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''And" let there be light," one of group members joked, as he flipped on his head lamp. We looked around, gazing in wonder at this shadowy Netherworld. Here we were, deep within earth's hollow sanctuary, with little light and a dumb-luck reliance on our flashlights' batteries. Above our heads, through hardened clay, dolomite bedrock, limestone, rock, gravel, mud and leaves was the open air and sunshine. It seemed miles away. Earlier that day seven of us, along with two group leaders, had met for the underground journey. After more than an hours drive from Carbondale to Illinois Caverns State Natural Area, our hearty crew descended from the light into a jagged crevasse with adventure on our minds, poised to experience the raw natural beauty of the world under our feet. "Say good-bye to the sky everybody," our intrepid leader, Steve Krake, had said while we made our descent. He should have added "and to fresh air, ample space and a sense of direction." Being surrounded by shadows, near darkness and a delusory landscape was enough to cause simultaneous awe and confusion.
And rightfully so. Illinois Caverns encompasses six miles of mapped passageways that worm their way through the dark earth. Though just a meek dugout compared to the more than 350 miles of Kentucky's Mammoth Caves, its tunnels are geological marvels, adorned with stalactites hanging like medieval Christmas lights, stalagmites, flow-stone and reptilian-shaped rock columns that slither grotesquely from the ceiling to the floor. Although we were essentially trapped underground, there was a sense of utter freedom from the restraints above. It's a freedom many are seeking in vast numbers. The National Speleological Society lays claim to more than 12,000 members. With it grottos—local caving branches—are amassing as well, with more and more people becoming interested in one of the world's last unexplored regions, which is why caving veterans most often refuse to divulge directions to even the smallest caves. "Once a location is shared with someone, that person may tell another, and then there's no telling who may end up finding out down the line," says Geoff Schropp, who heads the Little Egypt Grotto. "I moved here from out east and it took me years to get in real good with the group. The people wanted to get to know me really well before they let me know of the good areas." This hushed secrecy is understandable. Brutal tales of savage
The caverns has about six miles of mapped passageways
cave desecretion by reckless individuals and groups are enough to keep any true caver quiet. Says Schropp: "You can never tell if the (location of a unique cave) will get to the wrong type of person...a partier or someone like that, and eventually that could lead to very bad things". Knowing this, we were exceedingly lucky to have free access to what could be deemed an inappropriate sport. While thrilling, cave exploration by the inexperienced has drawn the ire of many seasoned veterans, as vandalism and high-traffic routes reek havoc on ancient cave formations that are priceless in their age. Even a gentle touch to a developed stalactitie or stalagmite means certain death, as diminutive amounts of natural oil on a person's finger coats the formation, causing the mineral-rich water to abort its mission of depositing new growth. What's worse, the heavy traffic and sometimes blatant disregard for the mounting beauty of the caverns mar it's pristine beauty aesthetics. Along our travels a used diaper lay directly in our path, offering a sickening testament to the caustic carelessness of ignorant cavers. Still, it's not just the fear of someone spoiling the untouched beauty that alarms modern-day cavers. There's always the looming notion of governmental or private intervention. With the serious dangers involved in cave exploration - unexpected flooring being one - many private landowners and even park officials aren't taking a lot of chances when it comes to opening access to caves. The National Park Service and the Bureau of Land Management often restict caving permits in the west, and therby, access. Private landowners have gone so far as to gate and even dynamite openings for fear of inexperienced cavers going in and becoming hurt. "This is the litigation nation," says Schropp. "They're afraid of someone injuring themselves in a cave, and they don't want to deal with the liability issue. It's hard to convince landowners of your intentions". And even if intentions are admirable, there's bound to be a
disturbance, if only to the native cave dwellers themselves. "Man has a great deal of impact on caves," notes Schropp, who has caved for more than six years. "There's a fair amount of life people need to be wary of. As bats hibernate during the winter, you need to be careful not to disturb them since they have a finite amount of energy stored. If they're disturbed and they fly around and use a lot of it up, they may not survive the winter." With all the safety precaution and self-restraint one must take to become active in the sport—not to mention the gear needed to cave vertical areas—it's no wonder cave exploration did not balloon until outdoor adventuring peaked and high-tech caving equipment became available. Only in the last decade has caving taken off, though as early as the 1940s caving was already a regular sport. Illinois Caverns itself was officially open to the public in 1901, drawing visitors from faraway states and abroad. But by 1907, interest had dwindled, and it wasn't until 1947 that another attempt at commercialization occurred. That venture also failed and in 1985, the cave was sold to the state. Neighboring Missouri claims the most caves in the nation, while Illinois caves are known for their relatively diminutive size and immaturity, a term used to describe caves that need a few thousand years more for development. Southern Illinois' Monroe County can boast of having the most caves, roughly 100. For us, though, this cave was just right. There was nothing but absolute tranquillity and somberness here. Cool, damp air and flashlight rays swaying against the rock walls, revealing twisted shadows and adamantine crevasses. In the distance we heard echoes of voices, resonating from all around us. Then, an array of lights emerged, appearing as small fireflies floating toward us in single file. Alas, it turned out those bright insects were but seven children and their adult leader. They walked by us humming and singing with determined resolve in their jolly dwarf way, as if they were marching home to Snow White. "Caving is very symbolic of life to me," remarked one of our group members as she leapt over another crossing. "It's like walking in the darkness, and there's lots of rocks, and dips, and difficulty; deep water to tread through. But once it's done, it's much simpler and easier. After you're done you see more colors and the diversity of life. We're all trying to come from the darkness into the light." After a few more hours, we were back at the origin of our trek, and the sliver of light seemed to shine biblically from above, a surreal ending to a dark journey. I looked back once more into the darkness behind, where the group's flickering lights, now shutting down one by one, cast shadows across the tunnel which we had emerged from. And blinking, we headed for the light. Burke Speaker is a former Outdoorlllinois intern, and currently is a student at Southern Illinois University.
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