Into the Darkness: Lessons I Learned in the Wild Caves

 When I was much younger, I feared very little. Looking back, I realize that some of what I called courage was courage, and some of it was being young enough not to understand all the ways a man could get himself into trouble.

Nevertheless, those adventures gave me memories and lessons that have remained with me for more than fifty years.

I was introduced to the sport of caving by the youth leader at Hazel Dell Friends Church. He was an experienced caver who understood the underground country of southern Indiana. He knew where several of the more interesting caves were located, how to enter them, and how to find his way through their dark passages.

That experienced guidance was important because these were not commercial caves. There were no electric lights, concrete walkways, handrails, gift shops or guides standing at the entrance. These were what we called wild caves.

Inside a wild cave, you found the same conditions that had existed for generations: darkness, mud, cold water, low ceilings, loose rock, narrow crawls and passageways that could confuse an inexperienced explorer. Once the daylight disappeared behind you, you depended upon your equipment, your companions, and someone who knew the way.

The first two wild caves I came to know were Buckner Cave and Salamander Cave in Monroe County, Indiana. I explored them around 1974 and 1975, when I was young, physically able, and always ready to discover what might be waiting around the next bend.

Before telling about those Indiana caves, however, I must go back to an experience in Wyoming that taught me an important lesson about exploring unfamiliar places.

The Cave We Should Not Have Entered

We had moved to Fort Washakie on the Wind River Indian Reservation in Wyoming. A friend named Mike Lynch lived in a trailer on the mission property. We lived near the foot of the Rocky Mountains and were not far from the Continental Divide.

One day, Mike and I decided to hike into the mountains and do some exploring. I do not remember how long we climbed, but I remember scrambling over rocks, climbing across boulders, and jumping from one great stone to another as we made our way farther up the mountain.

After we had climbed a considerable distance, we looked above us and noticed what appeared to be a cave entrance. That was enough to stir our curiosity. We worked our way up the mountainside until we reached the opening.

The walls near the entrance were blackened by what appeared to have been a large fire sometime in the past. We had brought only one flashlight, which should have been our first warning that we were not properly prepared. But young men who believe they are fearless seldom listen to warnings until fear catches up with them.

In the rear of the entrance chamber, we found a smaller opening. Naturally, we decided to crawl through it and investigate.

As we crawled deeper, we began finding feathers and beads scattered along the floor. We also saw pieces of old blankets. The farther we went, the more uneasy we became.

We did not understand exactly what we had found, but we knew enough to realize that this was no ordinary cave. There was something about that place that told us we did not belong there.

Neither one of us wanted to admit that we were frightened, but it did not take a long discussion to decide that we had explored far enough. We turned around and came out of that opening about as quickly as two young men could crawl.

The next day, we visited our neighbor, Tom Wesaw.

Tom was a respected Eastern Shoshone elder, traditional doctor, Sun Dance leader, and leader within the Native American Church, sometimes called the Peyote Church. Peyote was not used recreationally. It was received as sacred medicine during all-night ceremonies devoted to prayer, singing, and spiritual reflection.

Tom lived near us on the Wind River Reservation, and he honored me by adopting me as his son. I respected him and trusted his wisdom.

I told Tom about our trip into the mountains. I described the blackened walls, the smaller opening, the feathers, the beads, and the pieces of blankets.

Tom shook his head.

He told us that we had entered an old Indian burial cave. He then warned us that if we had been caught disturbing such a sacred place, we could have faced serious legal consequences—he told us as much as twenty years in prison.

Whether every detail of the penalty was exact or intended to impress the seriousness of our actions upon two foolish young men, his message was unmistakable: we had entered a sacred burial place without knowledge, permission, or respect.

We had not intended to desecrate anything. We were ignorant of what we had found. But ignorance did not give us the right to disturb it.

That day I learned that not every opening is an invitation to enter. Not everything we can reach belongs to us. Curiosity does not excuse trespassing, and exploration does not give us the right to violate what another people considers sacred.

When Moses approached the burning bush, the LORD said:

“Draw not nigh hither: put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.”

—Exodus 3:5, KJV

God was teaching Moses that some ground must be approached with reverence. We had climbed into that burial cave thinking only about adventure. We came out realizing that we had stepped into a place connected with the history, grief, and sacred traditions of another people.

