by Beyond Mammoth Cave- A Tale of Obsession in the World's Longest Cave (epub)
Just beyond the waterfall, the passage split into multiple levels, all walking. We each selected one and continued, reemerging in a large breakdown-filled trunk extending for hundreds of feet. We climbed up and down over enormous blocks for several minutes before sliding down into a fine, flat-floored walking canyon passage that led off into the gloom. We continued, our pace now nearly a run. We went around bend after bend, the walls rarely less than twenty feet apart, disappearing above us into the inky blackness. As Don and I moved along the wonderful passage, we both paused to peer at two solitary stalagmites jutting upward on a ledge far up the wall. Two sentries in the night, they seemed to be guarding what lay ahead. The effect was spooky. After nearly half a mile, we stopped abruptly at the edge of a pool that stretched out of sight around the next corner.
“Well, we’ve seen enough,” I said. “Let’s save something for the survey team.”
Now this was real Roppel caving.
15
Stress Fractures
Roppel Cave Spreads Out and Tempers Wear Thin
I unrolled the large piece of Mylar drafting film and carefully plotted the points established by the new survey Don Coons and I had made beyond the River Lethe. The map included the hanging O Survey to which we had tied. The passage took shape as I began to connect the dots. It looked like an athlete’s javelin poised to be thrown. The passage—Elysian Way—was a long, slender line that jutted across the top of the tangled mass of squiggles that represented the passages making up most of the map of Roppel Cave. The tip of the spear was aimed toward the northwest, ready to fly forward to the eastern reaches of Salts Cave in Flint Ridge.
This was great going cave, but Jim Currens resisted pushing it from the very beginning. I spoke to him on the phone shortly after the trip. I tried to infect him with my enthusiasm, but as we talked it was apparent that he was not catching my disease.
“I don’t understand why you think this cave is so promising,” Jim said. “All that cave to the north won’t really go anywhere.”
I listened in disbelief to his words. In my mind, I could feel wind in our faces as we stood at the edge of the long pool and could sense the daunting vastness of the passage continuing ahead into darkness, a palpable black atmosphere pierced only by the occasional sound of a distant drip of water.
“Not promising? How can you say that? It’s so big, and blows so much air!”
Jim droned on, “We all know the real cave is to the south. That’s where we have to concentrate our efforts. So far, we’ve barely cracked the main body of Toohey Ridge. Look at how much ridge cave we’ve already found. We can go south and find many more miles. To the north, there are no major ridges, just a bunch of dissected knobs and chopped-up valleys. There are no . . .”
I was totally unprepared for his hostile attack. I tuned him out, his words receding into a babble of meaningless sounds as I waited for him to end his diatribe regarding our folly in exploring to the north.
“That’s ridiculous!” was all I could think to say.
Silence.
Jim tried again, “That cave to the north can wait. It will always be there; Toohey Ridge may not. The CRF could push their way into it any day. I think we need to make it a CKKC priority, maybe even a policy, to push into south Toohey Ridge. We have to stake our claim to it.”
“Claim? To hold off the CRF? They told us they wouldn’t invade our territory, and besides, it’s too far. It’s six hours from their nearest entrance. Their hands are full elsewhere.”
“We have to move now; we can’t wait.”
I was not buying it. The CRF was not a worry—yet.
“Well, do what you want, but don’t expect us not to explore a lead just because you say so.”
“Because I say so? Hey, I’m just trying to do what is best for the coalition. We have to think strategically. We just can’t indulge ourselves by simply scooping cave.”
“Jim,” I said, “we will follow the cave wherever it leads us.” I shoved that statement home hard and twisted it so it would hurt more. That was our policy. In fact, it would do little good to legislate anything more restrictive. It never worked.
The conversation was over.
“You guys are making a big mistake,” Jim said.
“Fine.”
I hung up the phone.
I considered the situation. What about Jim’s fear of losing south Toohey Ridge to the Cave Research Foundation? It was true that the CRF had been on our minds quite a bit recently. We had been able to ignore the group for many years, but now the organization loomed as a big (and bad) player in the complex political game that was caving in the Mammoth Cave Region.
