I bought my stuff at OTR last year, a rack and a Ropewalker system. My one time using a Frog was a bit of a pain. My one time using a Mitchell was so horrendous I don't ever want to see a Mitchell again. After a lousy ascent on a borrowed Mitchell system, I wanted the easiest possible system.
I was getting my chance on the Fourth of July weekend. A big Met Grotto trip was heading to the Thorn Springs campground to hit the local caves. I rode down with Andy Robinson, a new caver, on Thursday night, so we were ready to cave Friday morning.
I did one aboveground vertical practice with my Ropewalker, realizing that I needed a third ascender to attach to my seat harness (otherwise I'd just be clipped in by my feet, and could do a heel hang if I tipped backwards). I bought a third ascender, but forgot to pick up a cow's tail to connect the ascender above the chest roller.
Our big group (11 people, 13 by Saturday) was splitting up into vertical and horizontal groups. The new people and a few guides went horizontal, the grizzled caving veterans vertical. I had been in several group splits like this, but this was the first time I'd be on the vertical end of it. It felt good.
The vertical crew picked Harper's Pit for our first cave, with a 70-foot initial drop and a smaller one afterwards. Lisa Bencebi and I hadn't had too much vertical experience, so Sites Cave, with its 185-foot drop, was put on the shelf for later.
Harper's Pit is quite simply a hole in a field. No sinkhole, not the slightest hint of a depression, just a hole in a flat cow pasture that drops 70 feet straight. The nearest tree is 50 feet away, so it's a long rig.
Scott Sala, Gary Burns, Bob Cohen, Lisa and I were on the trip. I went down second.
Bob Cohen was right at the lip, so I checked my rig with him. My rack has hollow c-shaped aluminum bars, so it's pretty hard to do the death rig with it. All the same, Bob recommended I redo the rig to avoid the rope rubbing on the curve of the rack. I did, and went down the pit.
Two feet into the drop and I realized my seat harness was not angled to provide maximum testicular comfort. I got footing on the lip and tried shifting my weight, but it didn't alleviate the problem. I didn't want to take half an hour and delay the trip, so I went down as quick as I could.
The rope was muddy, and every foot needed to be fed through the rack. I'm still getting on rope with five bars pushed up as far as they'll go for safety's sake, so that didn't speed the situation. I fed the rope through as quick as I could muster, and figured falling 70 feet pain free sounded pretty good.
At the bottom of the 70-foot drop was a split where 25- and 50-foot drops were possible. They met up at the bottom, so we could go down one and up the other. After Scott and Gary rigged it, we went down the 25 and up the 50. It doesn't make sense until you realize the 25 in nothing but lips the rope rubs against, and the 50 is relative flat.
We explored the bottom of the cave, made more interesting by knowing only a handful of people have the capacity to make it down here. My batteries were dying, so I turned my Duo off whenever possible. I could probably make it out without having to do a battery change.
I waited with my light of until it was time for my ascent. The previous people up had plenty of problems ascending, since the 50 feet was nothing but one 50-foot long lip.
I was moving up very slowly. I knew the problem. I didn't have my third ascender clipped above my Ropewalker chest roller. The third ascender was directly on my seat harness, below my chest roller. So this was why we used cow's tails. I pretty much had to feed rope through my clustered ascenders, like my rack, only going up.
My light was past the point of dying. It was flat out dead. If I turned it off and let the batteries rest, I could get a couple seconds of meager light, but my gloves were so muddy that I had to take them off to work my Duo switch, so getting a second of light became a minute-long ordeal. It was easier to climb up blind.
It took a full ten minutes to get all four of my rope contact points over the lip. It was tempting to just take them off and free climb the last two feet without being chained down. If I had given that any serious thought, the fact that it took another ten minutes to get myself off rope once over the lip erased them. The lip led to a narrow canyon, and I was lying in it. I was trying to reach my ankles while being the meat in a stone taco.
I quickly changed to batteries I knew were fresh, and was rewarded with glorious yellow light. I went immediately to the entrance pit, which had enough light shining down so I didn't even need my batteries. I clipped on all four times and started ascending. It only took a few minutes to ascend out.
It was a lousy trip vertical-wise, but I felt moderately in control. It was a much better ascent than last year.
Our cave that weekend was Carpenter-Swago, which Andrew had somehow never been in. (He kept saying "Fresh meat!" all weekend.) Carpenter-Swago was nearby to Roadside Pit and other caves with easier access policies, so the entrance was driven to and looked down many times. It's just a few feet off the road; an unlucky motorcycle could ride off the road and air rappel the pit.
