9/03/99
Hydrate.
Hydrate now, and hydrate often. As I'm sure experienced cavers have realized, you never know how long a cave trip will really last, so suck down as much water as your system will handle This might necessitate taking a leak in a cave, but hey, that's just helping the water erosion along.
Somehow, this hydration lesson does not involve alcohol. It was a Simmons-Mingo through trip. This was only my second real cave, and it was a doozy.
If you weren't there, this was during the Old Timer's Reunion, which definitely involved alcohol. Friday morning, just a few hours after the longest car trip of my life, I got out of the tent and joined the trip heading for Simmons-Mingo.
I hadn't hit the vendor tents, so I was going to have to piecemeal my equipment from everyone else. I got Mark Stover's old coveralls, which I thought might be all I needed. There was plenty of other stuff people were carrying, but I figured it was all optional stuff like vertical gear or first aid.
The same exchange happened close to a dozen times:
EXPERIENCED CAVER: Where's your ______?
ME: I, uh, was going to go in without one. Do I need one?
EXPERIENCED CAVER: You were going in the cave without a ______? Jeez. I think there's a spare one somewhere.
I got loaded with a little bit of property from everyone; water bottle, pack, polypros. People were swigging down water, which I thought was a little stupid, considering that they were missing their last chance to pee. The entry was a slight sloppy pit. It looked tougher to go out of than in, but we were coming out a different opening, so it was moot.
Within an hour, I knew that this would be a tough trip. Everyone save me had oodles of experience, so I was the slowest member of the group. No kiddies, no other new people, so this group was going at the speed of me. I wasn't getting immediately tired, but I knew that seven hours (the estimated time of the trip) of this level would be a drainer.
First break we got, I took a great big gulp of water. Why not; the more I drink now, the less I have to carry. It turned into that milk commercial where the guy takes 'a sip' of the girl's milk and practically empties it. I sucked down over half my water in a few seconds.
Second break, I drank half of the remaining water. I could half it like this forever, and so long as my thirst doesn't grow psycho, I'm fine.
Of course, my thirst grew psycho. It's a weird feeling, dehydration. I've never been in a desert or shipwrecked before, so I've been spoiled by having plumbing within a reasonable distance. I'm positive there was plumbing above us, but a couple hundred feet of rock's a good deterent. (Scratch that positive thing. This was West Virginia, after all.) Most every time I get truly thirsty, it's from being outside or in a hot car or something, and that goes away as soon as I gulp down half a gallon of water, which then slogs around in my stomach like a canteen.
I had hours and hours of cave left, and that time wouldn't be fun. I'd leave if I could, but it'd be quicker and less embarassing to go out without everyone else than to demand someone take me back to the entrance.
I shifted into Bataan Death March mode. My job was to keep moving. Eventually we were coming aboveground, where people waited with big buckets of water. Since I was the slowest caver, my speed could shave serious time off the trip.
The cave had a stream through it that varied from unseen to ankle deep. It was loaded with bacteria, so it couldn't be drunk. But I was getting thoughts. What's the worst that could happen if I drank some of that? A day or two in the porta potty, tops. It'll wipe me out for Friday night and Saturday, perhaps Sunday, but by Monday I should be back on top of the game. Two days of the craps was sounding pretty good in exchange for a few gulps of water.
Since it was a long trip, we took a lot of breaks. I think they were so I could catch my breath, which I literally tried to do. I began exhaling into my water bottle, hoping some of the water vapor I normally breathe out would condense. It doesn't work, by the way.
The cave air was damp, so I was breathing in water vapor as well as exhaling it. I wasn't going to die of thirst, I knew, but one little logical thought wasn't quenching me.
The pack I was carrying was a broken one I borrowed. The top was half ripped, just enough for the water bottle to poke out a bit. No matter how I held or strapped it, that bottle would find its way to poke out. There was maybe two ounces of water in it, but to have it fall out and get lost would be the slap in the face I didn't need.
Five or six hours in, we hit a long rope ladder leading both up and down. Up was the Anus, a dug out passage that led topside. Down was the passage we were aiming for. We went down, me happy in knowing that outside and drinkable water was within an hour.
That hope was quickly killed as that hour stretched. The flagging tape we had been following branched off into different areas, and some of it was from another roll of tape, so we didn't know where to go. I decided not to think of my remaining time as being a countdown to getting out, but a clock of how long I'd definitely be down there, to be modified whenever necessary. If we gave up and went out the Anus, it'd be two hours. So figure that I'd have to last at least two more hours. If it was sooner, good. If not, I wouldn't have hoped that I'd be getting out any time soon.
The next two hours was poking around various side routes that all ended up leading nowhere. We were never lost, because we knew right where the Anus was, but we couldn't find the way out that we were looking for. Well, the other people were looking for; if I could have teleported out, I would have done so in hour two.
Twenty minutes in a side passage, I'd hear "We're coming back," and we all got to see the dead end passage a second time coming out of it. I was last in the train, which turned out good in one instance. Everyone had crawled through a particularly ugly tight passage littered with gravel. My padless knees weren't looking forward to another cheese grating. I was about to start, and then "We're coming back." I happily avoided that crawlspace, which everyone else had to do both coming and going.
A big van full of people was waiting topside for us, and that was the deciding point in stopping the search and heading for the Anus. Naturally, after we were out, Mark figured that he was only a few hundred feet from the exit tunnel when we turned around.
Climbing up the rope ladder was tougher than I thought. I was mostly spent, so my hands were trembling with every rung. When I finally reached the top, my fingers wouldn't unbend for a full minute.
The Anus itself was well named, being a very tight passage going almost straight up. Lots of rocks stuck through, which helped as handholds but were mostly obstacles to squeeze around.
After that I knew I was getting close. Solitary bats would fly by me occasionally. Normally I'd find that interesting, but at this point I could give a rat's ass.
Finally, after 11 hours underground, we reached the enormous breakdown pile that led out to the van. It seemed to go on for half a mile, but the ceiling was fifty feet over my head, so it was a very easy half mile.
Once I hit the surface, someone kindly gave me a full Gatorade bottle. Ten seconds later, I kindly gave them back an empty Gatorade bottle. It sloshed around in my stomach the whole ride back.
The next day, I hit the vendor tents and bought a two liter Nalgene bottle. It'll mean a lot of water weight when I'm walking in a cave, but once I drink some, that weight'll let up. Plus, there's always someone thirsty in a trip, and I get to be their liquid savior. Or waterboy, take your pick.