I first heard of Fulford Cave at my place of employment. Never having been caving before, the idea of being dozens to hundreds of feet under the surface of the earth with zero natural lighting in the ideal habitat for the most obscure creatures I could imagine made my breath a little shallow, but my intrigue was peaked. So I gathered some friends, one of which had experienced this particular brand of subterranean adventure before, and set a date. On the full moon in August, we would enter the land of the troglophiles (animals that live their entire lives in a cave).
The day of our maiden voyage arrived and it occurred to us, how does one go caving? Is there more to it then squirming through a hole in the ground? Yes, there is. You need headlamps, extra headlamps, batteries, extra batteries, knee pads, helmets, boots, gloves, tough pants and jackets, and a map of the cave! Without these items, you’re as blind as a blind bat, because bats aren’t really blind. And what’s more, you can’t just go stomping around in the cave pretending you’re an ogre in a village of tiny princess castles. There are speleothems, or cave formations, such as stalactites and stalagmites, anthodites and helictites, that took millions of years of redepositing minerals from countless water drops to form. And with one carelessly placed foot, or one overenthusiastic gesticulation, those perfect spires of ancient cavernous mystery are a memory witnessed only by the nonexistent eyes of the troglobites (animals that live in a cave).
So with the mantra of “take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but [delicately placed] footprints, kill nothing but time” in mind, we prepared ourselves for the journey. By the light of the full moon, just after midnight, we wriggled our way into the belly of Mother Earth. When you’re underground, it doesn’t matter if it’s night or day, but by entering at such a late hour we were the fortunate sole human inhabitants. Headlamps illuminated, we picked our way through the labyrinth of narrow passageways, smelling of minerals and untouched water. We silently slunk into the Cathedral Room, an aptly named space that opened into a vast cavern reaching nearly 100 feet vertically and horizontally. Distributing and lighting a dozen tea candles throughout the sanctuary, we doused our headlamps and sat in the magical twilight. Between the giggles, echoes, and spontaneous introspection, what transpired was one of my favorite experiences below or above ground.
The take home message of this story, other than Leave No Trace, is that it doesn’t matter where you go or what you do this summer, as long as you’re in good company. Whether that means you and your best furry, four-legged friend on a trek to Whitney Lake, or you and your 15 closest pals around a campfire up Homestake, be satisfied with the company you keep.
Kaitlyn Merriman is the Community Programs Coordinator at Walking Mountains Science Center. She purposely used big words in this article to inspire readers to look them up. Here’s another one: Cryptograegris steinmanni.