We were going down the 80 foot entrance drop, then a smaller 20 foot one, then a final 40 foot one. I had never done multiple descents before, much less multiple ascents.
Most of the caving team took out nine dollar ponchos from Wal-Mart before their drop. It was raining on the surface, but not enough to necessitate opening a one-time-use-only poncho. Very soon I�d learn comfort really counts on vertical work.
I got my rack rigging approved, so I grabbed the rack bars and slid down the first drop. I was expecting someone at the bottom, but no one was. There was just the rebelay point, where the rope�s linked through a point for a second drop. I�d have to do the changeover by myself, and avoid the death rig. Only a 50/50 chance of instant death here.
It was better than 50/50, since this borrowed rack also had hollow bars on one side. I remembered exactly how my rack was rigged, so I recreated it on the other side of the rebelay point, tesed my weight on it, and hesitantly went over the pit.
To prevent stupidity like this from happening, I should have screamed and yelled that I had done all of two vertical drops in my life. Instead, I calmly stated it a couple times, and let people assume I knew more than I did. I�m lucky nothing bad happened.
It was only a body length or two of actual pit, and would have been free climbable if it wasn�t for the water. The water instantly soaked me, with water much colder than the surface rain. I really wished I spent nine bucks at Wal-Mart.
I'd never gotten so cold so quickly in my life. We were in a small room with a pit leading down another 35-40 feet, without enough headroom or floor space to pace. I stood hunched over and shivered while the rest of the team descended.
Once we all got down the first two, the third drop was rigged, with cut off jean legs as a rope mat. I got a rig check for this descent, as well as a second shower at the bottom of the pit.
This cave trip was immediately feeling like my worst one, a Simmons-Mingo through trip I wasn't prepared for. It was only my second real cave trip, I didn't drink any water beforehand, and I almost went underground with jeans on under my coveralls, thinking they'd stay clean and dry. Same problem: people assumed I knew what I was doing, while in actuality it was only my second cave trip.
This cave connects with a Swago pit that we were trying to find. I felt too cold to move, but the movement slowly warmed me up. After an hour or two, I was actually feeling decent again.
We found the bottom of a slot canyon, chimneyed our way to the top, and then all dropped back down it. Everyone seemed to be going down the canyon at a spot different from when they came up. I found a tight passage with plenty of holds. I kept my pack on, which made wedging easier. I slid down the canyon like a Plinko token.
Ten or fifteen feet down, my feet couldn't find a hold. I felt around on both sides of the canyon, but couldn't even find the walls. I couldn't see this from the canyon top, but the spot I was in belled out halfway through, making a room with walls eight feet across. My legs were dangling from the ceiling of this two-story bell like a chandelier. Someone spoke casually from fifteen feet below. "Um, if you come down this way, you WILL die." He said to toss down my pack, but taking off the pack right now would be a surest way to die I could think of.
It took five minutes to use my crummy vantage point to wedge my feet back into the canyon. Add another five because my pack then got caught on a protrusion, and I had to slip it off. I finally got out, and went down the canyon the way the proven, safe way I came up it.
Bubbles' knee was acting up again, and got progressively worse as the trip went on. When we came close to the rope after a second exploratory leg, she wisely decided to pull the ripcord and go back up it. Kirk went with her, saying he was also tired. So did I, since I had a feeling I would need all the time I could get in the ascent.
No one seemed worried about the energy it took to climb the rope, but since my one 60 foot ascent exhausted me, I was concerned. It was my unfamiliarity with a Frog that exhausted me, not the height, but I was just as unfamilar with the Mitchell system. And this one was in a bit of waterfall.
Bubbles set up her Ropewalker and quickly hiked her way up the rope. Kirk and I were left at the bottom. I got a quick primer on hooking the Mitchell system to the rope from Kirk, and then he followed after Bubbles. I figured he was better off with the injured person than someone who just had gear questions.
For the next ten minutes, I tried unsuccessfully to clip on the rope. I thought I knew how to clip on, but I somehow wasn�t climbing the rope. The rope's natural center of gravity hung itself into the water, so every ascent attempt led to a wet Tarzan swing. Not fun.
Andrew, Ray and Chris came back from a small bout of exploring and saw me swinging. Andrew quickly got me set up correctly. I pushed a few feet up the rope, to where my feet weren�t on the ground any more. I was soaked to the skin by now.
