Quietly, as I was becoming established in a career, living at home, and saving up money; a quiet lament was building within me. It seemed that those [mis]adventures I relished as a child were no longer there. Also those day by day, moment to moment experiences were melding into periods of years.

I still wanted to mountain climb, hike and somehow go on an extended trip, but Dad was adamant about me remaining at work and saving money. I realized being an explorer was more in the state of one's being, as much as something one does.

Still, all of the mountains are explored; things like space and the oceans not only require incredible equipment, but someone to recognize something in you to provide you with the opportunity. To just get into that position, despite various promises such as diving schools, was tremendously expensive and time consuming.

For the first year of employment, I was only given a week's vacation; after ten or fifteen years of employment, it would become three. I devoted that week's vacation to scouts and our troop's summer camp. There would never be available, without quitting my job, the amount of time to do the photography that I wanted to, or in doing the adventures that I have come to love.

Dad still occasionally did his slide show of Antarctica, but it was now much less as his family objected to see it during the Christmas and Easter dinners. His slide show was now about every two years, but he would occasionally set up the projector and screen, and view them himself. Whenever he got to the slide of Sir Edmund Hillary, I always muttered to myself, "Sorry big guy, I won't be able to get out there."

I settled with my troop for any adventure to experience, as I enjoyed passing on the fun to the scouts. While he really didn't want the position, Bob made a wonderful Scoutmaster and pretty soon the troop was built back up. Under him, the troop had once again gone from a babysitting service, back to a fully functioning scout troop.

Bob also depended on me to help out with the camping and adventure. At least other adults were coming into the troop to help out with transportation as the troop expanded. Add to that caving, rappelling and shooting. During each weekend camp, there was some aspect of high adventure to be found.

Also every scouting skill taught was realized and gained in importance, as was leadership and working together. Though our mountains were small, add to them snow and ice and you have a very technically challenging hike, at times even involving me setting up rope work to ensure the scout's safety.

While the only Parkville Senior High student I remained in contact with was John, Norm was very much involved with the troop and relished the adventure as well. Now more a sedate version of his former self, yet still possessed his skills of humor and judgment.

He was still living at home and attending the University of Maryland at College Park, and double majoring in physics and aeronautical engineering. He loved trying to convince people that he intended to use those skills in the career that he loved, "Honeydipping," or removing human waste from Porta Potties and septic tanks, with the singular goal of coming up with the perfect nozzle for removing it.

For summer camp, we decided to go to Algonquin Provincial Park in Canada for a week's canoe trip. The old scouters, like Aubrey, and Vern were in the troop, but they were both supportive of our program and Scoutmaster. For our first trip up to Canada, to save money it was thought that the food was best left to Aubrey. I had reservations.

There was one word we would come to know and recite, "Portage," or as the French Canadians called it, "Poor Tage'." Having a very young troop, most of the boys themselves, wouldn't be able to carry their own canoe over land, so I figured I was going to be making two portages per landing.

Well, Aubrey had packed so much food and camping gear, I would end up making four portages per landing. The minimum weight would amount to fifty to eighty pounds. You either had short steep portages, three or four times a day, or a couple of very long ones. Since we were doing a circuit, one looked forward to the portages that were down hill, but they were rocky and muddy, with a canoe's weight adding to the problems.

During the trip, the adults were amazed that our weight wasn't decreasing. It turned out that Aubrey had so much stuff with him; he was transferring the excess poundage to everyone's packs while we portaged the canoes. The biggest mistake of the trip, was in Norm arranging my bowman, who was a professional photographer.

I had to sit pin still while he did his photographs, but every time, I took one, they were intentionally blurred. Through another reason, he was going to be on the outs with everyone in the troop. It was noted that he would take his son away on a walk, when he had a patrol or troop duty.

The boys did things right and alerted the Senior Patrol Leader, who attempted to talk to the parent. The Senior Patrol Leader then alerted the Scoutmaster when the adult said it was none of his business and to go to hell. This prompted an argument between the parent and the scoutmaster, who was told the same thing.

