Hang’em Dry

“Climbing in caves is foremost an issue of logistics and then, secondly, an issue of skill…”
– Lee White

This story starts mid-saga for no particular reason. I plan to backtrack and fill in the voids eventually, but for now just know that there were three very important trips prior:
The first trip: rebolting the pit series.
The second trip: the gear haul-in.
The third trip: the first day of climbing.

Trip Three, abridged:

We have just finished the first day of climbing, and Justin is somewhere far ahead of us in the cave. Mark and I sit at the “Valhalla Rock Jam” above the fourth drop, and catch our breath. I think we both had a moment of peace for the first time in weeks…

“All of ‘this’ did not die with Lee.”
“Yeah… we’re going to be okay.”

I wipe the sweat from my face, grumble about how hot the caves are in TAG, and follow behind Mark up the glazed-mud slope into the breakdown room.

Trip Four:

Justin mutilates my sit-upon with a marlin spike.

It is our second climb on the Timex/Casio Dome (exact name TBD). It is Saturday morning; the weather is drizzly but otherwise pleasant. Even though we aren’t in a rush to get underground, we still forget to bring a rope pad for the entrance (…yet again). Justin engineers one out of my foam sit-upon and a length of cord. Mark declares something about how sit-upons aren’t ultralight anyway, and caving isn’t supposed to be comfortable.

We zip through the seven drops of the pit series easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. Justin’s redesign of the sixth drop is excellent.

We knew from the start that this dome was not going to be an easy climb. The rock on either side of the dome are massive flakes that face inward like rows of teeth. Our line is up the shower stall of the dome; it is the best rock but dripping-wet. We were ten bolts up at the start of the second day of climbing; about 40ft off the deck. The guys let me do all of the climbing on our first day (a week prior), and it seemed that I got all of the good rock.

As with previous trips, the dome room was fairly quiet when we arrived (until I start talking). Mark climbs first, with Justin on belay. I roam below … attempting to help consult on quickdraw selection, rope management, and so-forth.

The rock above my pitch was okay, then bad-with-some-okay, then bad.

Mark on the wall, several bolts into his climb. My climb ended / his started at the blue quickdraw

Mark’s climb is smooth and efficient in spite of the diminishing rock quality. Using his superior lankiness, he breezed through the next five bolt placements. Then he met the first major obstacle of our climb. He hung in the daisies below a standing-ledge, and stared at a rim of “fuck you” rock that would happily fillet a dynamic rope. Mantling onto the ledge was not a feasible option because, understandably, mantling while you’re awkwardly standing in aider ladders is tricky business. Not to worry, we have our secret weapon: Russian bat hooks from eBay!

Mark at the standing-ledge, after successfully bat-hooking up to it

“Hey guys, do the bat hooks work on a horizontal?”
Spoiler: yeah they work really well… so much so that he had to pry it free from the floor of the ledge after the belay station anchors were set into the wall.

Mark returned to the ground sopping wet and shivering in his cave suit, but in good spirits.

The drip-drip-drip overhead had become a continuous drizzle, and a visible ceiling of mist loomed at the top of the dome.

The static tagline was rigged at the standing-ledge, which would be the belay station for the next part of the climb. Hanging belays suck because the belayer is well within the fall-zone of any rocks broken-free by the climber. It is also very cold… especially when you’re directly in the drip-drizzle. Typically, we would avoid hanging belays unless the climb is tall enough to warrant one (i.e. taller than half the length of the dynamic rope). However, these ledges were prominent… and sharp. I decided that it was best to simply avoid running the dynamic over the edges rather than risk shredding the rope.

So up I go … I tether myself to the anchors about 55ft off the deck and stage the dynamic in a cave pack alongside me. Justin ascends the static line and we skillfully execute a swap-off of anchor points, slings, ropes, etc.

Me at the anchors, belaying Justin; his light is seen overhead.

The drizzle is slowly seeping into my hardshell jacket … a faint rumbling is steadily growing in the distance.

Justin is tied-in with tagline in-tow, on belay, and ready to climb. The first smack of the Raumer hammer finds solid rock (thank god). Then the rotary hammer drill twirls and we are all-systems-go.

“My blow tube is too big for the hole…!”
Justin doesn’t say much, but when he does, it is usually pure gold. From the floor below, Mark shouts something incoherent then despairs that we cannot hear his witty retort.

Pause, gear swap (to my superior blow tube), and now we’re all-systems-go.

Justin on belay between the first and second rope-eating ledge

It is sometime around 6PM when I declare to Justin that we probably needed to call it a day. Although he had only placed a few bolts, he had reached the second rope-eating ledge which featured a knife-sharp lip and was adorned with spearheads on either side of our line. I tuck myself against the wall to hide from the rockfall as Justin sends small (and not-so-small) flakes flying off the wall.

