by Victoria Bastedo
I just thought you might like to know that I’ve arrived. I’m a Spelunker. I should know better than this, but when eleven of us campers went to the Ape Caves, near Mount St. Helens in Washington State, I chose to go with the chirpy crowd of gung-ho’s, rather than with the cautious crowd of ‘I’d-rather-survive’ types. That sedate group had a nice and interesting tour where they learned things about lava caves and boy’s and girl’s clubs.
I had a journey that still replays itself when I lay down to sleep at night. I remember it well as we waved ‘bye, bye,’ to the happy foursome going on the other tour. There was one sign that said; “Upper cave ½ mile”, as you entered the tube we were destined for, and another small sign that said; “Difficult Walking”.
A slender type of ‘let’s-jog-up-Mt-Si-for-a-refreshing-morning-jaunt-and-then-climb-an-ice-wall-with-a-pick-axe-later-this-afternoon,’ person wrote this sign. This super-fit, lean and spider-like spelunker conceded some might consider the terrain inside the ape cave to be ‘difficult walking’. Now that, as far as warning signs go, is just not nice. ‘Terrifying-Example-of-Many-Ways-to-Break-Your-Limbs-Deep-Within-a-Lava-Tube-Where-No-Rescue-Party-Could-Possibly-Reach-You,’ would be closer to the mark. But there I was.
Following my sister Alisa and our skinny friend Karyn, yet again. The fact that Karyn’s mom, a woman in her seventies, came with us too doesn’t change things. Karyn’s mother is a small woman. Friendly passerby, not to mention Karyn, could pick her up and pull her places.
I tried not to complain as I traversed and crawled on toe-tip and flat-hands like Gollum up and over, near the ceiling, or sliding off edges of boulders on my backside while my shorts rode up. Small comments like, “You know, Karyn, there’s a miniscule part of me that’s enjoying this,” was all I said.
After an hour and a half, I knew that ‘1/2 mile’ sign was a lie. (It was too. 1 ½ was what it was supposed to say. A cruel hand had blackened out the ‘1’ sometime past.)
When we reached the eight-foot wall I knew that here was an obstacle I couldn’t traverse, and not just because I was terrified. I really couldn’t. My arms aren’t strong enough to lift my weight. There was some kind of foothold five-feet-up, about the size of a pimple, but I knew that even if I got my foot up that high, I couldn’t haul myself up from it. Wiry, 115 lb. Karyn was at the top willing to pull me, but that was laughable.
My friendly comments changed. A nice man was stood there, offering to help me also. According to Karyn, here are a few of my verbal highlights. “I weigh more than that man!” “If I try to climb that wall, everyone will get a smell of my armpits!”
While the other members of my party figured out how to climb the sheer wall, I tucked away into a corner. I told God, “I can’t.” I told Him this in a very whiny tone. “You know I’d be willing to try something, Lord,” I said. “I’d take my courage in hand! But I really can’t! I don’t have the strength or the ability! You’ll have to get me out of this one! I don’t know what to do!”
After I prayed, I had the inner strength to walk up to the wall and try. And that’s when the miracle happened. Two new men appeared. They were lean, and spider-like. They had on sporty clothes of black spandex, and on their upper arms were bold, white crosses. They said they were guides. One of the men showed me where to put my feet and my hands and I vaulted and huffed and those three men and Karyn got me up that thing.
I said, first, “I hate this whole experience.” And then, feeling impolite and grateful, “But I love all you people.” The two guides disappeared in the other direction. Please note, this is a lava tube. When passerby go off in the opposite direction, you can’t encounter them again without notice.
After the 8-foot-wall, I was reassured by the “that’s-the-hardest-part” messages I kept hearing. We went on. But to my dismay we eventually reached a second, impossible hurdle. This involved launching up over your head while making your body into an L-shaped, bent straw. I was far too rounded to achieve anything like the shape of a pencil, which bent pliably in the center. I knew I couldn’t climb this either. I stood there and wondered when the end of this hell-of-a-cave would be arrived at. I tried not to whine. I thought for one moment of turning back and going down the eight-foot wall.
That determined me. No way was I returning to that joyride. But I still couldn’t get over this new hurdle. I reached up my hand and my prayers to the One who listens. And guess what? From out of nowhere appeared those same two men, the ones who said they were guides. How did they get there when they had gone the opposite direction before? In all of this trip we’d been taking in the dark of these tubes, we hadn’t run into a single other person twice. But all I knew was that these two guides came both times only at the exact second that I needed them. They showed me how to do maneuver the L-bend, and they pushed me up that one too. Once I clung, up high near the ceiling and looking down, those guides disappeared, again in the opposite direction.
I praised God a lot in those ape caves. (And, especially when we got out.) I was an overweight, out-of-shape Grandma, wandering into a bad dream of an experience like a child. So, I knew God had my back, and I believe those two guys, if I have to spell it out, were angels. It took us nearly four hours to go that 1 and a 1/2 miles of ‘Difficult Walking’. I think I slowed the others in my party down. But I’d accomplished, with some special help, a physical exercise I didn’t know I was still capable of. I had an adventure I wasn’t looking for. And, I knew I had arrived. No longer was I a shy unathletic person reading about super-fit rock-climbers but never being one myself. I’ve graduated. I’m an official Spelunker!
Victoria Bastedo is a grandparent and a Christian. She works at her local library shelving books. She lives in the Pacific Northwest where she enjoys the incredible beauty that surrounds her. Living in a land of ‘gentle rivers’, makes her feel like a hobbit. (She says she has other similarities to hobbits, too.)