Needless to say, the scoutmaster wasn't going to tolerate that, and during the confrontation, the father revealed that his son was handicapped, which made the scoutmaster go for the medical forms and demand to know what the handicap was, since all should be on the form. The father started bawling his eyes out, and screamed, "He's dyslexic! Ok!" The adult then cussed out the troop, and said that now his boy is going to be made fun of, bullied, and discriminated against.

The rest of the adults shot eyes at each other and tried not to laugh at the father's ridiculous exchange. The scoutmaster chewed out the adult, as it was obvious the scout would be a lot further along if we had known. To top it all off, the boy had already told all of the other scouts about his reading problem. I never signed the kid off on any advancement, because he never did the work. Had I known, I could have assigned a reader for him.

Since I didn't stand with the adult in this exchange, he was a royal pain in the ass for the rest of the trip. In fact, he broke my one cardinal rule of canoeing, "If you fall out of the canoe, fall clear so I can come around and put you back in safely."

In a swamp he attempted to get into the canoe and slipped, against my insistence to fall clear, he then tried to grab the side of the canoe and swamp it, so I cracked his hands with my paddle. When he threatened revenge, I told him I would crack my paddle across his face.

There were other adventures to befall the troop as well. For a two year period, we had rain on every camping trip. While this had us harried at our misfortune, we were hell bent for camping and decided to make the most of it. We got pretty good at setting up a camp and functioning in the rain.

Another person met our troop and decided to donate the use of the property he owned in Western Maryland. While it was a dry camp with a hike in, it worked out wonderfully for us. For the caving, it became a base of operations; it even became a summer camp, as we neither had the money, or inclination to attend a scout camp.

It rained for the entire week, but we found an area of the C&O canal where we dammed up a small creek and made a swimming hole. The rain really helped to deepen the waters of our picturesque spot. I even had a Jacuzzi, which was a hole in a group of small rapids just on the other side of a bridge. It was revealed that I didn't enjoy it alone, as a water snake had also taken up residence.

It rained everyday there too, and our troop's rain cloud had lifted at the end with symbolic repose. At the beginning of the trip summer camp, a storm moved through the area that blew all of my gear on the ground; and in the summer's hot and humid weather, everything that I had molded instantly. Though reeking from becoming moldy, we still made sure we had fun anyway.

On the trip that the rain lifted, we were hit by the same overnight thunderstorm, no less then thirteen times. You could hear it coming, hit us with a full torrent, get stuck on the mountain ridge, circle around, and come again. It wasn't until breakfast was over it had lost enough rain to make it up over the saddle between mountains. The next trip was completely sunny and we didn't know how to handle it.

Having long given up my dreams of being an explorer, there was to be a change. Bob thought enough about me to invite me to be a member of his caving crew. The first trip with the group was awesome. It consisted of Bob, his brother and another member that was a long time caving friend of both.

We explored Cave Mountain Cave, in West Virginia, which was a four level cave that not only went a thousand feet into the mountain, but over two hundred feet down. Unfortunately, so many people and groups went into it, that most of the formations were carelessly destroyed.

Next, they decided to visit a cave that was only explored once by a group of New York cavers, who the owner of the property wouldn't welcome back. They once again inquired and not only gained the necessary permission, but realized a very powerful friendship with the cave owner.

This cave was located on a ledge about thirty feet down a cliff, had a thirty minute crawl before you could sit up, before it went off into various passages and pinch downs. You had to be a climbing fool, and sacrifice any notion of comfort to enjoy this cave.

My first lesson was in experience, we were thirty feet above the floor in a keyhole passage. Moving horizontally, with hands and feet on one wall and your back and butt on the other, you shimmied to move. A hundred feet in, I was losing strength fast. That's when Bob turned to me and said, "Mike, I don't think this is a good idea, since we might not have the strength to get back," I instantly slid to the bottom of the keyhole.

