In mid-September 2013 I received a text from Swede inviting me on a trip to the Tony Grove area to experience some of the caves in that region. A major goal of the trip was to expose myself and Chase, the beginners of the group, to the caves of Tony Grove and to give us the opportunity to exercise the rope training we had been receiving in some new and challenging environments. I had heard many stories about the fantastic caves in this part of Utah, and was excited to finally have the opportunity to experience them firsthand.
We left Salt Lake City the evening of Friday, September 27, and arrived at our campsite near Boomerang Cave in the full darkness of night. Rodney located a peaceful and secluded site by a gentle stream where we set up camp and immediately warmed ourselves by the satisfying flames of a campfire. We had all brought bottles of whiskey in various manifestations, and we celebrated our arrival at camp by sampling and re-sampling the earthy delights. A huge relief which several of us in the group felt that night was the wonder of the night sky above us. Being myself thoroughly raised in the context of a country bumpkin, and having worked the past few years in some extremely remote national parks, one of the things I have missed the most since moving to Salt Lake City last year has been the fact that the reality of the night sky is never fully revealed from behind the curtain of city lights. As I looked up to see a full sky of stars, I felt the stress of the city begin to slip away as I felt more and more at home in the world and more at home in my own flesh. At completely random points through our conversation, Chase would blurt out in an accentuated manner, “Guys, look at the stars!”
On the morning of Saturday, September 28, we all woke up much later than what would have been ideal, and had a leisurely breakfast as we recovered from the festivities of the previous night and prepared for the physical exertions that were ahead of us. We began the journey to Boomerang Cave at around noon. When we arrived, my emotions were rather neutral as I looked at the hole in the ground. I had studied maps of the cave, but I had no idea what to expect from it. Swede had just purchased a slick, black 300 ft. length of rope that we were going to be using for this trip. Unlike the 11mm PMI rope we were accustomed to using, this was slightly thinner, had a very glossy look to it, and seemed to have a bit of stretchiness that made us feel a little uncertain. Chase set up a tensionless rig on a tree adjacent to the pit, and Swede made the initial descent. He was followed by Chase, and then I prepared to take my turn on the rope.
For this particular cave I was going to be using a Petzl Stop that I had purchased several months ago. My feelings about it up to this point had been mixed, but at this point I realized my full dislike for the device. As I studied the diagram on the descender and attempted to weave the rope through it, I realized I was struggling to remember which end on the diagram was the anchored end of the rope and which end was the free end. It felt like pictorial dyslexia. I wove the rope through the bobbin, and tugged at it a few times to check and make sure it was grabbing properly. It felt good to me, so I prepared to descend. The moment I put my full weight on it I realized I was not getting enough friction and that the automatic stop feature was not functioning. I quickly pulled myself out and studied the diagram again and eventually rigged it properly. My final conclusion and complaint is that it does not make any intuitive sense. When I use a rack, I know that the loose end of the rope goes at the bottom of the device, and I know how to quickly spot any potential rigging mistakes because they make intuitive sense. With the Stop, I was entirely dependent on the diagram, and as this experience made clear, was insufficient. In addition, because it is not intuitive, the only people who could check me off before beginning my descent are those who regularly use bobbin descenders. We did not have any of those on this trip, so this important safety practice was not able to be implemented.
