Beyond Mammoth Cave

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

  Just one month after the opening of the Weller Entrance, we learned how like the CRF we really were. On 28 November 1981, Bob Anderson and Linda Baker entered the Weller Entrance wearing full wetsuits, en route to Logsdon River. The two had asked me to come along, but at the time I was uninterested in a long trip or one that required wetsuits. They said they did not feel comfortable finding their way to anywhere but Logsdon River, so I approved their proposed trip. Anderson and Linda planned to probe downstream in the river to determine if there were any possibilities of a route into south Toohey Ridge. Strong airflow in Logsdon River was still an enigma, especially since we knew that the two caves were separated by a sump. Find where the air goes, and you’ll find south Toohey Ridge, I proclaimed.

  “But, don’t push the breakdown too far!”

  Anderson nodded as they ducked into the low entrance and disappeared into the cave.

  Linda and Anderson had never used the Weller Entrance before and were unprepared for what they found. Fully expecting an easy route into the cave, they were dismayed at the unending series of obstacles that made the Weller Entrance difficult during the first weeks after its opening. They grunted through the excavated entrance tunnel, sweating profusely in their rubber suits. The small stream on the floor of the Dred Drain helped cool them off.

  It took them three hot and difficult hours to reach the pool of water at S163 at the south end of Arlie Way. They eased into the murky water and crouched and sloshed south to Logsdon River, then turned downstream. The stretch of river beyond the Pulpit Room was worse than Anderson remembered. They had to swim through water over their heads, the waves from their strokes lapping at the walls. Beyond, the passage was barely four feet high, two feet of it water. Submerged sharp rocks cut their shins and continually threatened to trip them. Their backs ached as they bent over in the low, wide passage. Linda discovered that it was easiest to travel by lying in the water and pulling herself along. Better still, she could keep her legs above the underwater rocks. After two thousand feet, a dark breakdown loomed ahead.

  They sat comfortably on the rock pile. It had been over a year since Anderson had sat, dripping wet, at this spot, but the memories of it were still fresh. This breakdown was unusual. Instead of being located beneath an overhead valley, the headwall where they were now sitting was well beneath the caprock of Toohey Ridge. This suggested that an undiscovered upper-level passage might have caused the collapse zone. The collapse consisted of enormous black slabs stacked like a tall layer cake. The stacked layers extended high out of sight into the ceiling.

  The twosome first explored in the lower levels of the room where the gaps between the slabs were the greatest. Surveying as they went, they penetrated a few hundred feet along each side of the collapse. To the right, the openings lowered to tight belly crawls that looked as though they would soon become too low to follow. Linda remarked at how clean the breakdown was; there was no mud at all. They had been crawling on broad, flat rocks with a jet black coating, leaving behind a trail of contrasting white scrape marks where their feet had removed the coating from the rock. It would be decades before signs of their passing disappeared.

  On the left side of the collapse, the slabs were broken and jumbled, fully blocking any way to squeeze through. No go.

  Anderson then tried to push a route at stream level. The Logsdon River flowed to the base of the pile and forked to flow not only through but also around the pile. A main route was not evident, and other options closed down as well. Nothing.

  They headed back toward the entrance, ignoring the other inviting openings along the river between the collapse and the Pulpit. Fourteen hours after going underground, they reached the surface and climbed the hill to the fieldhouse.

  Anderson described the trip to me the next morning.

  “We went straight to the breakdown . . .”

  “What! You didn’t push it far, did you?”

  “Nah, just a few feet. It doesn’t look like it’ll go.”

  “How far did you go?” I was beginning to worry about the ramifications of what they had done.

  “Not far. Maybe a hundred feet or so. It doesn’t go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Anderson looked annoyed. “No, it doesn’t go . . . anywhere!”

  “Well, did you check anything else along the way?” They were supposed to check any leads that might lead south, and there were leads to check.

  “No. We didn’t feel like it.”

  “Why not!” I cried. “You were there! You had a wetsuit! Surely, you had time!”

