by Beyond Mammoth Cave- A Tale of Obsession in the World's Longest Cave (epub)
Once at the bottom of the pit, Morrison untied the rope from his harness and moved into unknown cave. At the base of the pit, a low crawl over rocks wedged in a narrow and deep canyon led to a room. He scrambled down a slope covered with broken rock and arrived at the edge of a second pit. With a short line he always kept in his pocket while exploring, he lowered his kerosene lantern to see if the cave continued from the bottom. All he could see was a tiny canyon. Surely, a cave with such a wind as this had to continue a better way.
Across this second pit, however, there was a large opening in the wall—a window. He picked up rocks and tossed them up into it. A few seconds passed, then a clattering echoed from beyond the window. Morrison had not felt any air blowing up from the second pit, but now he could feel a cool breeze coming from the window. This must be the right passage!
Now that there was cave to explore, he needed an easier way to descend the entrance pit. The four labored for several days building ladders made of cedar poles. One by one, they lowered sections of this rickety ladder into the pit until they had assembled from the bottom up a zigzag route between ledges all the way to the surface. If the cave went, they could improve it later.
They continued the ladder building at the lip of the second pit. During many trips from the entrance pit, they had dragged the necessary additional materials for twenty-five feet of ladder, including extra-stout poles, since they were now building more of a bridge than a ladder. They extended the makeshift bridge across the gap into the window. Morrison hoped that the drop beyond the window would be climbable, but those hopes were quickly dashed. Back to work.
They assembled a third ladder to descend the pit beyond the window. The effort to place the ladder was both difficult and dangerous. Sections had to be lowered into the pit and assembled in place. Only one person could sit precariously at the window and steady the ladder while subsequent sections were nailed to its top end. When the project was complete, the foursome climbed into the large shaft beyond the window.
Over the next several trips, they explored more than a mile of complicated canyons, squeezes, and large domes. Unfortunately, the hoped-for breakthrough into the eastern extension of Mammoth Cave was not found. They had not penetrated beyond the extensive complex of shafts. Finally, at the end of one low, muddy crawlway, they found another deep pit ringed by an unstable pile of sandstone boulders. They were now far below the entrance. The sound of falling water hinted that the new pit might be the key to big cave. One of the explorers grabbed a loose rock above them and was greeted by a roar as the hillside slid into the abyss. Only by using one precarious ledge were they able to avoid disturbing the accumulation of loose rock.
By this point, dragging in ladders was impractical, so they later returned to the perch with a hay pulley wheel and a long section of half-inch hemp rope. They carefully avoided touching the loose rocks. Morrison cut a short length of the rope and looped it around a pillar in the wall above the ledge, tying it snugly with a square knot. With the hay pulley hooked onto the loop, they threaded the remainder of the rope through the pulley and lowered one explorer thirty feet to the bottom of the pit. It was then easy to lower the other explorers by feeding the rope through the pulley from the bottom. Large sandstone boulders littered the floor. A tall canyon led off to the north.
The tall canyon carried a cold wind that chilled the explorers as they followed the current in the foot-soaking stream. The passage was long, leading them far from the main cave. Ultimately they came to the top of a fourth pit. The stream they had followed was now quite large and crashed downward in a thundering roar. A lantern lowered on a rope revealed little due to the spray from the falls. Somebody would have to investigate the potential directly, but they were far from the entrance and at the edge of their capabilities and will.
They returned later with a stout plank, a second pulley, and an even longer section of rope. They wedged the plank above the pit to serve as a guide to keep the rope and the explorer out of the falling water. They lowered one man down the forty-foot pit, and once on the bottom, he untied and set off to explore.
The floor of the pit was sandy and flat; its walls were coated with a thin layer of dried mud. Obviously, this pit flooded at times, perhaps even backflooded from the Green River. The mud coating looked similar to areas in Mammoth Cave near the level of Echo River. The pretty waterfall impressed him, but the water flowed into a pool and disappeared under the wall. Looking around, the lone explorer found a canyon blowing air. He followed this down to a stream, probably the same stream that drained the waterfall splash pool. Unfortunately, just a few feet farther, the ceiling lowered to only a foot above the stream. This was no place to go with a lantern, and besides, belly-crawling in the water did not appeal to him. For Morrison’s team, this was the end of the cave. It would not become the back entrance to Mammoth Cave that they were seeking. Morrison abandoned the effort, leaving the landowners disappointed.