We had to travel another thirty feet to find a place to rest. Getting back was a trip, as Bob's favorite flashlight fell from his pack. He determined that it was resting on a ledge and he climbed upside down to retrieve it. With his foot held in place by his brother Bill, he picked a fight with a pissed off and hissing bat to retrieve it. What beautiful elements of drama, which occasionally popped up in this strange environment.

To access another part of the cave, we had to climb up a thirty foot wall loaded with cave coral. Like its marine counterpart, it shredded clothing and flesh. Then there was a pinch down that you had to go into forward, in a confined space turn yourself around and do handstand pushups to get your feet in the crack. You then used your foot to ratchet yourself to the other side.

The hardest part in that endeavor was psychological as one had to remove their helmet, let out all of their breath from their lungs and deal with scraping both of your ears in the tight passage. This led us to the "Dildo Room," which had formations that resembled such items found and displayed in an adult store.

Throughout the cave, there were so many fantastic formations, from cave pearls, to crystals, to rooms filled with soda straw stalactites. There were also arena like rooms hidden inside, and one which was more cathedral-like in appearance. When you crawled through a narrow passage, it opened up to a fluted room with a basilica like ceiling. Sitting in the middle of the room, there was a formation that appeared as a pontiff sitting in his chair. We named that one, "The Bishop."

The other feeling I experienced in this cave, was one of traveling through time. In the initial, half-hour crawl, the low ceiling held sea shells embedded in the limestone in it. In other levels of the cave, were fossils of small tube creatures.

Then in the lowest levels were tiny crystals embedded in the near black rock. We called this, "The Tripped Out Passage," as it sparkled and shimmered as one walked through it. It gave you the feeling that you were at the center of the earth.

Traveling through the rest of the mapped out part of the cave, we came to the conclusion that we would have to return, as there had to be much more to the cave then we were told. The main reason was, as deep in the cave as we were, there was way too much air hitting us.

We exited the cave with a final sixty foot rappel to the base of the mountain, and a nice refreshing, cold bath in the river to wash the mud off of us. I loved this trip, but couldn't explain why it felt like my back was on fire when I washed off.

Too tired to immediately clean my gear up, my mother had decided to squirt off my coveralls, before putting them into the washer. She came back upstairs alarmed and demanded, "I want to see your back!"

"Why?" All she had to do was show me my shredded coveralls; with the mud no longer there to hold the fabric together, they were falling apart before my eyes.

"Just show me!" She stopped counting the lacerations on my back at 225.

I realized, I thrived in this foreign world, and our caving group immediately planned on doing another trip. A couple of months later, Bob and his brother Bill, also took their children along; Bob's son and Bill's daughter with her boyfriend.

First, the kids wouldn't get out of the van to greet the owner's son, because he reminded them of the person from the movie, "Deliverance." The owner's son wasn't happy with how they acted and wanted to know, "What's their problem with me?"

We wiggled our way out of it by saying they were shy, and sadly found out that his dad, the owner had had bypass surgery and was feeling fine, but they found him sitting beside his tractor dead. The son figured that he jiggled something loose. But such was life and he commented, the way his Dad was seated, was to get one last look at his field.

The brothers had planned to map the cave, and I tried to introduce a system to make a complete map, but they declined because it was too expensive and time consuming. Expensive! I had planned to cover all of the costs. As far as time consuming, their idea of creating a stick map was no less of a time consuming affair, as they got confused, mixed up and had to start over.

In the beginning, I said, "The Dildo Room should be just around the corner," then I realized that there was a woman with us.

Everyone laughed at my awkwardness, and the girl took exception to the name said, "I don't like that title and will think of something better." But when she entered, she looked around and stated, "Nope. 'The Dildo Room,' stands, there will never be a better name for this one."

I found that with the surveying, being Bob's and Bill's affair, I was fighting off hypothermia because of the start and stop nature of their surveying. But in the course of the survey, we realized that we were way past the New York group's survey tape markers. There were no scuff marks of footprints. We did it! We found virgin passage!

