Beyond Mammoth Cave

by Beyond Mammoth Cave- A Tale of Obsession in the World's Longest Cave (epub)

  “You know, Jim, I think you could climb across that pit over to the window where the old ladder is,” Don said nonchalantly between swallows of beer.

  I knew that he was trying to suck me in; I smirked to let him know that I was on to his ploy.

  Don said nothing, drinking his beer with a glimmer in his eye.

  I grabbed the bait. “Tell me about it.”

  He began his inch-by-inch description of the obstacle. I tried to imagine it as he spoke. Despite his best animated efforts, I could not visualize the climb. “What kind of holds are there?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t remember, really.” He looked embarrassed. Seeing my growing reluctance, he continued smoothly. “You’re so tall and lanky, you can probably just stretch your way across.” He stood up and extended his arms for emphasis. “Besides, I’ll belay you.”

  “Great!” Like that made a difference.

  I frowned as I imagined clinging to the wall for dear life. Finally, with no more strength to hold on, I would let go. Don’s rope would catch me, but because the climb was a traverse, I would pendulum and crash into the wall below.

  “It’ll be easy,” Don said.

  “Sure, why not.” I surrendered. There was really no face-saving way not to try. I could at least look at it. If it was too dangerous, I would decline.

  I guess I was the natural choice for this project. For the last several years, I had been climbing extensively at various rock-climbing meccas across the United States. I was a fair climber, certainly better than average, and was probably technically suited for the task. Cave climbing is very different from traditional rock climbing, however. In caves, one cannot depend on the holds, the rock is often rotten, and mud and water afford slick, unsure footing. Moreover, wall crack systems tend to be poorly developed, making the placement of pitons or nuts a chancy or impossible undertaking. I preferred to climb on the sun-warmed cliffs of Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite National Park. This would be no Yosemite.

  A couple weeks later, Mark Stock and I followed Don Coons across the large field to the wooded gully leading down to the cave. Each of us carried rope and vertical gear. In addition, I had brought several runners, carabiners, and nuts in the hope that I could protect the climb and prevent rib-smashing wall crashes. As we headed down the last few feet of the gully before the cave, something piqued my memory. Vague recollections of the big field, the crossing of the fence into the steep gully, and the rock outcrops lining the hillside all precipitated at once from the haze of things past. The image suddenly became clear.

  “Hey! I know where we are.”

  Don looked at me quizzically.

  “A couple years ago, I came down this gully looking for a cave someone told me about. But I couldn’t find it.”

  He was now standing at the entrance, uncoiling the first rope down into the hole.

  “And I can see why. You’d walk right by and not see it.” I motioned down the gully to the signs marking the park boundary just a few feet ahead.

  I thought about it, looking first up at the cave entrance, then up and down the gully. I shook my head in disgust. “I can’t believe I missed it.”

  “Well,” Don snickered, “tough break.”

  Thirty minutes later, I stood at the edge of the second pit studying a series of holds on the right wall leading up to the window. I had a rope tied around my middle, and Don was seated firmly behind a boulder ready to belay me, waiting for my word that I was ready. The traverse across the wall really didn’t frighten me. A couple moves and I would be over.

  I took a deep breath. “On belay,” I said, barely loud enough for Don and Mark to hear.

  “Belay on.”

  This was routine for both of us. My experience came from the cliffs of the Shawangunks in New York, and Don’s came from the deep cave systems of Mexico. We both knew what we were doing.

  I sunk my right hand deep into a crack out over the second pit and smeared my right foot onto a sloping ledge. I leaned out to my left, using my right foot for support while reaching over with my left hand to a projecting rock horn just a few feet from the window.

  “Looking good,” Don said encouragingly.

  I was pleased that the rock was solid. I was now brimming with confidence. With two good handholds, I stretched my left foot over to the wall below the window and leaned back. Cranking with my left hand, I moved my right hand to a second horn just above my left hand. In one swift motion, I reached up with my left hand, grabbed the edge of the window, and then swung my right hand over next to it.

