high enough to be somewhat unsettling. I can
chimney down it, but it gets wider toward the bottom. There are big handholds and shelves to put
your feet on. I’m at maximum stretch to
chimney the thing. A shorter person
would have a hard time.
We all gather up in the canyon. Lots of water is flowing through here. We follow it about 30ft to the Nozzle. It’s called the “Chute” on the map, but the
nozzle seems appropriate name. If this
cave has a crux section, this is it. The
nozzle is a narrow bottleneck. I’m told
it has been widened at some point in the past, by hammering out some of the
rocks, but it’s still tight. There is
water flowing through it, quite a bit of it, and fast. The nozzle leads to a standing room, just
large enough to stand up and turn around in, and then immediately to another
nozzle. The second constriction has a five-foot
drop on other side. Dave looks at me and
says, “Head first, on your right shoulder!” Then he’s gone.
Dave is in the standing room. We pass him ropes and packs and he tosses
them down the other hole. “Feet first,
on your stomach!” Dave is gone again.
I take about 20 seconds to mentally prepare. This is a moment of commitment. I suck my gut in, put my hands out and
superman dive into it. I squeeze through
without problem. There’s water
everywhere and I’m totally soaked. I
stand up and examine what I just went through.
I get on my stomach and go feet first through the second nozzle. By going feet first the water is flowing into
your face. As your body plugs the hole,
the passage begins to fill with water. I
don’t think it’s a stretch to say that you could drown if you got stuck here.
.jpg) |
| Ever had a nightmare like this? This photo is from the Birmingham Group's 2010 trip. The water was higher this time. |
I pop out onto a small ledge. There is a pool just below me. Dave is inside of it splashing around. He thinks one of our ropes is stuck in it. I hop in with him and splash around, by my
feet aren’t touching anything but rock.
There is a natural dam and it seems very unlikely that it would float
out. Hobbs is coming out and wants me to
grab his pack. I take it and water pours
out of the funnel. He comes down feet
first. He is very slow and
controlled. A huge rush of water pours
out as his shoulders pass through. It
looks like he is being born.
Casey comes next, then Allan. We count ropes and we do have them all. We even have the extra that I have been
toting. We take a break to eat and drink
here, though it’s not an ideal spot. The
air is cool and moving, and there is not much room for us to sit. Folks are taking pictures, so I eat and layer
up. I’m cold now, so I add a light
fleece and hat. Hobbs sits behind the
waterfall, looking through it at the rock features with his headlamp. He
suddenly exclaims, “You gotta see this! It’s awesome! If you have every wanted
to do drugs, come look at this. This is
what drugs look like!”
Dave has a headlamp with a ridiculous amount of lumens that
he bought online from China. It backlights
green, yellow, or red to show the battery life.
Right now it’s totally soaked and suddenly goes to red, skipping yellow
all together. He doesn’t have a back
up. Neither does anyone else, except
me. Three sources of light, we all know
it. I have never had to use either one
of my two back ups. I give Dave my
third, a $10 Coleman lamp from Wal-Mart.
We are on the move again and making good time. We follow the water down to a short
rappel. It is only like 8 feet, but is
has an undercut lip and is just barely too tall to climb up or down. We tie the rope of to a horizontal pillar
that stretches just in front of us. It’s
almost like a mini natural bridge.
This leads to a small formation room. Soda straws hang down from the ceiling
everywhere. There is a small crawl
space, but there are stalactites and stalagmites everywhere. There is a
flowstone pillar in the back that appears to be made out of crystals. It is bright white and looks to be
glowing. I crawl a few feet towards it
to get a closer look. The floor is
otherworldly. I feel like someone
drained a coral reef and now I’m crawling through it, trying not to break
anything. I don’t go any farther, as I
don’t want break off any of the soda straws.
The other three are hassling Hobbs and me to hurry up.
I get on the next rappel, maybe fifty feet, right beside a
waterfall. I hit the bottom and there is
a fissure in the floor just 10ft away.
I’m at the end of the line now.
