Tales from the Cave - Trapped by Pride

There is a cave in Pennsylvania called Nails 2.  How it got its name I do not know.  To find Nails 2, one wanders through the woods looking for a small, triangular-shaped hole in the ground a little bigger than a football. To enter Nails 2, it requires descending a 25 foot vertical shaft on a six inch wide cable ladder.  For those unfamiliar with cable ladders, they are two pieces of thin steel cable with aluminum steps the size of a #2 pencil.

Barb searching for rare invertebrates in cave pool, circa 1994.

Our mission was to survey this remote cave for rare invertebrates that live in the cold subterranean waters.  Brandon was my intern, a short but fit young guy who came from a family of horse jockeys.  We suited up, put on our caving helmets and gear bags, and prepared to enter the cave that most people over 25 refuse to enter.  I was 37.  We dropped the cable ladder down the small, dark hole.  Brandon wriggled into the tight space and made his way down the ladder, reaching the first small room which was the size of a large gym locker.  He yelled up for me to enter.

At that time, I was five feet eight and a half inches tall and weighed a good 160 pounds.  I was fit, but I did NOT come from a family of horse jockeys.  I am sure you know where this is going.

I sat down in the dry leaves at the edge of that small, triangular-shaped hole in the ground.  Feet first I stepped onto the ladder and down I went.  I had descended about 15 feet when I came to a pinch in the passage.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not get below that pinch.  Well, I was not about to be shown up by a punk 19 year old intern, so I climbed up out of the cave, stripped off my caving suit and sweatshirt, and re-entered Nails 2, my diameter reduced by several inches.  Again I reached the pinch, and again I could not get passed it.  Common sense be damned, I exhaled as hard as I could and finally my mud covered body slipped through.  Victory!

Brandon and I stood compressed into that small first room, contemplating the next drop which would take us to the main passage of the cave.  To get there, we had to squeeze into another 25 foot vertical drop that is best described as two stone walls facing each other, a foot apart.  I looked at that large crack, looked at my thigh, and thought “my thigh is bigger than that crack”.  There was no way I would fit down that drop, even if I removed my remaining t-shirt and shorts.  Brandon, of course, would have no trouble wriggling down into the depths of the unknown.  “You go ahead” I said. “I am going back up and I’ll wait for you up top”.  For safety, Brandon waited for me to climb out before continuing his descent.  I put my foot onto the cable ladder, pulled myself up, and began the arduous task of climbing 25 feet to the surface through a hole not much bigger than my body.

I came to the infamous pinch.  I couldn’t get through.  I tried again. And again. And again.  I still could not get through.  Exhausted, I climbed back down the ladder, and rested against the cold stone wall.  We decided that Brandon would go on down to the stream at the bottom of the cave and search for invertebrates, and I would wait for him in the stone gym locker.  He would then climb out of the cave, drop a rope, and pull me out. I watched him descend into the darkness. Then there was silence. I was alone.

For 30 minutes I stood in that cold, cramped space, occasionally looking up at the tiny rectangular patch of blue that reminded me of where I was.  I couldn’t get out.  Panic started to grip me, squeezing my chest.  I swear the walls started to close in.  I knew if I let this go on I would risk my life and Brandon’s…people who panic underground often never get out alive.  So I began to search for bugs.  I searched every inch of that stone tomb for anything I could find, trying to keep thoughts of being trapped out of my head.  Finally, I heard sounds from below and Brandon appeared.  I was never so glad to see another human being in all my life.

He climbed up the cable ladder, his small body passing through the pinch with ease.  Soon a climbing rope dropped down the hole and I tied it around my chest.  “Pull!” I shouted up to Brandon.  I started to climb the cable ladder, Brandon pulling hard on the rope.  Halfway up, I reached the pinch again.  “Pull hard!” I yelled.  I felt the rope go taught, digging into my armpits.  I pushed with all my might, but I could not get through.  “Hold on!” I shouted.  I rested for a few minutes, and we began again, pulling and pushing, trying to get through the pinch.

By this time I was so exhausted my entire body was shaking.  I was sweaty, muddy, and my boots could not get a grip against the slick walls of this ungodly shaft into the netherworld.  I was defeated.  “Brandon!” I yelled up to the little blue triangle. “This is my last try! I can’t go on”.  Oh god.  He is going to have to go get the Cave Rescue Group. I will be in the papers, I will become infamous, a legend in the stories of the caving grottos.  The 37 year old woman who took off all her clothes in order to cram her too large body into a hole that a woodchuck would avoid simply because she couldn’t be shown up by her 19 year old assistant.  Oh god.

“You can do it!” Brandon yelled encouragingly down the little blue triangle.  “1, 2, 3, PULL!!!!!” I hollered.  And I pushed with all my might.  There was no way in hell I was going to be the subject of after-caving Pennsylvania diner talks.  After all, I had my pride to consider. Oh wait; wasn’t that what got me here in the first place?  I pushed with my legs, I pulled with my arms, and Brandon pulled on the rope, and FINALLY I made it past the pinch.  A rush of relief engulfed me.  I rested for a while before climbing the rest of the way out, and collapsed onto the ground, tired but free.

I hope that when mud covered cavers gather for their hot buffet at the local diner after a long day of caving, they remember the tale of the 37 year old woman who climbed into Nails 2 and made it out alive. A little more humble, but alive.