After this nerve-wracking experience, I had Rodney attach a top belay to me using an extra rope I had brought along. I began my descent, and as the dome beneath me opened up, I was amazed by the massive scale of it. Up to this point, the deepest pit I had descended into was Pink Lime Pit, and this abyss far exceeded my expectations. Chase was waiting for me on the edge of the attaching passage, and helped pull me over. Once I had my feet on solid ground, he instructed me to put my handled ascender on the rope which now went along the side of the tunnel. Chase went on to the next descent, and I acted as the belay as Rodney descended. After Rodney had gotten settled in the tunnel, I squeezed through the tight passage and found my way to the next pit. It was a rather uncomfortable squeeze, and I had to remove my pack and clip it to my harness in order to make it through the hole. When I made it to the tunnel at the base of the rappel, I found Chase waiting at the end. In front of us dangled the loose end of a rope, indicating that an ascent was the next direction required of us. Swede was already up the rope, and Chase and I were awaiting instructions about if and when we should make our way up the rope. Eventually Rodney joined us at the base of the rope, and he soon made his way to the top of it. I heard him struggling near the top, but was uncertain what exactly was taking place. After Rodney finished the climb, Chase took his turn ascending the rope. He too had a rough time near the top. I waited for the word to begin the climb myself, but it never came. Soon after Chase got to the top of the rope, the group decided it was time to return to the surface. Rodney and Swede had reached the final dome, and had decided that Chase and I should not attempt to enter it with just our frog ascension systems. And with that, they sent Chase back down to where I was waiting. I asked him what was causing the struggle at the top of the rope that he had just come down from. This particular rope had obviously been rigged there for some time, and apparently it was poorly set up at the top, so that one was required to remove their ascending equipment prior to finishing the climb, resulting in some tense and unsafe moments.
For this particular cave I was going to be using a Petzl Stop that I had purchased several months ago. My feelings about it up to this point had been mixed, but at this point I realized my full dislike for the device. As I studied the diagram on the descender and attempted to weave the rope through it, I realized I was struggling to remember which end on the diagram was the anchored end of the rope and which end was the free end. It felt like pictorial dyslexia. I wove the rope through the bobbin, and tugged at it a few times to check and make sure it was grabbing properly. It felt good to me, so I prepared to descend. The moment I put my full weight on it I realized I was not getting enough friction and that the automatic stop feature was not functioning. I quickly pulled myself out and studied the diagram again and eventually rigged it properly. My final conclusion and complaint is that it does not make any intuitive sense. When I use a rack, I know that the loose end of the rope goes at the bottom of the device, and I know how to quickly spot any potential rigging mistakes because they make intuitive sense. With the Stop, I was entirely dependent on the diagram, and as this experience made clear, was insufficient. In addition, because it is not intuitive, the only people who could check me off before beginning my descent are those who regularly use bobbin descenders. We did not have any of those on this trip, so this important safety practice was not able to be implemented.
I began the return ascent, and soon arrived at the base of the initial 120 ft. dome. I waited there for the next person to arrive. After a few minutes I looked behind me to see Swede wrestling his way out of the tiny hole, and obviously becoming frustrated by the extra bulk the roller on chest harness added to his body. I felt like I should be doing something to help, but if there is anything I’ve learned about this group up until now is that they have no reservations about asking for help if they need it. I decided I should just wait for him to ask for anything if he needed it, but otherwise I should simply give him space. This was definitely the appropriate behavior, and he made his way over just fine. We went to the very bottom of the pit for a moment to peek into the adjacent dome, and then Swede began his journey to the surface. He had been working on putting together his ideal ascending system for some time, and seemed to feel quite satisfied with what he had put together prior to this trip, and I was amazed as I watched him literally run up the rope to the top.
Once he was off rope, I began my own ascent. It quickly became apparent to me that this was going to be a much longer and more arduous endeavor than I envisioned. As I felt my energy level beginning to noticeably decrease, I looked up in amazement at the remaining distance between myself and the small point of light above me. I made certain to carefully pace myself in order to ensure I got out in a timely manner without exhausting myself. I imagined what a terrifying experience it must be to be midway up such an impressive pit and to find oneself feeling completely exhausted to the point that each stroke of the frog system was a supreme exercise in willpower. Ultimately, I believe it took me about half an hour to complete the climb. However, as I neared the top of the pit, I noticed the rope rubbing on one edge that made me uncomfortable. Once I got to the top, Swede asked me if there were any points where I thought the rope needed padded. I responded that there was, and he gave me a rope pad. I switched over to my descender, went down about 20 feet, attached the pad to the point of concern, changed over to my ascenders, and then climbed out of the pit again. It was the first time I had ever done a changeover in an actual caving situation, and it was one of those encouraging moments of progression where I felt assurance that I was on my way to becoming a skilled caver.