But Morrison’s exploration was not the end for the cave. Another adventurer, Old Man Hackett, took interest in the caves of the area. Hackett was an eccentric hippie forty years ahead of his time. He took up residence in Long Cave, an old saltpeter cave south of Mammoth Cave; he ate canned oyster stew and condensed milk. His hair cascaded down to his waist when not rolled up and stuffed under his ten-gallon hat. After a number of trips down Morrison’s cedar ladders, he returned with tales of big cave and plans for commercialization. Understandably skeptical of Hackett, the owners didn’t take him seriously. After all, why would he succeed where the competent Morrison had failed? In disgust at his failure, it was said, Hackett eventually sealed the entrance and left the area, returning to his native Texas, resolved that his secrets would be safe forever. Morrison’s old cave was soon forgotten.
Don Coons’s arrival in the Mammoth Cave area marked the beginning of a new era of modern off-park cave exploration. He began caving in the long, wet passages of Perry County, Missouri, exploring caves such as Mystery Cave and Rimstone River Cave. The caves of the Mammoth Cave region were perfect for his abilities and interests. Don first came to Mammoth Cave by way of the Cave Research Foundation in 1973. It wasn’t long before he married fellow caver Diana Daunt and settled in a small, wood-framed house near the boundary of Mammoth Cave National Park. At that time, Jim Quinlan, the park’s research geologist, coordinated hydrologic research in the caves and karst of the local region and was looking to recruit a field assistant. It was perfect for Don, a superb caver who was lucky enough to be able to live where he was surrounded by the big caves. He took the job. Many cavers would kill for a position like that. Fortunately, his job as an assistant was during the summers when the water levels were low, making cave field work conditions most favorable. In the spring and fall of each year, he returned to his family farm in north-central Illinois to plant and harvest corn and soybeans. During the intervening months in late fall and winter, when water levels in Kentucky were high and the fields of Illinois lay dormant, he joined caving expeditions to explore the deep pits of Mexico or the enormous caverns of Belize.
I—Jim Borden—first met Don Coons during the summer of 1974 on my third caving trip in the area. I was still wide-eyed and eager, full of intentions to discover a big cave with my partner Joe Saunders. Joe had arranged a meeting with Jim Quinlan, so one morning we headed to the park to discuss hydrology and dye tracing. I was impressed by Jim Quinlan and Don Coons. Wow, I thought, these guys were paid to do what I loved to do.
I liked Don from the first moments I spoke with him. Quinlan talked fast and long, totally hyper, and appeared to know everything about everything—and maybe he did, I thought. Don, quiet and unassuming, listened thoughtfully and added intelligent comments. It was apparent that he also loved caves. He was genuinely interested as Joe Saunders talked to Quinlan about the caves that Joe knew along the river. Don readily accepted Joe’s invitation for a trip to Gradys Cave; any chance to see a new cave was not to be missed. We planned to go the following day.
Grad
ys Cave is a ten-mile-long river cave known for lots of water and mud and trips that last twenty-four hours. I was petrified at the prospect of a caving trip there; Don’s acceptance of the invitation made me feel better. I knew I would not be suffering alone, although I knew I would indeed suffer. Joe was notorious for the killer trips he ran into this cave, and I felt that two of us against him would stand a better chance of survival than one would.
The following day, Don met us at the appointed time. Heavy rain filled the gullies, and fountains of water spurted from the sodden ground. A trip into Gradys Cave was out of the question. I did not show the relief I felt.
Don was sensitive to Joe Saunders’s sour look about the reduced prospects of any Gradys Cave trips during the week. As an alternative, Don offered us a trip into Parker Cave, where he was leading a trip the following day. Parker is a stream cave, but it was far from the Green River and would not flood the way Gradys did.