Casey just went down, Hobbs is getting on rappel. The rappel only has one bolt. Two is the minimum for a safe anchor. I tell Allan that I don’t like it. “Yeah, I wish there were two” he replies, but
he’s getting ready to rappel as well.
 |
| Hello single bolt. |
I have a decision to make.
I’m seen a lot of sketchy bolts before.
This one looks okay, but its just one.
I could justify it if you we were just going to rappel. I would be on rope for 20 seconds and then
walk away. But we have to climb back up
it, hauling ropes and wet gear and our wet selves. I know everything will be fine, and I also
know I shouldn’t do it. I look at the
bottom of the bolt. About 1/16 of an
inch sticks out from the behind the hanger.
That exposure weakens the strength of the bolt. I think of all the climbing heros I have read
about who die making rookie mistakes.
Just last night I read an article about a pro climber cutting corners
and we joked about how the best seem end up dead.
The rappel isn’t far - maybe fifty feet. The fall most likely wouldn’t kill you. Maybe that’s worse. You aren’t going back through that nozzle
with a broken leg and rescue is out of the question. Hell, I don’t even want to break my leg in
the first place. I want to bottom this
cave. I hate turning back from these
things. I’m strong, I’m hydrated, I’m
warm, and I am ready to be in here for 8 more everyone else is going on.
Allan is on rope. He
rappels about 10 feet down, stops, and locks off. I can’t communicate with hit after he hits
the bottom, as the rushing water is just too loud. He looks up at me “What’s it going to
be?” I think about Jen and how I am responsible
for doing everything in my power to return safely to her. I think about how if I died because a single
bolt failed she would be astonished, because she knows I know better. “I’m not going to do it.” “Okay,” Allan replies. He doesn’t try to change my mind, nor does he
question my decision. I’m capable and I
don’t ask the group to turn around.
Allan descends on, and now I’m alone.
I have never had the desire to go solo caving. I know people who do. A cave is pure darkness, unmolested but for a
headlamp. The silence is deafening. Alone in a cave, you have never been so alone
in your life. The idea of it kind of
freaks me out. It’s like walking through
a horror movie. I’m not expecting
subhumans to jump out and grab me, or the passages to collapse, but its still a
hostile environment. And here I am,
alone.
I can sit here are wait for them - I’m in a comfortable
spot. I have food and water. I’m well dressed for this, but if I sit to
long I know I will start to get cold. We
can only ever be visitors here. If they
bottom the cave, I might not see them for another four hours. That’s along time to be alone with your
thoughts down here. It’s a long time to
sit in 52-degree temps when you are already soaking wet. It is also a long and physical journey out of
here from this point. I don’t even know
if I can get through the nozzle by myself.
No one could ever actively come into this cave to do it alone, because of
the sheer amount of rope they would have to carry.
I open my pack and start to pull out my climbing gear. I polish off the last of my Gatorade. I figure I’ll think about it while I get
ready to get out of here. I could tie
off my extra rope to the end of the fourth drop and rappel on one long rope to
the bottom. It would pass a sharp
edge. The only thing I can make an
improvised rope pad with is my pack. If I
have to come up with improvised situations, I should probably just not do
it. I’m heading up to the surface. I
hope they don’t need the extra rope.
They shouldn’t, and there are already two drops down. I want to do my part hauling gear, so I’ll
take it with me.
I’m happy with the choice I have made, but now I have a long
way to go. I’ll go to the nozzle and
make a decision about it. I climb the
first of four ropes I must ascend. I get
sprayed at the bottom, but I’m quickly at the top. No problem.
I glance at the formation rooms and head the opposite way.
I’m quickly at the short drop. I climb up, and then realize it’s a difficult
move to make it back on the lip I came off of.
I have to take off my pack and the rope and toss them on the ledge. I pushed my ascender up too high to swing
over. I down climb 6 or 8 inches. I unclip from everything except my
safety. Now I’m hanging from one
ascender. It strikes me as silly that I
am struggling so much, just 4 or 5 feet off the ground. I get one arm on the ledge and one arm above
me on the formation the rope is tied to.
I lever myself up and over to the ledge.