We were busy high fiving, and congratulating each other, when Bob and Bill's friend, who was an Army sergeant, said, "Do you realize, the only person here before us was God himself?" This not only completely awed us; it created humility in us, and put the experience into a proper perspective. It was then that I realized that I had lived something that I have only dreamt about, being an explorer.

There were other aspects of exploration. Past the tripped out passage, we found a split off and Bob took one of them, and I took the other. At times we were incapacitated with both laughter and delight. While we both had compasses and knew the passages were divergent, our senses told us that we were rotating around each other; a perception that we couldn't get over. It was how the fissures that intersected the passages were blocked.

In the cave, there was nothing more foreboding then to hear a large rock drop in some distant part of the cave and reverberate. We found a passage at least two hundred feet below the entrance and it ran parallel to the cliff face. It was monumental in traversing as it dropped down fifteen feet, then thirty feet later; it went up back up fifteen feet. It was obvious that there was another passage below us that collapsed in places.

We then found ourselves in a beautiful room of multicolored formations with a floor that had formed pools of water. Then a twenty-five pound rock fell out of the ceiling and being close to us, we decided to abandon the unstable area quickly. In getting back we got lost in a series of box work passages, which finding our way out, added another two hours to our trip. Luckily the stick map helped us stay on the proper direction to accomplish that.

That trip was eighteen hours long and I lost twenty-five pounds, but there was plenty of fun that we experienced in addition to my lifetime goal of making a discovery. But a quiet one, as the owner was adamant about not telling anyone else about the cave.

On another trip, my father thought that we were crazy to go. "Don't you see the news. The whole damned state's underwater."

We were stopped, just on the other side of town, by a state trooper who was initially suspicious of us. "Most of the town's flooded out and we're tired of people like you coming here and gawking."

Bob mentioned that we had business with a property owner, and after the trooper mistook our cave gear for rescue gear, he issued us a National Guard pass. Just getting around was a huge problem as parts of the road were nearly washed out.

There was a sign, "The School Bus was here," about three hundred feet downstream, you found it upside down and half-buried in the mud. Every house along the river was torn in half, and there were shoes everywhere, because the shoe factory had washed out. The town that we loved was destroyed, along with twenty-three counties of West Virginia.

We offered to help out, but even the people told us that there was nothing we could do. They were very happy to see us come and enjoyed using their land. With no power or water, Bob and Bill tried to fix the cave owner's generator that he was lent, but it was so fouled up with varnish, it needed a shop.

Dick was not only happy to see us, he showed us another cave to explore. Not having the time left for the big one, we traversed a cliff face to see if we could discover a new cave. There were a couple of holes we entered, but all had narrow passages that didn't go more than a hundred feet. In this rock climbing, I found a quartz crystal on a small point of rock, with no explanation of how it got there.

The next trip held another adventure. Dick liked crabs, and we decided to bring down a bushel of steamed one's. We told him to have his family gathered, but instead, we ate a few with him and then it was up to Bill and Bob to go with Dick, all over West Virginia to distribute them to his family members. Dick got the biggest kick at the look of his family faces as the crabs were plopped on the table, but it seriously took away from our caving time.

We explored the cave that Dick showed us, which was a pit that dropped down thirty feet, and had a small room. My caving experiences were the first time I turned to poetry for help. I was desperate to find a way to communicate to people what I got out of caving. The stories were convincing people that I was crazy!


Underneath...
       The Explorer


In the absence of all light
and near the path of bats in flight
Through tiny portals, the tightest squeeze,
with long crawls that stress the knees.

"On Rope!", comes the resounding shout,
halfway down, the light blows out.
Up the rope we struggle to ascend,
through it all we never condescend.

Of dust, mud and rock the caves are made,
some even have water to make us wade.
Passages are named from torture, agony and hell,
and with names like, "Jean's Crystal Room," as well.

No signs of footprints, "We are here at last!"
in a room only God has visited in the past.
Our blood and stock is of the explorers breed,
we live and die by the cavers' creed.

To think, I always felt it was the top of a mountain that held an explorer's adventure. I never would have thought for the life of me, about the adventure being, in the mountain. This is the best story of my life!