  “Got it!” I shouted.

  I pulled myself up and swung my butt around, sitting as I would sit on a fence.

  Behind me and below was the darkness of a large room. A wooden ladder led down into it. I described what I saw to an expectant Don.

  “That’s it! You did it,” he said. “You’ve bypassed Sue’s Sorrow!”

  “Okay,” I answered. “Off belay.”

  I was secure on the perch where I sat, so I untied the rope from around my waist as Don tied his end in a loop through a hole in the wall. I lowered my end of the rope down the pit beside the old ladder. We would use this line to rappel down.

  I then tied into the standing rope while Mark Stock tied into a third rope. He tossed the loose end over to me, and I set up the belay. Mark and Don would repeat the traverse clipped into the standing line with a free carabiner while I belayed them. This was a secure rig, as they would each be protected in two ways from falling. One at a time, they came across and rappelled down into the third pit next to the ancient cedar ladder. Once Mark and Don were down, I untied and rappelled down to join them.

  Don gave us a tour of the impressive shaft complex, showing us places where relics of previous explorers littered the floor. He carried the last of our ropes over his shoulder. Our objective lay at the far end of this chain of shafts.

  It seemed to me that a large number of people had spent a great deal of time exploring this cave. Most of the more easily reached holes contained rotting remnants of cedar poles that these old-time explorers had used for short climbs.

  Don turned off into a lower canyon, chimneying to the floor eight feet below. I could feel the ever-present breeze as I slid the last few feet to the floor.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were at our objective, the farthest place Don had explored. We stood at the brink of what might have been the lowest point in this complicated network, the master drain. A steep slope of sandstone boulders led up to the right into blackness. Ahead, the floor dropped away thirty feet to the bottom where a canyon led off—the drain. The climb down the pit looked formidable and, besides, there might be other things to check first. Mark and Don were intrigued by the void above the sandstone slope.

  There was no point in all of us checking the same area. I recalled a place fifty feet back where the pit might be narrow enough to chimney down. I knew the best lead would be out the bottom of this big pit, so I focused on that objective.

  “Don, I’m going to see if I can climb down to the bottom of this thing while you guys look around up there.”

  A distant answer. “Fine. Have fun.”

  I lowered my body down into the crack, flailing my legs for purchase. By pressing the sides of my feet hard against the smooth walls, I was able to brake my slide.

  I stood at the bottom. Far above my head, I saw two bobbing lights near what had to be the ceiling of the dome. The whistling sound of a falling rock sped my departure into the canyon.

  I announced my success. “I’m down! I’ll see you later.”

  Muffled, indecipherable shouts came from above.

  I wondered what they said. I shrugged and stepped into the canyon.

  A decent lead. I was moving in a canyon about twenty feet high that was a bit too narrow for easy walking but spacious enough. I was surprised to see that I was still following the footsteps of some unknown and determined explorers. I moved swiftly through the canyon, heading downhill, following a small stream. This was definit
ely the deepest lead in the cave. Down was the direction to the big base-level streams.

  I was sweating as I heard the sound of a waterfall in the distance. That quiet roar invigorated me. I picked up my pace, eager to see what lay ahead.

  I looked down into a large pit. A thundering waterfall crashed into it. Wonderful! I chimneyed out over the pit for a better view. I spotted a handy ledge that spanned the canyon—a rest stop! I sat down, finally able to catch my breath. While relaxing, I noticed something unusually dark, almost organic. I moved closer and found the remains of a long rope neatly coiled on the ledge. Beyond the rope across the ledge, back into open space, a large, cave-weathered board was wedged between the two walls, ends jammed under ledges on each side. I thought about this awhile. The board was used to guide the rope. Some unlucky caver probably was tied in and lowered to the bottom of the pit, using the board as a jumping-off point. The descent was probably controlled by human strength. I pondered my surroundings, wondering what lay below at the base of the waterfall. What did those old-timers find? What were they looking for to have gone to so much effort?

