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Yesterday I met my dad for a hike and a picnic in McCormick's Creek State Park. "Let's hike to Wolf Cave," Dad suggested. "When I was a young man, I went right through it."
"You can go THROUGH?" I boggled, having always assumed that the cave left off about where the daylight ended.
My dad keeps a headlamp in his car, because that's just the kind of person he is - a square flashlight on a headband, not a whole miner's hat ensemble - so we took that along, and lo! the cave DOES go back. We got a few turns in, and the ceiling lowered till we would have had to crawl, at which point Dad decided he is too old for this now; so I saw him back out to the entrance, and plunged back in myself.
The signs on the cave do not make it obvious that it goes through the hill like a tunnel, possibly because they don't want you to: it's very twisty and narrow, like a creek underground, which indeed is what it is: it's been worn out of the rock because the water rushes through every time the water gets high. There are branches on the smooth floor, left there by the last flood, waiting quietly in the darkness, and the rocks glitter in the light.
Just past where Dad had turned back, I found water standing on the floor. At first glance it looked fathoms deep, and I stopped short; but upon turning the light on it again, I realized that was an effect of the angle at which the light hit it, so I took off my shoes and socks and rolled up my trousers and waded in. It was not so cold as I feared, but it did get slowly deeper, halfway up my shins; and just when I was beginning to think how deep I should wade before it would be the better part of wisdom to turn back, I turned the corner and saw light ahead.
It was a very low light, by which I mean low to the ground. The cave wall came down to a foot or two above the earth, and a puddle spread across the opening, so the only way out was to crawl - assuming there was enough space to crawl; I might have to creep on my stomach.
I put my shoes out onto the rocks, so they at least would stay dry, and got down on my hands and knees, and got through with one soaked thigh and a little water splashed on my stomach, which is pretty good all things considering.
...Then, having gotten safely through the cave, I made a mistake about the best way out to the trail. I followed what I thought was a path over a hillside, slipped on the mud, and gave the meaty part of my left thumb a jolly good whack on an outcropping rock. The bruise is unfairly unimpressive, but that part of my hand remains very stiff and sore.
"You can go THROUGH?" I boggled, having always assumed that the cave left off about where the daylight ended.
My dad keeps a headlamp in his car, because that's just the kind of person he is - a square flashlight on a headband, not a whole miner's hat ensemble - so we took that along, and lo! the cave DOES go back. We got a few turns in, and the ceiling lowered till we would have had to crawl, at which point Dad decided he is too old for this now; so I saw him back out to the entrance, and plunged back in myself.
The signs on the cave do not make it obvious that it goes through the hill like a tunnel, possibly because they don't want you to: it's very twisty and narrow, like a creek underground, which indeed is what it is: it's been worn out of the rock because the water rushes through every time the water gets high. There are branches on the smooth floor, left there by the last flood, waiting quietly in the darkness, and the rocks glitter in the light.
Just past where Dad had turned back, I found water standing on the floor. At first glance it looked fathoms deep, and I stopped short; but upon turning the light on it again, I realized that was an effect of the angle at which the light hit it, so I took off my shoes and socks and rolled up my trousers and waded in. It was not so cold as I feared, but it did get slowly deeper, halfway up my shins; and just when I was beginning to think how deep I should wade before it would be the better part of wisdom to turn back, I turned the corner and saw light ahead.
It was a very low light, by which I mean low to the ground. The cave wall came down to a foot or two above the earth, and a puddle spread across the opening, so the only way out was to crawl - assuming there was enough space to crawl; I might have to creep on my stomach.
I put my shoes out onto the rocks, so they at least would stay dry, and got down on my hands and knees, and got through with one soaked thigh and a little water splashed on my stomach, which is pretty good all things considering.
...Then, having gotten safely through the cave, I made a mistake about the best way out to the trail. I followed what I thought was a path over a hillside, slipped on the mud, and gave the meaty part of my left thumb a jolly good whack on an outcropping rock. The bruise is unfairly unimpressive, but that part of my hand remains very stiff and sore.