Thwack. Crumble. Crack.
ROCK!

The drizzle of water has been trickling down the sleeves of my hardshell for most of the climb and is seeping through my woolly sweater. Belaying “cave climbs” is not fun.
I stay glued to the wall as more pieces of rock whizzed past me.

It is easy to grow accustomed to background noises like water when you’re busy suffering (ex/ belaying in a cold wet dome), so I couldn’t remember if the dome was always a bit noisy with the sound of water… or…

The final 15ft, featuring terrifyingly-sketchy rock and a menacing “glass ceiling” of chert nearly a half-foot thick.

THUD.
The hammer hits a flake that sounds so hollow that we both can’t help but busted out laughing…
Thanks for finding us a dome with comically-bad rock, Lee.
I guess all the other climbs our team does will be cakewalks in comparison?

The top-out of this climb was within 15ft of Justin’s ledge, which was about 15ft above me and my belay station. Justin wanted to go for the top-out, but I wasn’t having it. Even with the assortment of skillfully-placed alpine quickdraws, the dynamic was dragging across the sharp edge. Moreover, above him was the sketchiest rock of the whole climb. There was no way I was going to belay from my current post while he climbed directly above me on that rock.

He set another set of belay anchors, grumbled at our lack of progress, and returned back to the floor. I followed. We were both drenched from helmet to boots.

I don’t recall exactly when it “clicked” that faint rumbling was no longer faint at all…

We left most of our gear staged for the next day, but hauled out excess / unneeded items. I think we had brought in enough quickdraws to climb our way out of Incredible… oh well, the extra weight was “training” or something.

The distant rumbling was now a distant roar. We rounded the s-bend and hopped up into the canyon to begin our ascent and…

Woah- fuck!? Hey, y’all…!?

A massive waterfall was crashing down the canyon next to our rope.

…that was NOT here a few hours ago!

If you have never been inside a cave (especially one that drains an entire mountain) when a major rainstorm passes through, it is an experience to behold. The trickles of water we passed on our way down were now bursting like an open fire hydrant from the canyons throughout the cave.

Mark ascends the seventh drop, next to a waterfall that did not exist several hours prior.

We gathered around the bottom of the canyon and shared the victorious feeling of triumph-over-nature: Fuck yeah, this cave was bolted and rigged impeccably.

Six ascents during the flash flood, and not a single rope is in the torrents that now cascade through the TAG Canyon. As luck would have it, even the entrance drop was dry and the rain had already stopped by the time we were topside. We successfully defeated a notoriously “sporting” wet multi-drop in high water.

We celebrated with hot showers, followed by dinner at the most sacred of post-climb establishments: Waffle House.

Trip Five:

To be completely honest, Trip Five should be called “Trip Four, part two” … you’ll learn why shortly. It is now Sunday of our weekend-long dome climbing extravaganza.

I have to preface the tale of Sunday’s adventure by first explaining that Justin is the fastest hiker I have ever witnessed. No contest. Although we had camped together at the nearby Caver’s campground and started the hike to the project together, Justin is far ahead of us within minutes. In addition to being fast, I am fairly certain that he occasionally appreciates some peace and quiet (especially the “quiet” part). Therefore, it wasn’t alarming that he was already underground by the time Mark and I got to the cave entrance.

For those unfamiliar with the cave: there are seven drops including the entrance. The six internal pits were rebolted with loopy-witchcraft to ensure only elite cavers can successfully bottom the pit series ( /s ).

Skinny rope and loopy-witchcraft on the second drop.

Typically we commute through the cave independently to avoid slow-downs at the ropes. We had left all of our ropes rigged, including the entrance, because we were going down two days in-a-row.

Mark and I move through the cave effortlessly, chatting about whatever and commenting on how quickly it has dried out since yesterday’s torrential storms. Like usual, we slinky in-and-out of sight of one another at the crawl and rebelays. Neither of us have seen Justin, but it isn’t alarming. We are each so fast on rope that even a small head-start is enough put us out of sight/earshot of the next person.

By the time we reach the Valhalla Rock Jam, I’m pouring sweat and nearly overheating (this is a normal struggle for me). I flop down at my designated “Rachel is going to melt” sitting-spot above the fourth rappel and peel my cave suit down to my waist. Mark takes the lead.

I reach the dome room at the bottom of the pit series a several minutes after Mark. There is no Justin.

Well… fuck.

Mark and I give each other that look: god-fucking-dammit, how did we fuck this up? Not only is there “no Justin,” but there is no sign that he was even here today.