  The canyon continued beyond the drop, but I wanted to report my discovery to Don and Mark, who were probably still at the dome. I had half expected them to catch up with me since I had written off the dome as unpromising. Perhaps they had found something.

  Barely a hundred feet from the waterfall, as I headed back to the others, I froze. In the distance, I heard a loud, deep rumble that gave way to a muffled but very distinct roar. A cave-in! My heart raced as I flashed through probable scenarios. We could be trapped. Or, perhaps worse, my companions could have been crushed in a rockfall. Whatever it was, it sounded serious.

  Adrenaline pumped through my body. I ran as fast as I could toward the source of the noise.

  “Don! Can you hear me?” I shouted.

  I stopped to listen. No answer. I ran on.

  Another much louder rumble.

  “Shit! What’s happening!” I yelled.

  Wham! My helmet hit an unseen ceiling ledge, and I fell backwards. Darkness. I was dazed but shook it off, fumbling with my light to get it relit. I got up and continued my run.

  I yelled.

  Again, no answer.

  A few minutes later, I reached the base of the pit. I looked up in hope.

  At that precise moment, I heard an earsplitting roar above me. Instinctively and nearly without looking, I dove under a ledge just in front of me as a landslide of rocks poured over the lip of wall that I was standing below.

  For at least five seconds, the avalanche continued. Shit, they’re dead!

  Slowly, the rockfall diminished until only separate stones bounced off the wall.

  Cautiously, I stuck my head outside the shelter so my shout might be heard above—if there was anyone to hear it.

  “Don!” Silence.

  Finally, faintly: “Borden! You okay?”

  “Yeah! Are you okay?” I had not expected that question from them. But I was relieved to hear any response.

  “We’re fine up here, just a little preoccupied at the moment. The whole ceiling seems to be coming down. It’s just a bunch of loose sandstone—”

  A low rumble.

  “Shit!”

  The deafening roar again filled the room. I ducked back to safety. Tons of rock fell from the ceiling, splintering against the slope and thundering to the bottom, just a few feet from where I hid. Seconds passed before it again became silent. My lamp had been snuffed out by the wind of the avalanche.

  Surely that was the last of it, I hoped. I poked my head up around the corner. Satisfied that the way was clear, I scooted back up the slot to the base of the sandstone rubble slope and scrambled along a wall to where Don and Mark should have been.

  “Don!”

  “Stay clear!” was all I heard before the resounding groan of slowly shifting rock began again. I hunkered down below an overhang as another stone avalanche passed over me.

  This one was by far the biggest rockfall yet. It sounded like the entire slope was moving over me, the sound painfully loud. The slide lasted a full ten seconds.

  Again, silence.

  “We’re coming down!”

  Five minutes later, the three of us stood at the bottom of the slope, around the corner from any potential danger. We told each other our versions of the events of the last three-quarters of an hour. Once we had separated, Mark and Don had picked their way up the sandstone rubble slope looking for leads in the large shaft. After forty feet, the slope met a ceiling comprised of interlocked sandstone rocks in a mud matrix. It was not encouraging. However, they saw a low crawl that appeared to lead to passage with a solid, limestone ceiling. Don was in the lead, so he climbed into this crawlway, being cautious not to touch the menacing ceiling of loose rock. A wisp of air came from the crawl, so Don called for Mark to follow. As Mark was levering his body into the low space, his head bumped into a rock jutting from the ceiling. The ceiling sagged and the big rock slid slightly and, with a thump, settled an inch onto his helmet, knocking his carbide lamp off and sending it clanging down the slope. Mark knew that this rock might be supporting the loose ceiling.

  Now in the dark, he managed to work the twenty-pound rock onto his shoulders where he eventually was able to jam it fast between the narrow walls, suspending it over the drop, hoping that the ceiling would not fall. Then, he gingerly crawled from below it towards Don, who had turned around and was lighting his way. For an instant, the rock teetered, then fell, tumbling into the dark below. At that moment, a sickening groan began from the ceiling outside the crawl in the main shaft. Mark rushed in to join Don in his tiny shelter under a solid roof. Small rocks began to rattle out of the ceiling above the entrance of the low crawl. Suddenly, they saw a steady rain of falling rock, like a waterfall, pouring from the unseen ceiling.

