Melody Hill Cave
One of the things I enjoy doing in my free time is cave survey. Lots of people go into caves and look around, but what I like to do is map them as I go. One cave I helped survey was Melody Hill Cave in Breckenridge County, Kentucky. We were continuing a survey that had been started by another team, so our first job was to travel to the other team’s last survey station and start mapping from there. When we got to our station, I understood why they had wrapped up that day of survey where they did. The passage at this point shrank from a generous four feet to a scant eight inches. So we started our survey.
Due to the confining nature of this passage, rather than go to each station drawing in the details I saw, I had to rough in the measurement points, then squirm through the passage making mental notes of what the passage looked like so that I could sketch it in when I got into the roomier three foot tall chamber. The cave had some more wide open spaces as big as ten feet tall, and some more constrictions as well. When we got to the final constriction my chest would not fit through, so the skinniest of our group continued on to wrap up the survey while I turned back to get to drier clothes outside the cave.
On the way out, I came to one of the constrictions and started to wriggle through on my belly with my pack strapped to my ankle behind me. My nostrils were filled with the scent of long packed mud, my ears were filled with the sound of my cave suit simultaneously scraping the floor and ceiling of the cave. I pushed with my toes and pulled with my fingertips. I moved about one inch. The passage was getting tight. I exhaled every molecule in my lungs and pushed forward again. I gained another inch. I tried again with no luck. I retreated a bit and took what seemed to be a completely different path through the constriction. Again, no luck. I tried this several times and then realized. . .
I was stuck.
Just the other day, I woke up in a pretty foul mood. A foul mood for me usually does not mean I am crabby or angry, it usually means I want to do nothing. It usually means I want to quit. It means I want to give up, surrender, stop struggling to make my business work, stop pursuing my dreams, stop doing anything. I tried to force myself to do my ten tigers daily workout. I got some of it in, but not much. I started thinking that the whole project was a joke. I started regretting making the commitment.
My foul mood persisted through the day. I hid it in a corner while I taught classes. I kept it to myself at kung fu. I came home feeling even worse. The next day I woke up in a foul mood. Another day of forcing myself through my workout. I got it done this time though. It did not, however, make me feel any better. Another day of hiding my mood in a corner while I did the afterschool program and what felt like class after class after class of kung fu. I kept trying to push forward, kept trying to take another path with no luck. I tried this several times and then realized. . .
I was stuck.
With the scent of long packed mud in my nostrils, and the sound of my breathing filling my ears, I thought of stories of cavers getting stuck in caves. Stories in which their attempts at self rescue resulted in cracked ribs, stories in which cave rock had to be chiseled from around the caver, stories in which clothing was cut off the unfortunate caver who was then smothered in butter or some other food product that another caver was carrying through the cave. None of these sounded very appealing to me just then, especially emerging from a cave in January wearing only butter.
I stopped thinking about all those things. I closed my eyes, exhaled and squirmed backwards to a more comfortable spot (by more comfortable I mean about 12 inches tall). I rested there and calmly thought about my options. I knew that I had gotten through this spot on the way in, so I could get back through. The real obstacle was the fact that fatigue and cold had worked into my body so my thought processes were diminished somewhat. I thought about my options, I could retrieve the garden shovel from my pack to attempt digging a ditch to crawl through, I could wait for the cavers behind me to catch up so one of them could possibly find that sweet spot through the passage for me, or I could panic, scream for help, scratch at the cave walls around me, and exhaust myself, necessitating a cave rescue call out.
None of those options sounded great, but I made up my mind to wait for my caving partners to catch up with me. I turned off my lights, lay my head sideways so that my helmet rested on the ground and cushioned my head and listened to the cave. I listened to the dripping water in the distance and the empty silence between them. When it is that quiet, your ears seem to reach out, feeling, searching for a sound. Eventually, they found one. The sound of cavers talking and laughing at the end of a survey trip echoing through the dark distance, then the sound of cave suits scraping along the floor and ceiling of the cave. As they neared I greeted them, and let one pass me. He was six foot one and 130 pounds, I was five foot seven and 175. He can go places in caves that I cannot. I told them I was having trouble finding the line through this passage. He went ahead of me to the left and up a slope where the extra inch made all the difference. I followed suit and was soon talking and laughing and heading out into the sunshine.
I had no control over the size of the passage, I had no control of the fatigue in my mind and body once it had arrived, I had no control of the effects of the adrenalin that poured through my body when I first realized I was stuck, but I did have the choice on how to react to all that I was going through.
I had no control the other day of the mood I was in, no control of whatever cocktail of hormones was pouring through my body. I did, however, have a choice on how to react to all that I was going through. So I got up and did as much as of my workout as I could make myself do. I went in and taught my classes with as much energy and passion as I could muster. I went home and shared my feelings with my wife who was very patient with me. I let her go ahead of me and find that sweet spot to crawl through, and started following behind. Soon we were talking and laughing and heading back out into the sunshine.
