Trapdoor Cave is a small, wet cave in southern Indiana. Others would describe it as a worthless hole.
When I was in high school our Explorer Scout Post specialized in cave exploring. I realize that to many people this sounds rather exotic and outrageous. But since Indiana is the fifth-ranked cave state in the nation, caving was a common sport there, and still is.
Trapdoor was not one of our regulars, because it was indeed a fairly worthless hole. Compared to the other caves we frequented, Trapdoor was too small and unspectacular. But the mystery and adventure were still there. That’s what got me into trouble.
Billy and I had led a small group to the lower level. We found ourselves in a wet room about 3½ feet high and about 10 feet wide. Some of the others were working their way down the passage to find out how far back it went.
While they were struggling with 6 inches of sticky mud that covered the floor, I noticed a side passage behind me. Curious, I decided to take a peek.
It was at this point that I broke the number one rule of caving: Never Cave Alone. It’s not as if I were in the cave all by myself but I did leave the group and go off on my own. “I’ll just look around a bit” I told myself. Wrong.
After duck walking for about 15 feet, I found myself standing at the bottom of a dome. This is a feature you will see occasionally, caused by water dripping from the surface and eroding an opening from the top to bottom. Most cave passages are eroded sideways, not vertically. It was small, only about 15 feet high, but I loved it.
I noticed a small opening on my right, a little higher than my head. A caver’s instincts tell him or her to find out where all those ugly little holes lead. Climbing up the wall I squeezed into the opening, 18 inches high and 3 feet wide. I pushed myself along for about 10 feet, until the crawlway turned down.
“Down? This is pretty odd” I thought. But as I shown my light down into it, it seemed to twist again, level out and continue on.
“All right!” I headed down and it became even tighter. We weren’t used to crawling headfirst straight down. But I knew it could only last for a few more feet. I was right. It was a dead end.
Standing on your head in a tight crawl has a marvelous way of helping you remember certain priorities, things like Never Cave Alone.
When you are involved in any risky business, it’s best not to go in by yourself. We all know this. Visiting a bad neighborhood? Entering an unsure business opportunity? When we face a hospital procedure or even a visit to the doctor’s office for something serious, we would rather have the support of family or friends before, during or after. No one really wants to face the unknown alone.
I’ll bet you know where I’m going with this don’t you? If we go through life without a relationship with God, we face many of the traumas of life alone. Even if we have close family and friends, this is no substitute for a caring Creator who knows us better than we know ourselves. We can sort of muddle through life, but that has never been good enough.
Well, back to our little adventure. Standing on my head, in a tight passage, I realized that I was in a bit of trouble. Luckily, I was very skinny back then. The end of this dead-end opened up slightly. I was able to take off my helmet and beltpack, curl up in a ball, and turn around. Standing up, I shoved my equipment back into the upper crawlway. With the addition of a few more scrapes, I was able to get up in the crawl and head back.
When I returned to the dome, I realized that I was backwards. Only my head was sticking out of the hole and I was looking six feet straight down. What I needed out there were my feet, so I could climb out.
That’s when Billy came in. “Cool dome” he said. “What are you doing up there?” I mumbled something about my being an idiot. Curling up again, I turned around, blindly searched for foot holes, and returned to the base of the dome. When Billy heard about what happened, he agreed. I had been an idiot.
There are other lessons about real life that happen to all of us, all the time. This was one of them.
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Dave Soucie lives, serves and writes in Indianapolis.
First published in my column in an Illinois newspaper in July, 1991.
Copyright © 2020 by Dave Soucie. All rights reserved [but permission is granted for non-commercial use only, with proper citation].
Dave Soucie 