For the life of me, I could not step up on my right foot. The Mitchell system only works when both ascenders take the weight back and forth. My borrowed chest harness (just a strap of webbing) was too big. Nothing I could do would push my right ascender up.
I fell into a pattern. I�d make the proper step onto the left foot loop, putting the weight on that ascender. I would then nudge the right ascender up an inch or so, until it ran into the carabiner from my chest harness. Then I'd try to go for the right foot, but something felt like it just wasn't possible, and the weight would go right to the chest harness. I'd move the left ascender up an inch or two, and then do it over again. I considered screwing the Mitchells entirely, and just hauling myself up arm over arm. I could wrap the rope around my arms several times for support. It'd be risky and rely on questionable arm strength, but I figured it gave me a better chance of reaching the top before hypothermia set in.
Andrew cheered whenever I got more than an inch on the right ascender. My hands were numb with cold. When I got within reach of the lip, I began using it as handholds, then footholds. I made much better time.
It felt like it took half an hour to get up the rope. The people in the bottom of the pit said less, but I never got an estimate. I was seriously thinking about attaching the rope to someone's truck and having it haul me out the last two drops. It would take eight hours at the speed I was making.
Chris came up the rope in about four seconds after me, and whipped out a garbage bag poncho for me to wear. I didn�t protest. Any heat was welcome for a big wet anchor.
Andrew came up in another four seconds with his ropewalker, and took it off. He�d give it to me, use the Mitchell himself, and I�d do the last two ascents on an idiotproof Ropewalker. I�d be testing the �idiotproof�.
The water had washed away all the holds of this chunk of rock, so the rope was the sole means of propulsion. The garbage bag warmth was gone, and I was freshly soaked once again. But I went up it quickly. The Ropewalker was a complicated jumble of ascenders and bungee cords, but they all moved up the rope at will.
I took a momentary glance at the base of the final ascent to get my bearings, and had to stop and stare. The top of the pit was magnificent. 65 or 80 feet of smoothly eroded rock, lit from the afternoon sun. Green plants were vibrantly visible up top. Soaked and tired and still doubting I'd ever get out, I had to stop to take in the beauty. Chris was at this platform, and helped set the Ropewalker up for the big ascent (changing over three Jumar ascenders in water is a challenge even now that I know what I�m doing).
The 80 feet was a straight shot up, and the Ropewalker worked magnificently. It felt great to actually be climbing the rope for once, moving a solid foot up the rope every time I moved one of my feet. This sold me on buying a Ropewalker when I�d later buy vertical gear.
There are a few caves that make you mutter �never again� when you get out. You get over it, but for the next few hours I was sure I was done with caving. I was freezing cold in July, soaked, and everyone else was barely aware I had such a bad experience. Did they not have a watch on that first ascent?
I was angry at caving because I was now in a vertical arena I knew nothing about. It�d take some trips and some time before I wasn�t this stupid amateur.
The pit was a fifteen minute walk into the woods and then up a steep hill. Mosquitos were buzzing around the lip, where we each spent several hours waiting for each other.
The descent was about 40 feet walking down the slanted pit entrance, then 100 feet straight down, then a sloppy ledge and another 40 feet down. 180 or 185 in total.
Seth was the first down, followed by me, Cramp, Lisa and Bob. It was the same order going up; Seth wanted to make the trip as short as possible. It was a smart move: it took about five hours just for us all to bounce the pit.
I threaded the rope into my rack, put my weight on it, and two feet later I realized I had the exact same problem as yesterday. I ended up doing half the descent in a sideways position that caused the least discomfort. Note to self: bring a cup.
There's some pretty stuff at the bottom of Sites, but not a huge amount. Seth was the first down, and he was ascending as soon as the last person got down.
I was getting the hang of hooking up my Ropewalker by this point, so when Seth had yelled off rope, I clipped in without a problem and began ascending. The first forty feet was just a slophole. The rope got incredily muddy, and the first ascender worked as a mudplow clearing the rope for the foot ascenders.
Once in the 100 foot straight section, the Ropewalker earned its keep. It�s annoying during slanted sections, but designed for long stretches of dangling rope.
The last forty feet was within sight of Seth and the surface. It felt great to do my biggest vertical cave to date without any problems. With every trip I become more familiar with my gear. That leads to going up and down pits quicker, which means less time dangling at the bottom of waterfalls. I still don�t feel like a weenie checking my rig with someone more experienced, and hopefully that safety urge won�t go away.