By the time Chase and Rodney climbed out of the pit, the sun had set and it was completely dark outside. We made our way down to the parking area and drove back to our camping site. We immediately built a fire and prepared our dinner. The mood this night was much more peaceful than the previous, and the bacchanalian excesses were replaced by a modest portion of wine and a reasonable bedtime. Chase and Rodney were going to be leaving in the morning, so Swede and I gave them farewell hugs before turning in for the night.
I was awoken early in the morning by the sounds of Chase and Rodney taking down their tent and packing up their gear. I felt quite exhausted, and continued to lie in bed a while longer. When I finally roused myself, I stepped outside and noticed that Swede was already awake and sitting in his car, and I heard the sound of 18th century Swedish folk music clearly booming from within the vehicle. Apparently he had attempted to take a little bath in the creek by our campsite, but was brutally confronted by its alpine chill and its subsequent ability to lower one’s body temperature. He had retreated to his car, turned the heat on full-blast and had been spending some time trying to restore his bodily thermometer. And of course, there are few sounds as capable of boiling the blood as the period-informed recording of folk tunes gleaned primarily from 18th century Swedish manuscripts that I had given to him the previous day.
After a couple more minutes of warming up, we packed up our gear for the day and set about the critical task of driving to Logan to have coffee and pastries at Starbuck’s. The drive to town was as sumptuous as the baked goods that awaited us. The landscape had reached its autumnal climax, that rare and fleeting transformation felt as if the entire canyon had released its final breath, and with it all of its reserves of splendor. We conversed extensively during this drive, but for certain periods we took advantage of silence to absorb the worthiness of our surroundings. Once we had appeased the base cravings of our bodies for that richest and darkest of lovers, as well as the lighter and fluffier pleasures of some croissants, we ventured back into the canyon to delve into the day’s adventures.
Before doing any actual caving, Swede wanted to stop and just show me a few sites along the way. We made brief stops at Ricks Spring and the gated Logan Cave before finally stopping at Canteen Springs for our first subsurface journey. We approached the large primary entrance, and Swede took the opportunity to give me my first training in setting up rigging. We went through the process of preparing a tensionless rig on a tree adjacent to the pit, and then made our way to the bottom of the cave. I had been rather terrified of the prospect of setting up rigging for a while, and it felt like such a relief to know that it was not as complicated as I had previously believed, and also that I was entirely capable of doing it. We did not spend very long in this part of the cave. I briefly crawled a ways into the narrow tunnel that went off to the side, but soon returned to begin my ascent out of the cave. We made our way to the surface, de-rigged, and immediately went over to the nearby but much smaller hole that allowed easier access to the rest of the cave. At this point Swede asked me where I thought we should set up our rigging. I observed an old log that had fallen directly over the entrance, but felt uneasy about the prospect of rigging to dead wood. But as I looked around myself, the landscape was void of anything better. Eventually Swede broke my silence and informed me that in fact the dead log was the best place to anchor the rope. We set up another tensionless rig, and I went down to the bottom. After Swede came down, we set up a rebelay on a boulder in order to do another short drop into the Broken Rock Room. I spent several minutes exploring the room and the passages that connected to it, including a small room with some very nice formations. After we felt we had fully experienced the cave, we climbed out and prepared to continue on to Polygamy Cave.
Before we left the parking area by Canteen Springs, Swede gave me a quick tutorial on knot-tying. I had taught myself several important knots some time ago, but we practiced and improved my ability to tie a figure-8 and a double fisherman, and he taught me how to tie an alpine butterfly. I practiced tying these knots over and over during our drive to Polygamy. We parked and began the arduous hike to the cave. Although the hike was certainly challenging, I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful setting that although void of trees, was embellished by many rocky outcroppings. There is something about a landscape that is defined by desolation that I find absolutely captivating; it hints of otherworldliness and an adversity to human presence that only serves to draw me deeper into it. At one point we observed an extremely large depression that was perfectly circular and which had a smooth meadow at the bottom of it. Considering the reality of the number and depth of the caves in the area, we paused to consider exciting possibility that there was a massive dome underneath this depression.