I’m on it, but I’m stuck to the rope, held there by my safety. I clip another ascender below it, and lift
myself at an awkward angle to unweight the rope. I’m safe, on the ledge. It would be comical to see someone struggling
that much on such a short climb. What an
unforeseen pain in the ass.
Before I know it I am at the nozzle. The water is pumping. I have to sit and think about this for a
moment. Generally you could have someone
pass you your gear, but I don’t have this option. I decide to just go for it. I stand up in the spout and toss the rope as
far as I can through it. Next comes my
pack. My pack looks as if it’s going to
wash back at me, so I move fast. I lay
on my back with my shoulders in the nozzle.
I get one good handhold with my left hand. There is a fist crack above me and I jam my
other fist in it. It’s solid. I step up high with both feet, completely
inside the feature. My pack comes loose
and smashes me in the back of the head, along with a wall of water built up
beside it. My foot blows off the ledge
and I’m going down. I wrench my fist out
of the crack at just the right moment. I
land on my feet and side step out of the water with grace. I tweaked my shoulder but it feels fine. However, I can’t help but feel that if I
hadn’t got my hand out sooner I would have dislocated my shoulder. I fact I don’t feel that way, I absolutely know
it.
I’m soaked, narrowly avoided injury, and I’m still on the
wrong side of this thing. I partially
uncoil the rope. Its wrapped in a
caver’s coil, which is a round coil, unlike the ones used for rock
climbing. I need to recoil it so it
keeps its shape, but I need about 15 feet of slack on one end. I can’t risk this rope coming untied on me in
the nozzle or getting myself tangled in it.
I tie the free end to the straps of my pack. I toss the rest of the rope way up the
hole. I do the same maneuver as before,
minus the hand jam. I’m in with no
problems. I stand up and haul up my
backpack with the rope. I expect it to
get stuck, but it doesn’t. Now I have to
get through the next part of this. The
rope has to go first so it doesn’t wash out of the hole. Water is trying to sweep my pack
backwards. I’m going to squeeze through
with a strand of rope beside me. I have
to set this up so I don’t get tangled. I
toss the coil through. I use one foot to
pin my pack against the wall so it doesn’t float away. I have removed my harness so that I don’t
have anything to get hung up on. I go
for it. Head first, right shoulder. My arms are at my sides, not in superman
position. I’m stuck. My shoulders didn’t make it through. Water is pounding at my face as I
reverse. I pop up and gasp for
breath. I can’t let this destroy my confidence,
so I go right back at it. Hands out - Superman!! I’m through.
I can feel the rope moving backwards. That means my pack is washing out the other
side. I grab the rope and haul it in
before it gets spit out. This canyon is
not wide enough to really face forwards, only sideways. I haul my pack towards me, and it gets
stuck. I give it some slack and try
again. It’s still stuck. It occurs to me that with all my climbing
gear inside it might just be too big.
Backpacks are flexible, so I just keep pulling. It jams into the tightest constriction and
starts backing up water. As the water back
up it shifts the pack upwards and I haul it through. I’m past the nozzle.
I head down the canyon, and climb up the a-little-to-wide
chimney. I climb it with the rope around
my shoulder like a mountaineer and then haul my pack up. I sit at the top in a wide flat area. I recoil the rope, put my climbing gear back
on, and filter a bottle full of water.
It dawns on me that I have started to make my actions very
mechanically. I’m efficient – my only
breaks have been composed of doing tasks that need to be done. If I have fear and doubt I’ve put them
away. My actions are confident, my decisions
are instinctual. This is one the
feelings I strive for when climbing and caving.
Failure or falling is not an option, so you don’t. Everything is fluid and goal oriented. You are totally in the moment and time no
long seems to matter.
I get lost for a few moments and circle around. I find the path I want and continue on to
the breakdown room. I scramble through
it to the third rope. There is a big
figure 8 tied in it. The Odyssey crew
came through and headed up. I hope I can
catch up with them, but its doubtful. They
could have come through hours ago.
