And there it was—the feeling that
all had not been explored, that there is potential for virgin country in our
American backyard. Modernity lends us
this injustice, that six centuries after the age of exploration, we must strive
to escape an urbanized globe and find ourselves outside the reaches of roads,
noise pollution, and fellow wanderers to achieve a consensual ignorance in
which we lead, if only for an afternoon, an exposed, wild existence. And then it hit me, as a kiss from an
overhead stalactite.
Below the bi-state city of Bristol,
a small tributary to the South Holston River gurgles out from a rocky bluff in
a hardwood hollow. Rural countryside
greets its escape from the hollow—a landscape that fails to suggest what lies
in the trickle’s headwaters.
That particular headwater I, along
with a group of nine, traced into the mountain—or rather under it. A wall of warm, stagnant air hit our faces as
we ducked beneath a low ceiling. With
that, donning hard hats and headlamps, we were inside the best natural spelunking
cave east of the Mississippi.
Exploration was not lost.
As we were warned prior to takeoff,
the setting is a living, wet cave, still forming as minerals drip from the cave
ceiling and stalactite canals to the floor, creating pillars and mounds and a
generally muddy surface composition.
Old clothing is the uniform of
champions here. Not in the “wear old
clothes in case they get dirty” sense, but in the “they will be ripped,
punctured, shredded, soaked, and muddied beyond belief” sense. Old work pants and a cheap sweatshirt or
long-sleeve t-shirt are prime choices. A
synthetic base layer is optimal, along with your choice in synthetic socks. Shoes should provide adequate protection and
traction. Boots and old sneakers are
good choices.
Within seconds we were on all fours. Mineral formations don’t oblige body types or
skeletal structures. To progress, we
were forced to take shapes, to solve the problems faced, physically.
After much ducking and crawling, we
came to a cliff—an underground mountain of sorts. Our guide promptly climbed the boulders to
the peak, where the chamber continued deeper into the ground, tied off a rope
to a triangular rock, and tossed down the hand line. We repeated this process twice, over two
rises, those in the rear chocking the feet of those ahead and spotting as they
made the ascent gripping the hand line.
Because of these situations, being
guided as a first-time spelunker is strongly-encouraged. As one might imagine, spending time
underground is dangerous--even more so without any prior experience or
training. Thus, the best way to explore
a living cave is through a guide service or caving club, or “grottoe,”
associated with the National Speleological Society. They will be informative and skilled, warning
against harming the fragile cave ecosystems and helping to prevent the spread
of issues such as white nosed bat syndrome.
At that time, we had reached the
upper level of the cave. Along the way
we took our time in exploring tight spots, which did and did not lead to other
rooms; most passed through walls or under the floor to reemerge again.
When in such a position, where one
can literally not move to the left or right, but difficultly forward and
backward, it’s surreal to attempt to observe the scene out of context. To the average earth-dweller, who inhabits a
house or apartment, who exists in the sunlight each and every day, and who
makes their tightest squeeze when passing through a door jam or cars in a lot,
a two-foot tunnel of living rock below a river and fathoms of earth and
mountain is a foreign place to wind up.
Yet, adrenaline seems to limit
reflection or fear in such places. For,
with your arms stretched forward over your head, it’s amazing what crevices a
human can navigate.
As we began our descent, we came
upon a hole. Though hidden by a 12-foot
mound, it was perhaps five feet in diameter, and extended downward a few
hundred feet. Crawling over the mound,
we crab-walked down the chute until the slope grew steeper and sliding became
the effective motive of transport. One
steep downhill turn, and we landed knee-deep in an underground river!
In the dark, wading perception
becomes difficult, particularly with others clouding the water. So we remained in a straight line, sending
clues up and down the line.
After nearly a half mile of river
channel had been covered, we found dry (ok, muddy) land again, and promptly
climbed into a slot roughly 10 feet wide by two feet tall and 80 feet
long. An 80-foot roll commenced, and
when we were finally upright again, a foreign light penetrated the darkness in
our dizzied state.
The sun.
Originally published in the Rural Virginian
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