  After several seconds, the rockfall stopped, but the groaning continued as the ceiling seemed to gather all its energy to spit out its next wave of boulders. It was not until four of these awesome rockfalls had passed that the audible groaning finally subsided. With fear and great care, they had crept out of the crawl and down the slope to safety.

  As I described what I had found, Don and Mark turned their attention from the horrors of our recent adventure. When I reached the part of my story about finding the waterfall with the ancient rope, any thoughts of leaving were immediately set aside.

  There was the one small problem, Mark’s carbide lamp. An ugly gash on his helmet showed where the rock had hit it. The bracket was mangled. I unfastened my pack and fished out a spare lamp and handed it to Mark. The lamp was battered, having had a rough ride in my pack for many trips, but it worked fine. Mark jammed my lamp into his damaged helmet bracket. He had light!

  I proudly showed Mark and Don the waterfall I had found, the board wedged between the walls, and the neatly coiled rope on the ledge. I described how the unknown explorers had probably lowered one of their comrades down this pit. Unfortunately, even with our rope, there was no way for us to get down on this day. Most of our vertical gear was hanging on projections at the base of the window. Anyway, the rope was too short. We could continue following the canyon beyond the drop. Maybe we could find an alternate way to the lower level, or the canyon itself might lead to more cave. We chimneyed over the widest part of the pit and continued in the canyon, following the footprints of those determined explorers.

  Two hours later, we could follow the canyon no farther.

  It had gradually become smaller until we could no longer squeeze through. We had followed a quarter mile of the canyon, never leaving explored cave, never finding a possibility of going down except at the waterfall. We apparently were as resolute as the old-timers, but no luckier.

  Somewhat disappointed in our failure to find major going cave, but still hoping that the waterfall pit might provide a surprise on a later trip, we retraced our steps toward the entrance. We stopped at the base of the pit where so many tons of rock had fallen, eight hundred c
ubic feet by our conservative estimate, in a short set of catastrophic collapses. We warily glanced up into the darkness of what we christened “Avalanche Pit” for signs of more falling rock. Certainly older, and possibly wiser, we emerged into the sultry, summer evening.

  Satisfied that there was sufficient cave, Don Coons put together a survey crew to begin a map. On 26 November 1977, with Jeff Ulrich and John Branstetter, he began the survey, choosing the initial survey point some distance into the cave from the entrance. Already, Don had been quizzed by several Park Service officials about the extent of the cave. Not wanting to create an issue, his rationale for a hanging survey was that if the entrance was not marked on the survey, there would be no way to prove that the cave crossed the national park boundary. Don would just “assume” that the cave was totally contained within private lands; there would be no need to involve the Park Service.

  They surveyed nine hundred feet through the confusing array of domes and canyons. It was a fine trip. Although they found nothing new, John Branstetter was captured by the cave, and he too shared Don’s confidence that this could be the beginning of a significant underground discovery. The cave felt right. With the scent of big cave ahead, it did not take much for John to commit himself to the cave. From then on, it was his project too.

  John Branstetter was born and raised in the cave country, so he had been around caves all his life. Far from being a “good old boy,” John had studied hard to become a dentist and would shortly return to the town of Horse Cave to set up practice. He was articulate, had a good sense of humor, and was a pleasure to be with. He pursued everything to which he was committed with great persistence and deep passion. In caving, he always intended to make a big discovery. Living in the heart of the Mammoth Cave region gave him the advantage of knowing nearly everything that went on related to caving in the area. He and Don became close friends and caved regularly together.

  Given the cave’s proximity to the Mammoth Park boundary and the interest in it by the Park Service, Don and John concluded that a low profile—if not a totally secretive one—was the right approach. They would keep the cave to themselves. From then on, all work in the cave was done by Don, John, and Sheri Engler, to the full exclusion of everyone else. They liked it that way.