  “We just . . .” Anderson paused. “We just didn’t.”

  I was puzzled. Why hadn’t Anderson checked the other leads? What was up?

  Although Anderson’s capabilities as a caver were renowned, he had a reputation for controversy—not that he was ever at the center of controversy; he was too smart for that. However, Anderson was famous for fanning the flames of contention to bonfire level. He would do this while avoiding slipping into the middle of the fire himself.

  After his and Linda’s trip, I knew something was wrong. They had pushed into the breakdown in violation of the intent of our agreement with the CRF. Now, it could be that Anderson was not aware of the specifics of the agreement; but he had acted strangely when I spoke to him after the trip. What was it that made me uneasy?

  In the coming weeks, I knew a storm was brewing when I heard the specifics of a trip report that Anderson was writing for the Potomac Caver, a monthly publication of the Potomac Speleological Club. I was sure that the statements in the trip report would be a catalyst for controversy. I called the president of the caving club to try to have the story pulled, but I was ridiculed by him for attempting blatant censorship.

  When Anderson’s story appeared in the Potomac Caver, I was unprepared for its provocative slant: “Who knows, we might even stumble upon the footprints of the ‘lost’ CRF cavers!”

  What made the impact of his story so significant was that it immediately followed an unsigned short editorial, probably also written by Anderson. “An Attempt to Connect Roppel Cave to the Mammoth Cave System” gave a detailed account of the flubbed connection effort by Roger Brucker, Tom Brucker, and Diana Daunt. The editorial was laced with hearsay accounts the editor had gleaned concerning the motivations of the participants, what they had found, and the political fallout resulting from it. Reading the two accounts together, one would be bound to conclude that a retaliatory connection attempt to counter CRF ignorance and stupidity was justified! There was no mistaking his advocacy.

  I was appalled. What would the CRF think? What would the rest of the CKKC think? I knew one thing: the story would be seized upon and interpreted as a defiant attempt by the CKKC to connect with Mammoth Cave. Something had to be done quickly, and the CKKC leaders scrambled to minimize the damage. Our greatest fears were that the CRF would interpret Bob Anderson’s trip as an aggressive act by the CKKC meant to junk the Connection Moratorium. The CRF might then think that the way was now open for connection attempts to proceed, unimpeded by past agreements.

  I recommended that we disassociate the CKKC from Anderson’s publicized connection attempt. Pete Crecelius, the coalition’s president, publicly ostracized Bob Anderson and Linda Baker for their flagrant violation of the Connection Moratorium and asked them not to return to Roppel Cave and Toohey Ridge.

  A political tempest raged for weeks, unlike anything we had ever experienced in vituperation, accusation, and malice—and I was in the middle of it. Cavers from all over the Washington, D.C., area spoke vociferously and with disgust about what they viewed as injustice to Anderson and Linda. I was branded as the attacker and victimizer. Waves of verbal broadsides crashed in my ears. I was unprepared for and outclassed at moral warfare, bungling my attempt at response to their stinging assaults. Had I given permission for the trip, or not? I said I had. But I certainly had not given permission for a connection attempt or even a push of the breakdown, for that matter. The crux of the issue was
that Anderson’s flagrant public revelation could be construed as indicating that the CKKC sanctioned the connection attempt. It did not matter what the twosome intended; what mattered was how the event was perceived by those who counted. The CRF would see the written record and draw their own conclusions. We might not swing the sword of moral indignation skillfully, but we could sever the offenders from the CKKC. Our cutoff and banishment of Bob Anderson and Linda Baker was our attempt to solve the problem.

  The controversy roared on. I hunkered down, sticking to my story. I claimed that although I gave Anderson and Linda permission to go downstream, they had taken advantage of my vague instructions. They knew they were not supposed to try to connect, so they should be held totally accountable for their deed.