We go over the “WCGW” (what could go wrong) checklist:

There are no major side paths through the cave to the dome room, so we did not pass him en route.
If he were at the bottom and got bored waiting for us, he wouldn’t have gone further into the cave without leaving a note (or his pack).
Maybe he ran into another group of project cavers mid-hike, and finally ditched us for a better, quieter team?
- Unlikely… who is better than us?!
He could have needed to jump off the trail during the hike…
- Logical. We did demolish enough Waffle House to feed an army last night.
We are certain that he is not dead
- …we would have stumbled across his body mid-cave.
- Mark had previously enacted a moratorium on dying and Justin doesn’t seem like the “rule-breaker” type.
Justin never existed.
- He is a shared delusion that Mark and I have subconsciously conjured as a way to cope with Lee’s death.
- …but Justin was there when we rebolted this cave with Lee. The plot thickens.

At any rate, we determine there is no need to panic. We agree to hangout in the dome room for 30 minutes and then we’ll head out. In the meantime, I do some rope-shuffling at the top of the climb in preparation for our final push.

I return to the ground and check-in with Mark: 45 minutes have passed.
Justin is not here.

Mark has scribbled a note and we place it on our pile of dome climbing gear along with an e-blanket, water, and snacks. We pack up the drill, shoulder our packs, and head toward the pit series.

Although the idea seems outlandish, Mark tells me that he heard a distant gunshot (and possibly yelling?) while he was rappelling the entrance. It is hunting season, and we are on land that neighbors a hunting club. I assume my logic will prevail over his worry (…because that’s how that works, right?).

Up the seventh drop … ROPE FREE!
Up the sixth drop … pause for the rebelay into the pseudo J-hang … ROPE FREE!
Hop the puddle.
Up the fifth drop … ROPE FREE!
Up the fourth … pause for the rebelay … ROPE FREE!

Up the glazed-mud slope and into the breakdown layer; we weave through the massive slabs and boulders. Hop the puddle. We reach the mouth to the crawl.

Still no Justin.

I think Mark is secretly concerned that he actually was shot. I am secretly concerned that maybe we have lost our marbles.

The crawl is not awful, but it is an inconvenience… especially with large packs.

We head through the crawl and pop-out on the entrance-side of the passage. Up the next nuisance drop… through the upper canyon… and…
MARK, I SEE LIGHTS!

Justin isn’t shot, nor is he a delusion. We exchange looks as I toss him the heavy drybag of drill batteries … punishment for delaying our trip. He tells us the not-actually-that-harrowing tale of how he simply wandered too far right of the cave, then over corrected, and eventually had to hike back up to his car to grab his GPS. A simple mistake, especially on a steep approach hike that is literally bushwhacking.

Mark and I had no interest in going back down to the dome; Justin did not protest the decision to abort. We’ll just have to come back again and finish the climb…

Topside-selfies, and agreeing to **more** hiking

During his story, Justin somehow convinced us to help him re-locate some other caves (of minimal-potential) rather than going directly to the nearest source of beer and tacos. While I do not recall the exact speech, I believe it had some “carpe diem” statement.

We frog up the entrance rope, chatting excited about Justin’s misadventure and our new plan to go down some other hole in the ground. Mark declares that if it qualifies [for the Tennessee Cave Survey (TCS)], we have to name it “Justin Ain’t Shot Cave.”

In addition to being an exceptionally fast hiker, Justin is also very good at navigating in backwoods. However, today was clearly an “off-day.” Personally, I thought the mess-up was nice to witness because it convinced me that Justin is not a Terminator-style mechanoid that was constructed in a secret Communist laboratory.

The hike is all bushwhacking, but the weather is very pleasant. Mark keeps us amused by recanting the tales of his recent exploits in the Bob Marshall Wilderness of Montana for the Tears of the Turtle expedition.

In moments like this we question our life choices. At any point, we *could have* just gone back to the cars and drank a beer.

A few miles later, we find the potentially-caves. I’m still not sure why I agree to hike two hillsides over to chase down some nerd-holes.
But here we are…

The first “entrance” was about the size of a grapefruit when Justin found it, but he expanded it to be about the size of a caving helmet. Mark is dumb enough (I mean… ambitious enough?) to slither down. It does not qualify as a cave… it hardly qualifies as a foxhole. At least we’re earning our beer calories?

The next cave is actually a cave, and has a lovely natural spring entrance. The water was low enough to explore without getting uncomfortably wet. It had been visited by people before, but no one had turned it in to the TCS. At this point of my blog-writing, I am tired of continuing the misadventure story…

Please enjoy the photos of our new-ish cave that did qualify, which Justin named “Not All is Lost Cave.” The sideways crawl was less-than-amusing.