Mud and Guts: Caving in the Wilderness

Over a year ago, I started caving. And while I say "I", no one can start themselves into caving. You have to rely on the kindness of established cavers to train you and make sure you don't do anything too stupid at first.

This calls for the head-first approach, right?

I was overwhelmed even by small caves then, but I listened to stories and dreamed about some caves that had achieved an almost mythical status in my mind.

So when I was invited to tag along with some of the most experienced, expert cavers in the country on their caving expedition in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, I accepted even with the awareness that I was probably going to pee myself in fear. Ten days in the wilderness was about 8 days longer than I'd ever been in the Wilderness before, and easily the most remote caving I had ever done. Just hiking around on the surface you are pretty much beyond rescue, let alone in the depths of the caves themselves.

Ten days of backpacking, caving, and rafting, with a group of mostly strangers--I was well out of every comfort zone I have. When the day of departure came, my farewells to my family had almost a note of finality to them.

I had one main goal: don't cause trouble for the group.

Wilderness sign...OF NO RETURN!

There were so many things to worry about that by the time I started hiking I couldn't possibly worry about them all, so I just focused on one step, one mile at a time. I stuck by the side of an older and wiser friend who tolerated my beginner-ness with saintly patience.

For the first time in my life, I didn't need an alarm clock. My inner alarm (i.e. fright) woke me consistently at 5:30-6:00 AM each morning. Afraid of being too slow and left behind, I jumped up to get ready each morning. I saw something like 9 sunrises in a row, easily a record for me.

I learned more in these days than, I suspect, an entire semester of school. I slowly got to know each of my companions and became even more awed by the company I was keeping. These were incredibly intelligent, competent adults, miles ahead of me in every aspect of life, with PhDs and life experience to their name. They taught me to run survey instruments and gain vertical caving skills. And they never passed up an opportunity to make a dick joke.

It's so big!

Every day scared me, but the work was fun. I helped map a new section of cave where no human had ever been before. In the meantime, the others were pushing deeper in a cave that would prove to be the deepest in the US. After 3 days of caving, I took a rest day to hike around and look at plants, clean my gear and nap in my tent. It was absolutely gorgeous, of course.

I thought I wanted a day to enjoy the beauty of the wilderness. But that day, as I lay in the full sun surrounded by flowers and swatting at numerous flies, I realized I would actually rather be underground.

So I went.

The next day, I found myself at the bottom of Virgil the Turtle, one of the deepest caves in the US. I had told myself around a year ago that this was the cave I wanted to get in someday, thinking it wouldn't be for a very long time. Sitting at the bottom of Virgil was a surreal experience. I wasn't sure if it was actually happening, or if I had somehow died and was having a very realistic fantasy.

Although a very dimly lit fantasy.

Then one of my companions reached over and smeared some of the abundantly present mud on my face, breaking the spell. In the midst of wrestling to try to mud him back, I realized that this was definitely real, and there was nowhere else on--or in--the earth I'd rather be.

Plenty more mud where that came from!

At the end of the trip, we floated out on tiny, inadequate rafts on the South Fork of the Flathead. Even that part was scary (maybe the scariest!)

But it wasn't with a group of strangers anymore.

Lead the way!

 I accomplished my number one goal (well, mostly), plus a few others. And I have no regrets.

The cave suit, tragically, did not survive.

Caving with the Stars

When you are jumping into something new, it's often hard to figure out just where to start. Even with outdoor adventure hobbies, it is a little intimidating--everyone seems to know what they're doing already. Why should they want to put up with some newbie?

After my last caving failure I figured it was time to draw on the help of caving experts. I got in touch with some Montana cavers who turned out to be friendly and welcoming. Go figure--as it turns out, sending a few inquiring emails around never hurts anything. Actually, that's the only way I've gotten anywhere in life so far. Sounding somewhat literate and reasonable in an email should be a college class, because I'm pretty sure it's more useful than a degree.

As a result, I back from my job in Alaska no more than eight hours before I was out the door with my caving bag packed, ready for an ice cave in the Pryor Mountains.

Getting personal with some paintbrush in the Pryors.

 I learned a few things from this trip. One: the best possible greeting from a stranger at 6 AM is an offer of sizzling bacon and eggs. Second, cavers are an established but small circle of people who all seem to know one another, so try not to screw up too badly.

 Like any other tight group, they are friendly but cautious of outsiders who don't understand. Some well-known people were there leading the caving party. They were legitimate cave explorers and mappers, whose names I had seen before in my cave research. And they kindly but firmly tossed me and another newbie friend I'd convinced to come along ("it'll be fun! no pressure!") into the lion's den.

Where my friend was promptly eaten.

I was a bit nervous about this trip being like a test, and I was right. We were led through a jumble of tight squeezes, short climbs and shallow drops--a cave obstacle course. At various points they asked us which direction the way back was--fortunately, it seemed more a pass or fail exam, and was not graded by percentage (whoops).

The cave was a great start to learning the art of the cave and the caver.

And looking at some cool shit.

Having your future depend on a first impression is unnerving.  I can't tell you that my performance was anything spectacular (it wasn't), but maybe my eagerness showed through anyway, because one of the leaders of the trip (I'll call him The Hammer) invited me to future caves in the fall.

Since then, I've been on a second trip with the Hammer, this time a training trip for a high school club learning to ascend vertical caves.  Everyone was welcoming, and seemed like my kinda people.

Alright--maybe there is room for one more new caver.

The takeaway from all this, I suppose: get out there and get to know people. Try something. It might not work out--it could be an embarrassing failure.

Into the Hole of Shame!

  But even if it is, at least you will have a story to tell (or not tell, at your own discretion. . . )

If you want to get involved with something, shoot an email somewhere. Nothing might happen, or something might.

Keep on cavin' on.