  The strength of my position was weak, softened by my fuzzy memory. I further damaged my position by responding to an editor’s request to comment on a story written by Linda for the D.C. Speleograph, a publication of the D.C. Grotto of the National Speleological Society. I objected to what I regarded as inflammatory parts of the story and urged the editor to cut the offensive sections. The editor took my suggestions without question. However, I had not consulted Linda, nor had I sought her permission. The edited story appeared, and Linda was outraged at the changes.

  After months of letters between the CKKC and Bob Anderson, Linda Baker, and the Potomac Speleological Club, as well as numerous others who had been drawn into the fracas, the issue finally headed toward a climax.

  On Memorial Day weekend of 1982, at the annual meeting of the CKKC, Linda personally pleaded with the CKKC board of directors for due process and justice.

  I shrank in my seat as the tears began welling in Linda’s eyes as she laid out her case. Her sobbing and sincere conviction that her position was right seemed to convince everyone—even me. I felt ashamed of my part in what had happened. What had begun as inadequate communication—I should have told them not to push the breakdown—had led to events and interpretations that had spun out of control. Through a series of errors, miscalculations, and the sensitivity of the various issues, it was apparent that Linda’s personal feelings had been mowed over, and she was now paying a high price indeed. As I looked around the room, the long faces of my friends revealed that they felt the same sympathy that I was feeling. Linda was telling the truth. However, despite her pain, most of us remained suspicious of Bob Anderson. Was he really innocent? Was he counting on Linda’s distress and protestation of innocence to mask the truth?

  We stuck to our guns and did not rescind Pete Crecelius’s banishment order. Anderson’s story in the Potomac Caver was too much for that. Linda, regardless of her innocence, was bound to Anderson. Differentiating between the two of them would dilute the strong effect we hoped our public actions would have in explaining ourselves to the CRF.

  To attempt to mitigate the extent of the personal damage, the CKKC board of directors voted to permit Anderson to document his story to the CKKC for presentation to the CRF. If he availed himself of this option, it might convince us of his goodwill that Linda so vigorously defended.

  Weeks passed, and no statement came from Bob Anderson. With his silence, the issue was quickly forgotten. In a way, I felt vindicated. Conclusions drawn from missing evidence are weak, but Anderson’s silence suggested to me that his motives were not what Linda portrayed them to be.

  I then realized that, in fact, apart from the offending newsletter stories, Anderson had never made any public statements concerning the affair. Linda undertook to speak fully on his behalf. I reflected that regardless of where the blame lay, the damage resulting from the affair was substantial. I wanted to forget how much ill will the controversy created.

  Bob Anderson and Linda Baker did not return to Roppel Cave. The CRF was openly amused by the series of events, remarking that this proved that we were no less sneaky than they. Their teasing tone and morally superior attitude rankled us. The CKKC’s support of the Connection Moratorium had not changed; had we not been victims of an individual who could not be controlled?

  But was not this same lack of control the root cause of the CRF’s secret trip?

  Cavers and circumstances cannot be controlled. Both the CRF and the CKKC had learned this the hard way. The more I thought about it, the more I began to realize that our two organizations were in many ways the same.

  This was a vexing and frightening thought.

  20

  Comfortable Ignorance

  The Roppel Cavers Try to Ignore Painful Problems

  Bob Anderson’s report on the breakdown at the downstream end of Logsdon River was simple and to the point—it did not go. I was suspicious. Was he saving something for his next trip? It just did not make sense. Anderson’s story had too many inconsistencies. No matter, I decided. Anderson was gone, and the breakdown didn’t go. We would return to the pile of rocks at the end of Roppel Cave—sometime—but there was no urgency about it.

  What were the possibilities of a connection to Mammoth Cave now? Were they small? Maybe. Nonexistent? Definitely not. What about the upper levels that Roger and Tom Brucker and Diana Daunt had found above the sump on their secret trip? Everyone knew that almost all the caves in the Mammoth Cave area would be found to connect—eventually. This wasn’t just hope; passageways migrate downward. If they are closed on one level, they may be open on another. They had to connect because the cave went everywhere! There were just too many possibilities for Mammoth and Roppel. A connection would certainly be found sooner rather than later.