Shortly after this observation we arrived at the entrance to Polygamy Cave. I was very impressed and relieved by the size of the initial passageway. After spending so much time on rope, there was something so refreshing and liberating about entering a classically impressive horizontal passage. In time, we reached the only rappel we did in the cave, which was about 50 feet down. One route went directly down the face of a cliff, and the other went down a smaller and more crack-like passage. We decided on the second route, since it would likely provide a different experience and challenge compared to what I had been doing up to this point. Swede rigged the rope to a few bolts that were present and made his way down. As I began my own descent, I was captivated by the formations that covered the passage. A great deal of brilliant golden flowstone tumbled down the passage, and I felt a surge of delight as each step down revealed a new vision of geologic alchemy. At the base of the rappel was another sizable horizontal passage, and we wandered and explored for some time before deciding the moment had come to return to the surface.
I left Boomerang Cave feeling exhausted yet triumphant, I left Canteen Springs feeling rather neutral yet accomplished for setting up the rigging, and I left Polygamy feeling peacefully joyful. Polygamy was an extremely satisfying way to end the weekend since it produced a low level of anxiety while still proving to be full of adventure and surprises. Later Swede mentioned to me that he appreciated the quiet of our trip together into Polygamy. I agreed with him, and I think that perhaps was one of the reasons I felt something very peaceful about my time there.
We returned to camp and warmed ourselves by the fire for the final time. Our liquor reserves had been reduced to a half-bottle of Jameson whiskey that I had brought with me, and we shared the bottle while warming up our food over the fire. As with the previous nights, we continued to have conversations marked by openness and transparency. It was becoming increasingly clear that a real friendship was developing, but at the same time I struggled with a tremendous fear that I had over-exposed my emotions that first night in the canyon, and that consequently these cavers would never respect me.
As I wrestled internally with the concept of friendship and community, we soon found ourselves discussing the isolation of caving. Over the months Swede and I have discovered many shared perspectives on the emotional and psychological aspects of caving, for example, we enjoy the challenge it presents to us physically and mentally. It pushes every area of our bodies to their limits of competence, and forces our minds to be ever alert and fully engaged with our surroundings and the risks they present. As our conversation touched upon our appreciation of these challenges, I wondered out loud why some people are drawn to the physical and emotional demands required in reaching the summits of mountains, while others are more drawn into the interior of the earth. I also wondered why it is so common for those who, for one reason or another struggle to relate to other people or even society at large, then go on to form a deep connection with nature. One might envision a rebellious hippie abandoning his suburban upbringing to move into a cabin in the woods in order to be self-sufficient and “one with nature.” How much is the sport we thrive in connected to the way we relate to or are unable to relate to other humans? And if this deeper connection with nature tends to thrive among misfits, what distinguishes the bond a loner might experience with a cave from that experienced by, for example, a loner with a mountain summit?
One thought we had was that we will never be able to dominate the cave like a climber can dominate a mountain. We can achieve amazing feats of strength and endurance in a cave, but we can never reach an indisputable zenith of conquest within a cave. In addition, we experience an isolation that is more intense and profound than any solitude that can be found on the surface. We cut ourselves off from the sun, the most fundamental source of life on earth, and at times the only sound we can hear is that of our own heartbeat. The most enticing caves will always dominate us in ways that we cannot overcome, and they cut us off from everything familiar and typically life-giving. But yet we are so powerfully drawn to them, and we love them as a dear friend even though any one of them could indiscriminately turn on us and kill us. At times caving feels like the most macabre communion one can have with nature. Perhaps the simplest conclusions that I can find in myself as a caver is that I find comfort and excitement in the reality that I will never conquer the caves I love, and that I also have a mysterious corner of my psyche that aches for complete isolation.
After our discussions had reached a satisfactory end, we found our way into our tents. When morning came, we broke down our camp, packed up everything, and set off to have breakfast at Starbuck’s. The drive this morning was every bit as scenic as the previous, but this time there was the addition of subtle rivers of mist flowing through the side-canyons. Once we sat down at the coffee shop, Swede began dealing with the initial onslaught of emails and text messages that is always bound to follow a weekend of camping. We enjoyed a final period of fraternal silence as we finished our coffee and prepared to make the transition back into our lives in the city. We heartily embraced each other in the parking lot and then parted ways.