There is a difference between exploring God’s creation and treating everything we find as though it belongs to us.

My First Real Caving Experience

My real experience with organized caving began around 1974 with what was described as a Friday-and-Saturday camping trip inside a cave.

The first cave in which we stayed overnight was Buckner Cave.

Buckner is a large wild cave located about six miles southwest of Bloomington in the Garrison Chapel karst area. It contains approximately 3.47 miles of surveyed passages. Over the years, it has also been associated with such names as Blair Cave, Saltpeter Cave, and Buckner’s Cave.

The historic entrance is a large oval opening situated in a sinkhole. From there, the floor slopes downward about fifty feet into a sizeable entrance room.

But the large entrance can be deceiving. To reach the main portion of the cave, explorers must pass through a small opening and complete a long, low crawl—often described as approximately six hundred feet.

Six hundred feet may not sound very far when traveling down a highway. It is quite another matter when you are crawling on your hands, knees and stomach through darkness, mud and rock.

Beyond that long crawl, Buckner opens into a remarkable underground world containing large rooms, walking passages, tight connecting passages, breakdown piles, abandoned stream channels and an active stream in the lower portions. One of its well-known sections is called Volcano Passage.

Buckner is maze-like. A person can come to intersecting passages and side routes that all appear much the same under the beam of a flashlight. There are slippery rocks, loose breakdown, and cold water. Although the standard route does not normally require a major rope descent, that does not make the cave safe for an unprepared visitor.

We spent the entire night inside the cave.

Once you are deep underground, you cannot tell whether it is noon or midnight. There is no sunrise, sunset, moonlight, or starlight: your watch, your hunger, and your weariness measure time.

The temperature inside remained around 55 degrees. Outside, it was summertime, with temperatures in the eighties. We were dressed for summer aboveground, but we soon learned that fifty-five degrees feels much colder after you have remained in it for several hours—especially if your clothes become damp.

The cave taught us quickly that conditions underground have little concern for what the weather is doing on the surface. You may enter on a hot summer afternoon, but once you pass beyond the reach of sunlight, you have entered another world.

David wrote:

“If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.

Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.”

—Psalm 139:11–12, KJV

There beneath the earth, I came to appreciate those words in a way I never could while standing in the sunshine. The darkness may hide us from one another, but it cannot hide us from God. He knows every room, crawlway, and underground stream. He knows every passage that human eyes have seen and every hidden chamber that no man has yet entered.

One Little Light

On another trip to Buckner Cave, I took several young people from our youth group. I believed that caving would give them an experience they would never forget.

After we had been crawling and exploring for about an hour, I told everyone that it was time to stop and rest.

Then I asked them to turn off their lights.

If you have never been deep inside a cave without a light, you may not understand what real darkness is. This is not the darkness of a bedroom at night. It is not the darkness of a country road beneath a cloudy sky. It is not even the darkness of a basement when the electricity goes out.

Aboveground, there is nearly always some light—a glow under the door, a distant streetlamp, moonlight through a window or the faint brightness of the sky.

Deep underground, there is nothing.

When every flashlight was switched off, the darkness became absolute. You could place your hand directly in front of your face and see nothing. Your eyes struggled to adjust, but there was nothing to adjust to. No matter how long we waited, our eyes could not manufacture light where no light existed.

It was less than a minute before one of the young people began to cry.

Then one person switched on a single light.

That one small beam drove back the darkness.

It did not illuminate the entire cave. It did not reach every passage or reveal every room. But wherever that light shone, the darkness had to retreat.

I told those young people, “That is what you are called to be in this world. No matter how small your light may seem, it will drive away the darkness.”

Jesus said:

“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.

Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

—Matthew 5:14–16, KJV

We sometimes become discouraged because we cannot change the whole world. We look at the darkness around us—sin, hatred, war, injustice, broken families and dying churches—and conclude that our little light cannot possibly make a difference.

But God never commanded one candle to illuminate the entire world. He commanded it to shine where He placed it.

One small light did not brighten all 3.47 miles of Buckner Cave. But it was enough to comfort a frightened child. It was enough to reveal the faces of those sitting nearby. It was enough to show us that we were not alone.

Never underestimate the light God has placed within you.

“The light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.”

—John 1:5, KJV

Darkness cannot extinguish light. Darkness can only prevail where no light is shining.