  Explorers had known for years that Mammoth Cave sprawled beyond the geographic boundaries of Mammoth Cave National Park. Over the past ten years in Flint Ridge, CRF explorers led by John Wilcox had quietly surveyed the lower levels of Salts Cave to the southeast. The passages were large and exploration rapid as Salts Cave was extended over one mile toward Toohey Ridge. At the time, any discussion of Mammoth Cave extending beyond park boundaries was considered taboo. CRF cavers said they told the National Park Service about passages extending outside but did not furnish maps and, indeed, were silent about any specific extensions. However, the CRF’s expressed policy was to follow wherever the cave would lead.

  Wilcox was good at keeping a secret, and he planned for every contingency. His CRF trips were taken only on non-expedition weekends and were limited to a small circle of cavers who could keep their mouths shut. There would be no leaks. Wilcox kept all the survey books and took them home with him to Columbus, Ohio. He added the new cave to his map and stored the survey books separately from the CRF survey-book archives. But these maps were available to no one. Although cavers always suspected that Salts Cave extended to the east (anyone who looked at the map would wonder why all the passages stopped just a few hundred feet short of the park boundary), there was never any evidence. Why such secrecy? CRF cavers said it was so there would not be a repeat of George Morrison finding the New Entrance to Mammoth Cave off Mammoth Cave lands. Personally, I thought the CRF just liked to keep a secret; it felt good to be in the know when others were not.

  During my work with the CRF during the mid-1970s, John Wilcox and I became close friends. I had undying respect for him, and he instructed me. His success and capabilities were legendary. He was precise, methodical, even-minded, and a hell of a caver—all traits to admire. He took as a professional challenge the task of shaping me according to the CRF mold. I was a tough study. Through his training, I discovered a passage that ended very close to Great Onyx Cave. Cavers had been walking by that lead for decades. The discovery was a vindication of my belief that the CRF needed fresh new blood, like me.

  During my time with the CRF, Wilcox took me into his confidence and told me about Salts Cave’s eastern reaches outside the park. Since Salts Cave lies relatively close to Toohey Ridge, he thought I should know. The exploration of Roppel Cave was still in its infancy, hemmed into that small corner of Eudora Ridge, but Wilcox knew that our scope was the whole of Toohey Ridge. He said he was impressed with my effort and dedication and of
fered these morsels of information as helpful instructive data.

  A couple of years later, I visited Wilcox at his new home in Coolspring in the rolling hills of northwestern Pennsylvania. I had worked with his wife, Pat, entering Mammoth Cave survey data into the computer in Boston, Massachusetts. I had been a student then with time to kill, and Pat had invited me to stop over for a couple days. The two of them shared the CRF chief cartographer duties. Pat thought I would be interested in seeing their new cartographic operation, and indeed I was.

  One sunny morning, we were sitting at the table sipping cups of hot coffee. I was still thinking about those enigmatic passages in Salts Cave, and I asked Wilcox about them again.

  I listened carefully to his description, then asked the next obvious question.

  “Is there a map?” I knew he had to have a map.

  Wilcox looked thoughtful, then slid his chair out from the table. He stood up.

  “Come on.”

  He walked through the living room and up the stairs. He went into a bedroom and reached beneath the bed to pull out a stack of maps neatly pressed between two large sheets of cardboard. He slid one sheet out.

  “Here,” he said.

  I studied the map carefully. One main passage snaked across the entire length of the four-foot piece of Mylar drafting film. Along this main passage were a number of short side passages and cutarounds. There were gaps shown in the walls indicating unexplored or unsurveyed cave. At a scale of a hundred feet to the inch, there was a lot of cave here.

  Wilcox was an excellent cartographer whose drawing brought the cave passages to life. I imagined myself traveling through the twisting passages as I followed them along on the map. I looked up enormous vertical shafts and squeezed into the many side leads. I longed to visit this place. Wilcox had carefully added the overlying topography on the map. You could see everything!