We had a wonderful time. Although not a large cave, Parker was varied and interesting. Don and I talked about the many caves in the area, and I told him of my work on Toohey Ridge. We shared the dream of finding an enormous network of caves that ranged outside the park. He agreed with me—Toohey Ridge could be a key. At Parker Cave, we began a long and lasting friendship.
The year 1977 was an unusual time around Mammoth Cave National Park. The previous winter, park officials had become alarmed after surprisingly high levels of radon gas were detected in many of the passages of the commercial tours of Mammoth Cave. Knowledge of the risks of radon exposure was still in its infancy, although it was known that overexposure in uranium mines could cause lung cancer. Accordingly, the park adopted an aggressive regulatory position regarding radon exposure of its own personnel. Normal tourist visitation would not be affected, for tourists’ exposure was minimal. But if an employee approached the strict limits of exposure, he or she would be temporarily reassigned to non-cave duties. Jim Quinlan’s summer cave survey programs were curtailed because his employees were subjected to too much exposure. Low-level passages, the primary targets of Quinlan’s research, had the highest known levels of radon. It was not unusual for his employees to log seventy hours of in-cave time per week. It did not matter that most of the effort was within off-park caves on private land; Quinlan was employed by the Park Service. Consequently, both he and his employees were subject to the strict radon exposure guidelines.
Quinlan did not employ any cavers to work on his cave survey program that summer, and as a result, Don Coons lacked a job. No problem—Don hired on as a seasonal guide for the commercial cave tours in Mammoth Cave National Park.
The park employed many seasonal guides to handle the large numbers of tourists who visited the cave during the summer months. One of the fringe benefits was Mammoth Cave itself. During the evening and other off hours, the park allowed full-time guides to lead seasonal guides through wild parts of Mammoth Cave. Most seasonal guides looked forward to these trips, so when they reported for employment in June, they were disappointed to find that this practice had abruptly halted. The new radon exposure limits killed exploring by guides.
Seasonal guides Jeff Ulrich and Robert McDonald were extremely frustrated by the new set of rules. They itched for some wild caving, and this itch could no longer be scratched within Mammoth Cave. They asked around the Mammoth Cave guides’ lounge for places to cave outside the park, places not subject to the park’s supervision. Surely, they thought, some of the full-time guides would know of a few caves.
Ranger John Logsdon knew about a cave. The previous autumn, while deer hunting on his farm, he had found the blowing hole that Morrison had explored fifty years earlier. Recently, the cave had opened itself after being filled long ago by Hackett. The logs used to cover the hole had probably rotted and fallen in, allowing the wet Kentucky winter to finish the work of exposing the entrance. Logsdon had been intrigued by the tales of Morrison’s earlier exploration, but the small entrance and seventy-foot pit prevented him from checking out the cave. Jeff and Robert wanted to explore the cave, but they were not vertical cavers. What to do?
While collecting tour tickets at the Historic Entrance to Mammoth Cave, Don Coons overheard Jeff and Robert talking about Logsdon’s tip. In his typically ingratiating fashion, Don talked the situation over with them, modestly offered his expertise in vertical caving and the loan of some gear.
The trip was a go.
The next day, Don, Robert, and Jeff parked at John Logsdon’s farm. They hiked across the wide field to the opposite edge of the ridge and walked down the gully Logsdon had described. There was the hole, just above the floor of the gully, with an old fence circling it. You could miss it if you weren’t looking for it. As they uncoiled the rope, Don noticed that they were standing less than fifty feet from one of the many prominent concrete boundary monuments of Mammoth Cave National Park.
Interesting, he thought as he gazed down the hill into the park.
The National Park Service had always been sensitive about passages of Mammoth Cave that extended outside park boundaries. Inevitably, some Mammoth Cave passages would be found to extend under private property. In fact, the CRF knew about some of them already. Exploration of a cave with an entrance as close to the park boundary as this one would be bound to generate Park Service interest.