My stomach was in knots the entirety of the drive home. I had experienced tremendous joys and achievements the past few days, but somehow my excessive social anxiety kept finding ways to get the better of me. I kept imagining a future where these cavers would reject me rather than embrace me, and I struggled to turn it off. By the time I reached my apartment I had descended into misery. I realized how much I enjoyed spending time with them and going caving with them, and I was terrified that my sentiments would not be returned, and in time I would be abandoned. At the time I began writing this report, I still carried those feelings to a certain extent. But now I’m writing this final paragraph several months later, I feel a deeper and more secure friendship with my caving comrades than I have known with anyone for some time, and I typically depart caving trips feeling a mild glow of emotional warmth that is very similar to the feeling I have when I have been spending time with my family. Caving places us in an environment of profound isolation, but the cave also has a strange way of creating kinship between strangers. It is almost as strange of a contradiction as the fact that I pine for both seclusion and community. Perhaps the longer we spend in these spaces of silence and darkness, we will find more paradoxes that are not as dualistic as they initially seem. >
Once he was off rope, I began my own ascent. It quickly became apparent to me that this was going to be a much longer and more arduous endeavor than I envisioned. As I felt my energy level beginning to noticeably decrease, I looked up in amazement at the remaining distance between myself and the small point of light above me. I made certain to carefully pace myself in order to ensure I got out in a timely manner without exhausting myself. I imagined what a terrifying experience it must be to be midway up such an impressive pit and to find oneself feeling completely exhausted to the point that each stroke of the frog system was a supreme exercise in willpower. Ultimately, I believe it took me about half an hour to complete the climb. However, as I neared the top of the pit, I noticed the rope rubbing on one edge that made me uncomfortable. Once I got to the top, Swede asked me if there were any points where I thought the rope needed padded. I responded that there was, and he gave me a rope pad. I switched over to my descender, went down about 20 feet, attached the pad to the point of concern, changed over to my ascenders, and then climbed out of the pit again. It was the first time I had ever done a changeover in an actual caving situation, and it was one of those encouraging moments of progression where I felt assurance that I was on my way to becoming a skilled caver.
By the time Chase and Rodney climbed out of the pit, the sun had set and it was completely dark outside. We made our way down to the parking area and drove back to our camping site. We immediately built a fire and prepared our dinner. The mood this night was much more peaceful than the previous, and the bacchanalian excesses were replaced by a modest portion of wine and a reasonable bedtime. Chase and Rodney were going to be leaving in the morning, so Swede and I gave them farewell hugs before turning in for the night.
I was awoken early in the morning by the sounds of Chase and Rodney taking down their tent and packing up their gear. I felt quite exhausted, and continued to lie in bed a while longer. When I finally roused myself, I stepped outside and noticed that Swede was already awake and sitting in his car, and I heard the sound of 18th century Swedish folk music clearly booming from within the vehicle. Apparently he had attempted to take a little bath in the creek by our campsite, but was brutally confronted by its alpine chill and its subsequent ability to lower one’s body temperature. He had retreated to his car, turned the heat on full-blast and had been spending some time trying to restore his bodily thermometer. And of course, there are few sounds as capable of boiling the blood as the period-informed recording of folk tunes gleaned primarily from 18th century Swedish manuscripts that I had given to him the previous day.
After a couple more minutes of warming up, we packed up our gear for the day and set about the critical task of driving to Logan to have coffee and pastries at Starbuck’s. The drive to town was as sumptuous as the baked goods that awaited us. The landscape had reached its autumnal climax, that rare and fleeting transformation felt as if the entire canyon had released its final breath, and with it all of its reserves of splendor. We conversed extensively during this drive, but for certain periods we took advantage of silence to absorb the worthiness of our surroundings. Once we had appeased the base cravings of our bodies for that richest and darkest of lovers, as well as the lighter and fluffier pleasures of some croissants, we ventured back into the canyon to delve into the day’s adventures.