Cave politics revolves around who has access to what caves and who does not. It isn’t as simple as ownership of the cave. Landowners with caves on their property are seldom cavers, so access to caves involves relations with landowners, who can permit or prohibit exploration. Sneaky cavers can bypass prohibitions by stealth and by night. The politics can become intense and hostile. Some cavers say that secrecy about cave locations and what has been discovered is the only political equalizer. In this region, we had all of the above, plus rival factions of cavers, the rapidly changing dynamics of expanding cave, and the institutional presence of the National Park Service, the CKKC, and the CRF. The political means included secrecy, publicity, leases, intimidation, clique-building, sabotage of caver-landowner relations, and letters to the editor. The only elements missing in Kentucky cave politics were death squads and car bombs, and at times we even seemed to be close to that.
As vast as the region was, we of the CKKC were suddenly feeling quite intimidated by the CRF presence. There used to be thousands of feet between our cave turf and theirs; it may as well have been miles with all the sumps and low-level passageways that had separated Mammoth Cave and Roppel Cave at their closest point. But recently, the CRF had been discovering and surveying cave heading straight for Roppel Cave at somewhere between a few hundred feet a month and light speed. The killer was that we did not know exactly what the CRF was doing; they kept their secrets. In the last several months since the announced and highly publicized connection of Proctor-Morrison Cave with Mammoth Cave, I had heard vague rumors of secret trips through the Morrison Entrance to push upstream in Logsdon River. Miles of spectacular river passage were explored, it was said, that led to the western flanks of the main body of Toohey Ridge, but details had been sketchy. Nothing had been released, but I had stitched the story together from various bits and pieces. Apparently, the stealthy CRF cavers were confidently expecting to follow the river all the way to Cave City on the other side of Toohey Ridge but became astounded when, at Station Z129, the ceiling abruptly dipped beneath the surface of the water, terminating their eastward march at a sump. They were at the doorstep of Toohey Ridge but were blocked! Leads led upward and there was wind, I heard. But they were miles from the entrance. Bigger and better things awaited that were much closer.
My conclusions were based on conjecture, although I was fairly confident of them. I was also concerned about the implications of my assumptions. When I broke this news to Jim Currens, he became livid. To him, the situation was clear: the CRF’s intransigent actions were a hostile territorial incursion, and they had to be stopped. Toohey Ridge belonged to the CKKC and no one else! Our entire organization had been built around the presumed cave beneath the vast Toohey Ridge. Our reason for existence and our vitality depended on it being a separate cave. I, too, felt that the CRF’s actions were definitely an incursion, but little could be done now after the fact. All we could hope to accomplish now was damage control. The appropriate next steps were clear to both Jim and me; but, unfortunately, for each of us these steps would be very different.
Jim began a vigorous letter-writing campaign that attacked the threat on two fronts. First, he wrote directly to the CRF leadership, using a combination of direct pleading and a bit of intimidation to encourage them to back off. Second, he attempted to draw in outside forces to lean on th
e CRF to force them to abandon Toohey Ridge. This approach climaxed with his letter to the superintendent of Mammoth Cave National Park inquiring about Park Service policy concerning exploration of cave outside the boundaries of the park. Jim thought that if the park administration was unaware of the CRF’s activities beyond the park boundary, the administration might start asking questions, which in turn might lead to an insistence that the CRF rein in excursions beyond the park boundaries. Although dubious of the campaign’s effectiveness, the rest of us could do little to dissuade Jim from this approach. The strategy seemed reckless and damaging. Official CKKC support was withdrawn, forcing Jim to continue alone in his crusade.
CRF members were totally unprepared for Jim Currens’s barrage. They were appalled to learn he had actually written to the park superintendent. In any event, neither prong of his strategy had any effect: the CRF did not capitulate to his demands, and the park superintendent did not care.