Don outfitted Jeff and Robert for the descent, then each rappelled to the bottom of the seventy-foot pit. The top was narrow but soon widened to ten feet. The cold wind refreshed them as they passed through the narrowest section. At the bottom, they stood on rocks, dirt, and rotting leaves and branches. Logsdon had told them the stories from the days of Morrison, but cavers view such tales with skepticism because they are often wild exaggerations. However, the part of the story about the cave entrance being filled and recently reopening itself rang true—the bottom of the pit was littered with cut logs and planks.
A strong breeze blew from a small crawlway under one wall. The three pulled out loose rocks and scraped away dirt. After fifteen minutes of easy digging, they were through. They soon stood at the edge of another pit. Here was the first real evidence of explorers from periods long past. Leaning across the pit to the far wall was a rotting wooden ladder. At the ladder’s far end, they could see a window into a third, parallel pit. Don reached down to test the ladder, giving it a gentle but firm tug. The whole structure groaned and slowly collapsed, crashing to the floor thirty feet below.
Don cringed. “Jesus! Good thing we didn’t try to cross the pit on that!”
Jeff and Robert stared into the pit, awestruck, as the last of the rotting timbers let go and cartwheeled into the darkness.
Don was curious. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to construct this ladder. Had they found something worthwhile that lay beyond? Climbing to the window was now out of the question. The only remaining route was down. But for today, they were at the end. Their only rope was tied to the tree at the top of the seventy-foot entrance pit.
They would be back.
A week later, Don Coons, Robert McDonald, Jeff Ulrich, and Sue McGill returned with a second rope so they could descend the pit below the window. Don had recruited Sue and had given her quickie lessons in rappelling and ascending cave rope. (Sue said later she feared that vertical work was a lot more dangerous than Don had let on.)
This time, Jeff and Robert were more experienced and descended the entrance pit with little problem. Don again evaluated the prospects of crossing the second pit to the window on the far side. It looked possible, but today was not the day to try.
Concentrating on the task of going down, Don threaded the rope through a hole in the wall and secured the rope with a bowline. Then he grabbed the coiled rope and tossed the remaining line into the pit. As the most experienced, Don led the way down. Below, a narrow, popcorn-encrusted canyon led off. A slight breeze cooled his face as he looked into it. After six feet, the passage turned a corner. Don called up for the others to come down. There was cave here to push.
The canyon
was narrow. They struggled through fifty feet of painful passage, eventually emerging at the base of a large, impressive vertical shaft. After a few minutes of exploring, they realized that the shaft through which they had entered was just one of several that formed an extensive complex. It was like visiting a museum. Evidence of ancient exploration lay everywhere: metal buckets, chunks of cedar poles, rusty nails, and a few bottles. In one dome, they found another rickety ladder that led up forty feet to what was probably the window across the second pit. The old-timers had perhaps reached this part of the cave from that window. Certainly, none of them had followed the route through the narrow canyon. Don knew better than to test the ancient ladder rising above them; it was surely as rotten as the one that had crumbled beneath his touch earlier. They would go back the way they had come.
There were leads everywhere. They had found a cave! But with the narrow, fifty-foot-long canyon between them and the entrance, it was time to head out. They took one last, longing look up the ladder, knowing that the entrance pit was probably just beyond, before heading back through the canyon. The tight stretch of horrible squeezing seemed infinitely longer going out. Besides being tired, they had to force their bodies uphill and against the grain of the scallops; Sue’s hips proved to be a particular disadvantage here. The party took forty-five minutes to get to the base of the second pit. Don Coons named the canyon Sue’s Sorrow.
Several hours later, the party of four tired cavers reached the surface after dark. It had been a difficult trip. Robert McDonald and Sue McGill would not return; the cave was too demanding. But Don Coons smelled big cave. He would be back.
One evening, Don and I were sitting around drinking beer in his living room, as we often did on my many visits. As usual, we were chatting about nothing in particular until Don began to talk about the new cave on John Logsdon’s farm. He described the pit traverse that would bypass Sue’s Sorrow.