Before doing any actual caving, Swede wanted to stop and just show me a few sites along the way. We made brief stops at Ricks Spring and the gated Logan Cave before finally stopping at Canteen Springs for our first subsurface journey. We approached the large primary entrance, and Swede took the opportunity to give me my first training in setting up rigging. We went through the process of preparing a tensionless rig on a tree adjacent to the pit, and then made our way to the bottom of the cave. I had been rather terrified of the prospect of setting up rigging for a while, and it felt like such a relief to know that it was not as complicated as I had previously believed, and also that I was entirely capable of doing it. We did not spend very long in this part of the cave. I briefly crawled a ways into the narrow tunnel that went off to the side, but soon returned to begin my ascent out of the cave. We made our way to the surface, de-rigged, and immediately went over to the nearby but much smaller hole that allowed easier access to the rest of the cave. At this point Swede asked me where I thought we should set up our rigging. I observed an old log that had fallen directly over the entrance, but felt uneasy about the prospect of rigging to dead wood. But as I looked around myself, the landscape was void of anything better. Eventually Swede broke my silence and informed me that in fact the dead log was the best place to anchor the rope. We set up another tensionless rig, and I went down to the bottom. After Swede came down, we set up a rebelay on a boulder in order to do another short drop into the Broken Rock Room. I spent several minutes exploring the room and the passages that connected to it, including a small room with some very nice formations. After we felt we had fully experienced the cave, we climbed out and prepared to continue on to Polygamy Cave.
Before we left the parking area by Canteen Springs, Swede gave me a quick tutorial on knot-tying. I had taught myself several important knots some time ago, but we practiced and improved my ability to tie a figure-8 and a double fisherman, and he taught me how to tie an alpine butterfly. I practiced tying these knots over and over during our drive to Polygamy. We parked and began the arduous hike to the cave. Although the hike was certainly challenging, I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful setting that although void of trees, was embellished by many rocky outcroppings. There is something about a landscape that is defined by desolation that I find absolutely captivating; it hints of otherworldliness and an adversity to human presence that only serves to draw me deeper into it. At one point we observed an extremely large depression that was perfectly circular and which had a smooth meadow at the bottom of it. Considering the reality of the number and depth of the caves in the area, we paused to consider exciting possibility that there was a massive dome underneath this depression.
Shortly after this observation we arrived at the entrance to Polygamy Cave. I was very impressed and relieved by the size of the initial passageway. After spending so much time on rope, there was something so refreshing and liberating about entering a classically impressive horizontal passage. In time, we reached the only rappel we did in the cave, which was about 50 feet down. One route went directly down the face of a cliff, and the other went down a smaller and more crack-like passage. We decided on the second route, since it would likely provide a different experience and challenge compared to what I had been doing up to this point. Swede rigged the rope to a few bolts that were present and made his way down. As I began my own descent, I was captivated by the formations that covered the passage. A great deal of brilliant golden flowstone tumbled down the passage, and I felt a surge of delight as each step down revealed a new vision of geologic alchemy. At the base of the rappel was another sizable horizontal passage, and we wandered and explored for some time before deciding the moment had come to return to the surface.
I left Boomerang Cave feeling exhausted yet triumphant, I left Canteen Springs feeling rather neutral yet accomplished for setting up the rigging, and I left Polygamy feeling peacefully joyful. Polygamy was an extremely satisfying way to end the weekend since it produced a low level of anxiety while still proving to be full of adventure and surprises. Later Swede mentioned to me that he appreciated the quiet of our trip together into Polygamy. I agreed with him, and I think that perhaps was one of the reasons I felt something very peaceful about my time there.
We returned to camp and warmed ourselves by the fire for the final time. Our liquor reserves had been reduced to a half-bottle of Jameson whiskey that I had brought with me, and we shared the bottle while warming up our food over the fire. As with the previous nights, we continued to have conversations marked by openness and transparency. It was becoming increasingly clear that a real friendship was developing, but at the same time I struggled with a tremendous fear that I had over-exposed my emotions that first night in the canyon, and that consequently these cavers would never respect me.