In fact, Jim’s actions strengthened the CRF. His letters put the organization on notice that there were concerns outside the park that they needed to think about and act upon; they would not be surprised again. No longer was the longest cave the CRF’s private playground. The group had to be prepared to cooperate with equally vested groups such as the CKKC. No, the two caves were not connected—not yet—but the possibility now required real action.
For the last couple of years, I had maintained a more or less cordial dialogue with the CRF. I was the perpetual fence-sitter, trying to play both sides and make everyone happy. In this case, I wanted to keep on top of what was happening at Mammoth Cave, but I also did not want the CRF to forget who we were and that we were significant. After Jim had hurled his volley of letters, something needed to be done before the situation escalated out of control. Tempers were hot and threats were made.
Roger Brucker and I agreed that the best approach would be for our groups to meet face-to-face. We brokered a joint meeting between the CRF and the CKKC to resolve the debate.
On 25 November 1979, Pete Crecelius, Bill Walter, Jim Currens, and I drove from Toohey Ridge to meet with the representatives from the CRF. The agreed-upon meeting place was the back bedroom at the old Austin House at Floyd Collins’ Crystal Cave on Flint Ridge.
As we walked into the house, greeted by smiling faces and outstretched arms, I could not help but reflect on how caving in the Mammoth Cave area had come full circle. Over thirty years ago, the Austin House had been the birthplace of modern-day caving, starting with Floyd Collins’ Crystal Cave. Years had passed and hundreds of miles of cave had been discovered. Now in 1979, the renegade cavers who had split off from the family to seek their own fortune in Toohey Ridge were returning to confront their progenitors. This meeting was going to be a landmark event in caving politics, whatever happened.
Tensions were high at this conference. Initially, polite discussion centered on uncontroversial issues of general interest such as cooperation in rescues, exchanges of data, and the like. These were resolved without significant debate but still failed to crack the mounting anxiety. At last we began to hammer on the pivotal issues that focused on CRF activity in the vicinity of south Toohey Ridge. Jim Currens echoed his earlier letters, insisting upon a full halt of CRF exploration efforts in this area. The CRF refused. The reason was simple: cave exploration could not and should not be legislated; exploration should always be able to proceed unfettered by any political baggage. The position was unassailable. Pete and I could only agree, emphasizing that territorial claims were empty if there was no cave to back them up. Jim looked resigned, but this was the only equalizer we had. Jim later said that we were selling out to the CRF.
The exploration issue closed, the CRF members then presented us with several policy statements that had been agreed upon at their board of directors meeting the previous week. The document was typed and well written, obviously prepared with much thought. I was flabbergasted! They had taken the initiative away from us and were presenting what was essentially de facto policy with little for us to say or do. Ingenious! I only wished that I had thought of it first.
In silence, we four CKKC members at the meeting read over the policy statements. There were many points of an indisputable nature. After distilling the two-page document, the bottom line was clear. The CRF had acquiesced to only one of our key demands: they agreed not to seek a connection with Roppel Cave. But there was nothing in the policy about CRF cavers not pursuing cave in south Toohey Ridge. They could still find a connection by accident.
This new CRF policy was significant. It was the first time that a formal position had ever been drafted that specifically prohibited an attempt to connect to a cave in deference to another group. Nevertheless, the CRF affirmation seemed hollow. Roppel Cave approached to within four thousand feet of Station Z29 in Logsdon River. CRF explorers could continue their work in the vicinity of the sump unimpeded.
After a few more polite discussions, the meeting was over. Despite the frustration and tension, the meeting had been a good first step in improving our relations. Both groups had talked rationally and had agreed upon a number of things. Pete Crecelius, Bill Walter, and I concurred that we had come away with about everything we could have reasonably expected, but Jim Currens was still unsatisfied since no agreement had been struck concerning the prohibition of CRF cave exploration in Toohey Ridge. That was true, but I was confident that the CRF would leave well enough alone. Agreement or no agreement, the group had to know that further transgressions near Toohey Ridge would result in further political explosions. In any case, Jim intensified his determination to beat the CRF to the cave he was so sure existed under the main body of Toohey Ridge.
