| The
Kentucky Caver Quarterly
Proceedings of the
Bluegrass Grotto: the North Central Kentucky Area Chapter of the National Speleological Society |
|
| page 07
[contents] (< prev)
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vol. 40. iss. 1, December 2005 |
| We
slipped under a
shelf into a
hole I would have assumed impassable. Desperately, I tried to keep up
with the squirming legs ahead of me. The different moves
were a dance
step. One spot it was best to be on my right side, another spot
on my
back. To me or at least in my current state, the moves were
unintuitive and a secret code I followed religiously in the belief that
it kept me safe. The squirming legs disappeared around a right
hand
turn. Flip on your left side and bend around the corner. I
followed
the code. And I was stuck. My femur was too long. I
cursed the
rigidity of my boots and their heels that were obviously millimeters
too long. Without thinking, I shifted my hips up to change the
angle
of my leg and my knee popped past the rock edge. At this point my
mind
had the high-pitched whine of a Japanese motorcycle. I rolled
onto my
belly and shot forward, trying to catch up to the feet. Speed is
not a
friend in a crawl. Nor are size 46 shoulders. I was
pinned. There
was no time for analysis and I stupidly pushed hard and luckily popped
out. The rest was salamander dash to the end. Finally I came out into a tight twisted room where we could be upright if not stand. “I don’t think the big guy’s going to make it,” I said breathlessly, referring to Rick Baker who was behind me. Art laughed at my wild-eyed exclamation. Naturally, I hated him a little. Above me I could see flashes of light where James Dixon was scouting. The waving rock and the promise of undiscovered layers reminded me of what I’d seen in the keyhole. James Dixon called down “it looks like it might be passable. I don’t know how to get through though.” That statement was wrong in so many ways. Then from back in the tube we heard, “Ma’ ahms a’ pinned (My arms are pinned).” The big guy wasn’t making it.
|
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Jerry started talking about the next step. What madness! I was ready to go back, yet I struggled with whether to say anything. I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s trip. Trying to speak as calmly as possible, I told Jerry “I think, I’m ready to turn around.” Thank God for those who can read subtlety. He knew I meant “Get me the hell out of this cave.” With some discussion, we turned around. The first glimpses of light, however dull they may have been, were gorgeous. As soon as I could, I turned off my light. It felt like victory. We entered the outside and it was shocking. The cave strips the world down until only texture and form remain. The sun was still a sharp yellow and the richness of the Kentucky summer never seemed so lush, the sky never so deeply blue. For the next two weeks all my dreams were in caves. They were not nightmares but not pleasant either. It would seem that the world I discovered in a cave was also one I discovered in me. The underworld. A place you tread carefully with soft steps and extra batteries. Blind Man’s Bluff: A
Tale from the Dark Side
(first appeared in "The Kentucky Caver"
Vol. 31, Nos. 1 & 2 in the summer of 1997) John
LaMar Cole (BGG) |