Sunday,
March 14, 2004
Leila Atassi
Plain Dealer Reporter
Olive Hill, Ky.
- The cave's breath, a balmy 56 degrees, turns to steam where
it meets the outside winter air. On the edge of a frozen waterfall, 15 cavers
wait to slide into the mouth of Tar Kiln, the wettest and coldest promise the
weekendlong Carter Caves Crawlathon can make.
One by one, we reach the
bottom of the fall and nestle into the rock, waiting for our guide's signal to
move onward into the darkness. Soon we will be crawling through the first
200-foot-long silty stream of Tar Kiln, while the nearly freezing water rushes
through each layer of clothing. Silence falls upon the group in that liminal
space between the earth's mouth and her entrails. The sound of anticipation,
anxiety, unpredictability, perhaps fear.
Headlamps on.
Caving has evolved from its
roots of venturing into caves with lanterns to the high-tech exploration,
surveying and conservation projects of today. The world of stalactites,
geological formations and subterranean rivers beckons those who long to escape
modernity to be close to something thousands of years in the making.
For some, it's the physical
challenge of climbing rope through a 1,000-foot-deep chasm. For others, a
fascination with speleology or the hope of virgin passage just ahead draws them
to the sport.
The Cleveland Grotto,
chartered in 1945, is the oldest continuously active branch of the National
Speleological Society. The range of experience of the grotto's members varies
from beginner to 30-year veteran.
Several times a year, the
team of amateur cavers heads out to regions of surrounding states, such as the
Carter Caves in Kentucky, that are rich in karst - areas of irregular limestone
in which erosion has carved fissures, sinkholes, underground streams and
caverns. In the depths of these geological marvels, grotto members practice
their caving skills, pushing to the cave's and their own limits.
"It's the physical
challenge that keeps me going," says Alan Looney, who holds dual membership
in the Cleveland Grotto and the Ohio Cavers and Climbers Club. "Your body
knows it when you've been on a good caving trip. It's just amazing."
The passage through the
muddy stream narrows so incrementally our team hardly notices until we resort to
scrambling on our bellies clawing at rocks and wedging our mud-logged boots in
the crevasses of break- down. My coveralls, saturated after trudging through the
waist- deep stream, weigh down each step as I struggle to keep pace with the
group. My sopping wool socks feel like gel insoles but are freezing my toes
nearly to the point of immobility.
The hard hats that
protected our noggins from numerous brain-rattling blows suddenly seem
cumbersome as we turn our heads sideways to fit through the passage. For a
moment, my knee is jammed flanked by the layers of rock I'd been crawling
between. We've heard tales of cavers getting stuck, panicking and cutting
clothes from their body to slide out from between the rock. I jostle myself
loose, ward off that paralyzing fear that is always only a few steps behind: the
fear of a cave-in or a flash flood.
Don't forget
your limits
Caving is not a sport for
the ill- equipped or the claustrophobic. When the underground world grants
passage, a caver must be psychologically, physically and technologically
prepared to accept the invitation.
Often, a caver will be
required to spend long periods of time crawling on knees or belly and might have
to squeeze his or her body through tight spaces. Anyone who can endure a fairly
rigorous off-trail hike can handle a cave, say grotto members. But all cavers
should be honest with themselves and their group about their limitations.
"Don't tell the guide
that you hike 12 miles a day when you don't," says grotto member Joe
Marchese. "Because if you get 40 feet into the cave and you're short of
breath, the guide's going to regret taking you."
Although the Cleveland
Grotto welcomes novice cavers, a contingent of the grotto focuses on more
advanced technique, including vertical caving. Through the use of static ropes,
harnesses and ascending devices, cavers can explore chasms thousands of feet
deep.
Some grotto members held
regular vertical practices in gymnasiums and climbing gyms in preparation for an
early March caving trip to Sotano de las Go landrinas (Cellar of the Swallows)
in Mexico, during which the team's longest descent will be about 1,200 feet.
During practice, the team took turns ascending a rope strung through a pulley
attached to a 25-foot-high ceiling and rehearsed the knots and midair equipment
adjustments required of a proficient vertical caver.