This is the rope I didn’t like. I watch it as I climb up to see if it
moves. It doesn’t, and about after 10
feet or so the rock is so textured I could just climb up it if the rope began
to shift. I’m over the top and heading
through the wide crawling passage. I
step down into the hole, and continue on the upper level.
This leads my to the large mound formation. I am able to toss the rope up and get it to
hook one of the knobs. I chimney up a
little and hook my pack on a knob as well.
I make it up quickly. It was
easier than I expected. Now another rope
to ascend.
This is the fixed rope, not one of ours. It is also the highest climb. I hang the rope below me on my harness. Ideally you hang your pack below you as
well. All my gear is soaked and heavy
and my pack feels like it is holding water as well. My caving harness secures with a half round,
and I don’t want that much weight loading it in two directions. The pack pulls me backwards as I try to
climb, but it isn’t horrible.
I pass one spot on the rope that looks rough. I’m glad to be above it. Then I pass another. I’m frog climbing fast, but I have to stop and
rest. I’m more than halfway up. I can tell the rope has been rubbing on the
edge. I can’t tell if its sharp or not
from here. All the doubt that I pushed
away has just come rushing back in. I
imagine what falling from this height.
It wouldn’t kill me. I would lie
in a heap at the bottom for hours until my friends found me. Could you be rescued from here? I don’t know.
I need to get higher, so if I fall at least it will kill me. Now I’m thinking, “at least it will kill me”,
am I in control of this situation at all anymore? Put it out of your mind and climb.
 |
| Fixed Rope |
This is where Casey had to pass me gear over my head. Now I have to swing it up over my head and
throw it onto the ledge. I make a motion
like I’m shooting a hook shot in basketball, except it’s a soaking wet cave
pack and a soaking wet rope. I have to
pull my legs up in the air and kick my gear down the passage. Now I’m hanging on a rope doing
crunches. The top of this climb is in a
narrow constriction, so I am less exposed.
I could brace myself like I was in a chimney and stand here without a
rope, except that I have 75 feet of nothing below me. I lift up my legs and kick my pack and rope
farther down the passage. Now there is
enough room for me to get off the rope.
I cram my body into this canyon. I sit for one or two seconds and catch my
breath. The rope we left behind is gone.
The other guys must have picked it up.
Then I’m off again. It’s the
canyon squeeze between the first and second rope. At one point I kneel down to shove my gear
under a bulge. I’ll have to climb over
it and collect my things on the other side.
I shove my wet cave pack down this narrow hallway and it sounds like
everything is hollow. The floor, the
walls, everything. It reminds me of the
tapping on an unfired pot in ceramics class.
I’ve never heard anything like it.
I just have to push through. It
gets even narrower up ahead. It’s like
an Indiana Jones movie and I’m struggling not to get crushed by the encroaching
walls.
I’m out of the canyon and at the final rope. The rope is neon orange, and as I cross the
lip I notice that there are orange pieces of it rubbing off on everything it
touches. I’m happy to be off it. Then only thing ahead of me is a grim crawl
space. I’m struggling through and since
I’m already lying down I ponder just taking a nap. It seems to take twice as long as it did the
first time. I’m slogging through this
putrid stinking water on my hands and knees.
I am only rolling this saturated pack two or three inches every time I
push it. It’s taking me ages.
Without warning I look forward and I can see Pete’s rope. He comes over to greet me. I pet him for a few minutes, but I have to
put on dry clothes. It’s colder outside
and it’s raining. I put on a ton of
clothes and full rain gear. I even
packed dry shoes. Shane’s gear is gone
and in its place he has left a deflated balloon that says “Happy Valentines
Day.”
It’s pitch black outside.
I haven’t even thought about the prospect of still having to travel a
mile or so back to the truck. This is
the first time I’ve even been in these woods and there is no trail. When I teach kids about survival skills I
tell them to stay put. But it could be 3
or 4 hours before anyone else emerges from this hole. I could be at home, showered, and in bed by
then. The prospect is to good to pass
up.
I play with Pete for a few minutes and head off. I find the Odyssey easily enough. For a long while I’m able to follow our
tracks through the forest. Eventually it
gets to rocky and I lose them. I stop
and filter water from a stream. I drink
half the bottle immediately. I am going
to refill it all the way to the top, but I can’t bear to carry any more
weight. Complete with wet boots and
clothing, my pack feels like it weighs 75 pounds.