My spirits were restored when Bill Walter and Pete Crecelius were suitably impressed with my glowing reports of northern discoveries, even if Jim Currens had turned into a sourpuss. Pete, Bill, and Jim had been planning a trip the following weekend to push a southward-trending breakdown passage near Yahoo Avenue, but after hearing my tale, both Pete and Bill summarily rejected that objective. They opted in favor of continuing the push northward in Elysian Way. I told them that Jim might not approve of this change of plans. No problem, they assured me. I wished them well on the trip, smarting with envy since I would not be able to join them.
Saturday morning, 28 December 1979, Jim arrived from Lexington armed with sledgehammers, crowbars, and other tools necessary to remove breakdown. As far as he knew, his objective was still the one and only. He had been looking forward all week to pushing this dry, localized collapse with the cool breeze blowing from it. Surely, he had been telling just about everyone, big cave awaits just a few feet on the other side. A push from Bill Walter and Pete Crecelius was exactly what was needed to make this lead go.
Bill and Pete had decided that it would be best to wait until they saw Jim in person before trying to divert him from his planned objective. A dirty trick, perhaps, but it would have been futile to try to persuade him long distance; once Jim had made a decision, little could change his mind. So far as Pete and Bill were concerned, they were going to Elysian Way. Why bother to cajole Jim?
Pete and Bill were sorting gear beside Bill’s blue pickup truck as Jim bounced his way up the rutted driveway to the Toohey Ridge fieldhouse. He pulled up beside the other two vehicles and shut off the engine, opened the door, and stepped into the December sunshine with a beaming smile.
“Pete! Bill!” Jim nodded as he enthusiastically shook hands. “How’ve you guys been? Have a Merry Christmas?”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then Bill broke the news. “Jim, we want to head out to the end of the P Survey in Elysian Way today. Borden told us all about it. Sounds like a great lead!”
Jim’s smile slowly turned to a black scowl.
“I was counting on you guys to help me push this lead. If we can work our way through that collapse, we might break out into south Toohey Ridge today.” He looked toward Bill. “Bill, you remember how promising it was, don’t you?” His eyes pleaded.
“Yeah, I remember,” Bill said. “But that lead will still be there next time. This lead Borden and Coons pushed sounds pretty significant. I want to take a look.”
Although the CRF had a policy of non-connection with Roppel Cave, Jim still feared that the group would secretly violate the Toohey Ridge frontier.
“If we could beat CRF to it,” Jim reasoned, “they would be forced to adhere to the non-connection policy.”
Bill and Pete didn’t really buy the immediacy of a CRF threat. They were not dissuaded from their plan.
Pete shut down the discussion. “I think that we can get a lot of survey out there. Come along.”
“No, I don’t want to,” Jim answered. He watched the other two; it was apparent that his pleading was falling on deaf ears. “Shit, it looks like I don’t have a choice, does it? You guys are going with or without me. And I’m not in the mood to cave solo.”
“Well,” Pete said, “I guess you’re right. Come with us anyway.”
An hour later, the trio was squeezing through the canyons above Coalition Chasm, the beginning of the long trip north to the limits of exploration in Elysian Way. Jim was in a foul mood, grumbling as he tried to keep pace with the legendary speedsters. The traditional rest stops along the route between the Hobbit Trail and Arlie Way were passed in a blur. This arduous traverse was becoming a trade route for the experienced caravans of Roppel Cave explorers. The cavers memorized the obstacles and how to flow effortlessly over them. What was once at least a two-and-a-half-hour journey was now trimmed to just ninety minutes. On one memorable trip, Bill and Pete had thundered into Arlie Way fifty minutes after starting the rappel down the Roppel Entrance pit!
This record of increasingly efficient travel made it possible to push exploration continuously outward. Speed was the best way to melt this increased distance. For Jim, this was insult piled on injury. Not only was he prevented from going to his primary objective, he was also being dragged at breakneck speed miles into the cave to its most distant reaches. His aversion to such long, punishing trips with others’ objectives was well known. He simply was not interested in other people’s northern cave.