After about 30 years in the
sport, grotto chairwoman Cynthia Norris is considered one of the most
experienced cavers in Northeast Ohio and an authority on vertical technique.
"It's really dangerous
to pick up bad habits while learning vertical caving," says Norris, a
firefighter medic for the city of Canton.
"When we get to a
certain level, it's easy to become careless, to forget our limits, and the
consequences of that could be death."
The National Speleological
Society, which boasts a membership of more than 12,000 cavers worldwide,
reported 35 caving incidents in 2001, including 15 injuries and five fatalities.
With the exception of a reported heart attack, the fatalities were largely the
results of carelessness or inadequate equipment.
In July, an accident during
a vertical practice in Hocking Hills was a frightening reminder of the
importance of strict caution and good judgment. After a long afternoon of
rappelling, an experienced rappeller descended the rock face to belay for
novices at the bottom. He had developed the habit of using only four of the six
brake bars on his rappelling rack, a device that helps control the speed of
descent.
Twenty-five feet along the
125-foot drop, a bar on the rap peller's rack broke, Norris said. As the rope
slid uncontrollably through the remaining three bars, the rappeller fell 100
feet to what seemed like imminent death.
Although he broke both legs
and nine vertebrae, Norris said the caver was the only person to her knowledge
to survive a fall from that cliff. A knot Norris arbitrarily had tied in the
rope earlier in the day jammed in the caver's rappelling rack, stopping him mere
feet from the ground but still jerking his body with enough force to inflict
injuries.
Norris calls the
rappeller's survival, and the realization of her hand in it, one of her few
truly spiritual moments in three decades of caving. The rappeller is recovering
steadily but has not decided whether he will join the group on rope again.
However, Norris, Looney and fellow cavers practiced more devotedly than ever.
Sotano de las Golandrinas was expecting them.
Treading lightly
on nature's interior
After devouring cheese and
crackers during a short lunch break, we are certain to pick up every crumb we
might have dropped on Tar Kiln's floor. We press on through the cave's passages,
ducking beneath low-hanging rock formations, alerting each other to the
occasional brown bat napping on the ceiling.
I feel energized from the
midcave tour snack until I feel a rumble in my own innards and wonder if I might
have to excuse myself for a private moment behind a stalagmite. I think of the
Ziploc bags we brought along for just such an occasion and hope I won't have to
use one. "Everything you bring in the cave," I had been warned,
"you take out."
From beginners to advanced,
one of the hallmarks of a true caver is a sense of respect for the fragile
subterranean ecosystems. The responsible caver is sure never to damage
geological formations and to leave no garbage or human waste. In a time when the
popularity of the sport is at an all-time high, cavers are often secretive about
the location of caves to avoid abuse of the delicate environment.
Grotto members participate
in yearly cave cleanups in an effort to thank the earth and cave owners who open
their property to recreation.
"Some of the best
caves are on private land, and maintaining good relationships with cave owners
is critical," Looney says. "There are a lot of caves that are
off-limits because cavers in the past have disrespected the land."
Marchese remembers one
cleanup during which the team pulled refrigerators, stoves and car transmissions
out of a sinkhole and filled a 30-foot-long dumpster with trash.
"Every time you enter
a cave, you need to leave it in better shape than when you found it," he
says.
"There's an old caving
maxim that goes: Take nothing but pictures. Leave nothing but footprints. Kill
nothing but time."
As we approach the mouth of
the cave, the air tastes less earthy, and the first glimpse of natural light
brings a feeling akin to the revival of a limb that has fallen asleep sharp and
overwhelming, then giving way to a tremendous sense of relief and recognition.
Even the dead winter grass, the leafless trees, the gray sky, look vibrant to my
sunlight-deprived eyes.
Steam lifts off our bodies.
The tired, filthy crew congratulate each other and rehearse the stories they'll
be telling their friends tomorrow. We are cavers now. Adventurers reborn from
Mother Nature's hollowed rock. The elite, muddy few who can say they know their
Earth her fissures and faults, both inside and out.
Headlamps off.
To reach this Plain Dealer
reporter:
latassi@plaind.com,
216-999-4547