I find a logging road and head up hill. I know I’m going too far up, and this isn’t
the logging road we came in on, but it’s going the right direction. I finally intersect the main dirt road. I don’t recognize anything. I must be much higher up than we came in. But it’s the right road, so I only have to go
down. My feet are slipping in the
mud. I try to walk in more solid places
and the mud sticks to my shoes. It feels
like I have 10 pound weights made out of orange clay.
I decide I’m going to sit down on a rock and take a
breather. I understand how people on
Everest can sit down and never get up.
This rest is so good. I have to
force myself up so I don’t get used to it.
No more breaks, I’m headed home.
I check my watch. I haven’t seen
another human being in five hours.
I finally pass familiar landmarks. I must have been way up there. I’m planning to just roll up my pants and
walk straight through the creek without a second thought. I have extra socks and shoes in the car. I’ll fill up my water bottle and drive
home. I come around the corner and see
Daniel’s truck in the middle of the road.
I have been in survival mode since I left the rest of the
group. This is the last thing I
expect. The ride situation was such that
they could have left hours ago, I don’t know what to make of it. They’ve got a campfire going and they’re
drinking PBR. I just walk over and sit
down on a cooler. I’m trying to readjust
to this. Is this how close we are on the
edge? Can we walk the line between survival and Saturday night with the guys so
easily? Was I being overly dramatic
about everything? All the hazards were
real- the physical and mental intensity was real.
I don’t know what to do.
I sit down and tell them that I didn’t rappel the 5th drop,
and I don’t know where anyone else is.
Josh hands me a bowl of food.
It’s beans and potatoes and corn on the cob. Jeff says the Odyssey wasn’t that bad. “Every type of crawling imaginable. I mean, I would never do it again, but if
someone else wanted to I wouldn’t talk them out of it.” We all laugh and pass around a bottle of
ibuprofen. There are only a few and Jeff
only takes one. Someone comments on it
and he say “I didn’t know we could take two.”
Shane replies with “What kind of guy are you? Do you ever take half a
hit of joint?”
We all have a laugh.
A headlamp comes down the hill 15 minutes later. It’s Dave, still soaking wet. A few minutes later, the rest of the folks
follow. Allan and Casey aren’t really
talking, neither is Dave. Hobbs is
bummed that they didn’t bottom it. We
laugh and joke and eat for a bit, then pack up to head our separate ways.
I get in my truck and I’m still somewhat awestruck. It feels like I made the transition between
two different worlds. In a cave all your
choices are consequential. You end up in
situations where sometimes you just can’t mess up. Its reasons like this that draw me
underground. We are explorers, leaving
the regular world behind and heading into the unknown, into the darkness. The time frame of a few hours took me from
being in water filled passage way, where I might die if I broke and ankle, to
goofing off my a campfire. It is a
strange transition to make. I feel like
we truly are walking a razors edge between two different worlds.
It’s often said by people who take part in these activities,
that by living this way we can see life more clearly. I can agree with this. An environment that pushes you to realize
your limits and forces you to deal with fear, it makes every day life seem so
benign. And really, it is.
The next day I feel like I have been beaten with a baseball
bat. My shoulders and back are in
pain. My knees and elbows throb. I think I sprained some fingers, and I’m
covered in bruises. I’m hobbling around
the house telling Jen how much I love her.
I feel alive and appreciative of everything I have.
We didn’t bottom the Iliad.
I hate that I had to turn back.
It was one of the most challenging caves I have ever been to. We didn’t accomplish our goal. Is that a failure? I learned a lot about myself, and I feel that
we got away with breaking some rules that we shouldn’t break. If anything I feel more confident in my
abilities. I also feel that we should
never let our guard down. There is a
thin line that we walk when we go underground.
We need to never lose sight of it, so that we never stumble and fall.
I would go back tomorrow if I can round up four more
people. Next time I’ll bring the bolt
kit.
_ Brandon
