April 22, 2009
Friday had come much more suddenly and with more implications than I had planned. It was just Wednesday that Zack had invited me to come along on a spelunking excursion in Kentucky. I had heard whispers of this impending event over the last couple weeks -- a small group of friends, including Brian, Ramsey, fellow roommates Zack and Joe, and our de facto guide Scott. Now, since someone had just backed out, the vacant seat was calling my name. I accepted and jotted a quick entry on my calendar; a cell phone calendar event that had jolted straight to the forefront of my consciousness on this Friday afternoon. The ensuing weekend was laced with frustration but it was all very worth it.
I spent the afternoon rushing from store to store in a vein attempt to buy all the lacking resources for the trip. I managed to be only about 15 minutes behind schedule once back at my abode. Zack and Joe smoked casually at the minivan while I unwrapped new items, double-checked packing lists, and packed my backpack. Just after I had loaded my gear into the back of the van and rolled down my window for some air on the way to the other guys' house, Zack was stopped from pulling out of the driveway by an approaching figure behind us. Once closer, we recognized him as our good friend Phil, who had come seeking a solution to an urgent quandary. Zack sat the van idle in its previous spot so we could retreat to the back deck and converse with Phil.
Phil's friend was leaving to go back to Ireland. They had filmed a short going-away-video on a Handycam but had no way of showing it on the television since the required cable was missing. I tried to help by supplying a camera of my own with its cable, but the size and format of the tape mismatched my configuration. I resorted to giving Phil the phone number of a girl in our church who shoots weddings as a profession, and may have the necessary equipment to convert his dejected tape into a shimmering and useful DVD. She didn't answer so he left a voicemail as Zack brought out his newly acquired broken violin. Joe and I kept an eye on each of our watches as Zack proceeded to probe Phil, who is a world-class violinist, about the veracity of his antique violin. Phil poked, prodded, and postulated until advising Zack to have a particular local shop inspect it.
With Phil's and my hang-ups finally behind us, we shook hands with Phil, the dust off our boots, and the delay-monkey off our backs, and hit the road. After parking the van alongside Scott's house, we headed in to collect the rest of the troop. To our dismay we learned immediately that although Scott and Ramsey were ready to walk out the door, we still had to wait on Brian, who was still at his own house packing for the trip. With a collective sigh we settled down in front of a laptop and watched several YouTube videos of other explorer's forays into our ultimate destination -- Pine Hill Cave. After reviewing some highlights and checking our watches we finally got the awaited call from Brian that he was ready to be picked up. We piled into the van, bolted over to his house, loaded our final passenger, and pulled up to our final road trip hiccup -- UDF. Zack filled up the van as the rest stocked up on granola bars and Gatorade. Then we finally departed from Columbus, a full hour and a half late.
The ride down to Rock Castle County, Kentucky from Columbus, Ohio went more smoothly than anticipated. Zack drove while I assumed the shotgun-seat responsibilities (navigation, music selection, and conversing with the driver). Good music and good company can make the time fly with surprising ease. We made a pit stop along the way at a liquor-Walmart called Party Source (which is comparable to The Liquor Barn). Once our bourbon reserves were built up, we finished the drive to our motel, Econolodge, around one 'clock in the morning.
Noting the time, Zack and I assumed we were about to turn in and skip what was planned to be part one of a two-cave spelunking trip. That notion dissolved at once when as soon as we got all of our things into our room, everyone else started to gear up. I remember expecting to be a little disappointed but I reflected with glee as I realized I was excited and not exhausted. We proceeded to equip ourselves with headlamps, flashlights, helmets, gloves, and flannel.
We drove only about five minutes until we reached the turn-off we needed. The road degraded along the way from smooth asphalt to loose gravel to plain dirt as we wound our way into the woods. The road was so twisty that we crossed the same railroad tracks three times until we reached our goal (just before the fourth crossing). Zack pulled off the road as best he could and put jumped out of the van. With headlights on and flashlights out we walked along the tracks about fifty yards until Scott pointed out the cave mouth. We pocketed our flashlights, turned up our headlamps, and pulled on our gloves, ready for Sinks of the Roundstone Cave.
The entrance started low enough that we had to crouch before opening up to a small room. With our troop gathered, Scott gave us a short introduction and handed out maps. I promptly stuffed mine in a Ziploc then did as the others and put it in a breast pocket. Turning forward we discovered the way deeper into the cave. The opposing slit in the earth was only about twenty feet wide, yet only three feet tall -- just tall enough to move without resorting to crawling. As we progressed, though, the ceiling moved ever closer. We crawled on hands and knees, then on our stomachs as we passed the occasional cave cricket. Joe discovered a new terror in those insects and he let us know it every time he passed one for the rest of the trip. The crevice eventually gave way to a large room with a twenty foot ceiling. Those among us who were virgin spelunkers took in the sight with awe and wonder.
Pushing forward we climbed rocks, slid down muddy foot slides, and came across something between a stream and a river. The water's depth ranged between eighteen inches and three feet, was about fifteen feet across, and flowed very fast. It also contained a strange boulder that looked just like a dog's head. The water severed our path so we decided to ford it where it was shallow (getting our boots wet for the first time). It was ice cold, but the constant hike kept plenty of blood flowing to our toes keeping them sufficiently warm (though that term seems like a stretch). As we rounded up and to the left we encountered another river just like the last. Once crossed, this time with greater difficulty due to deeper water, we turned around and noticed with horror that we had gone in a big circle and were right where we had started, with the dog-headed rock. After a brief conference, we decided the best way out would be to just follow the water, thus we jumped back in and trudged forward.
After a hundred yard or so hike, we finally came to the other mouth of the cave where the stream entered the darkness from whence we came. Grateful to see the moon, for we had been in the cave almost four hours, we found ourselves at the gravel part of the road we came in on. Weary, yet happy and well-content about our completed journey, we made the long walk up the road to where we parked. Along the way, stories were already being told about our experience.
Once back at the van, exhausted, muddy, and hungry, we set course for our motel room. With our minds still absorbing the good memories, there simply wasn’t any room to dwell on the difficulty of getting to the point we achieved. I no longer considered the frustrations of the last twenty-four hours as weighing me down, hindering me from having a good time, but rather augmenting the highlights. I don’t think my memories of that weekend, whether at Sinks or the following Pine Hill Cave, would be as rosy without that resistance, that opposing force that makes the sweet sweeter.