As I wrestled internally with the concept of friendship and community, we soon found ourselves discussing the isolation of caving. Over the months Swede and I have discovered many shared perspectives on the emotional and psychological aspects of caving, for example, we enjoy the challenge it presents to us physically and mentally. It pushes every area of our bodies to their limits of competence, and forces our minds to be ever alert and fully engaged with our surroundings and the risks they present. As our conversation touched upon our appreciation of these challenges, I wondered out loud why some people are drawn to the physical and emotional demands required in reaching the summits of mountains, while others are more drawn into the interior of the earth. I also wondered why it is so common for those who, for one reason or another struggle to relate to other people or even society at large, then go on to form a deep connection with nature. One might envision a rebellious hippie abandoning his suburban upbringing to move into a cabin in the woods in order to be self-sufficient and “one with nature.” How much is the sport we thrive in connected to the way we relate to or are unable to relate to other humans? And if this deeper connection with nature tends to thrive among misfits, what distinguishes the bond a loner might experience with a cave from that experienced by, for example, a loner with a mountain summit?
One thought we had was that we will never be able to dominate the cave like a climber can dominate a mountain. We can achieve amazing feats of strength and endurance in a cave, but we can never reach an indisputable zenith of conquest within a cave. In addition, we experience an isolation that is more intense and profound than any solitude that can be found on the surface. We cut ourselves off from the sun, the most fundamental source of life on earth, and at times the only sound we can hear is that of our own heartbeat. The most enticing caves will always dominate us in ways that we cannot overcome, and they cut us off from everything familiar and typically life-giving. But yet we are so powerfully drawn to them, and we love them as a dear friend even though any one of them could indiscriminately turn on us and kill us. At times caving feels like the most macabre communion one can have with nature. Perhaps the simplest conclusions that I can find in myself as a caver is that I find comfort and excitement in the reality that I will never conquer the caves I love, and that I also have a mysterious corner of my psyche that aches for complete isolation.
After our discussions had reached a satisfactory end, we found our way into our tents. When morning came, we broke down our camp, packed up everything, and set off to have breakfast at Starbuck’s. The drive this morning was every bit as scenic as the previous, but this time there was the addition of subtle rivers of mist flowing through the side-canyons. Once we sat down at the coffee shop, Swede began dealing with the initial onslaught of emails and text messages that is always bound to follow a weekend of camping. We enjoyed a final period of fraternal silence as we finished our coffee and prepared to make the transition back into our lives in the city. We heartily embraced each other in the parking lot and then parted ways.
My stomach was in knots the entirety of the drive home. I had experienced tremendous joys and achievements the past few days, but somehow my excessive social anxiety kept finding ways to get the better of me. I kept imagining a future where these cavers would reject me rather than embrace me, and I struggled to turn it off. By the time I reached my apartment I had descended into misery. I realized how much I enjoyed spending time with them and going caving with them, and I was terrified that my sentiments would not be returned, and in time I would be abandoned. At the time I began writing this report, I still carried those feelings to a certain extent. But now I’m writing this final paragraph several months later, I feel a deeper and more secure friendship with my caving comrades than I have known with anyone for some time, and I typically depart caving trips feeling a mild glow of emotional warmth that is very similar to the feeling I have when I have been spending time with my family. Caving places us in an environment of profound isolation, but the cave also has a strange way of creating kinship between strangers. It is almost as strange of a contradiction as the fact that I pine for both seclusion and community. Perhaps the longer we spend in these spaces of silence and darkness, we will find more paradoxes that are not as dualistic as they initially seem. >
My name is Caleb Ferbrache. At this point I have existed for 29 years. I was raised as a very traditional Quaker in an isolated rural location in the Appalachian foothills of southeastern Ohio. My father died when I was 2 and my mother died when I was 26. I have an older brother and a younger sister, both of whom I am extremely close to. I lived the nomadic lifestyle of a professional archaeologist for 4 years in some of the most remarkable locations in the country, and currently live a more stable life as a lab tech in Salt Lake City, though I may soon return to my career in archaeology. I was baptized into the Eastern Orthodox Church in 2013. I am a single gay man. I am a singer and a violinist. I create art out of wool and other fibers using a spinning wheel, dyes extracted from desert plant life, and a set of knitting needles. I am an avid explorer of the natural world, not just of the surface touched by the sun, but also of the inner depths of the earth. On these journeys into the supraterranean and subterranean wilderness, I have seen things in reality that many people only see in their dreams and fantasies.