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.