Crossing the Chasm

During his teenage years, Mac belonged to (was a founding member of?) a local spelunking, or caving, club. They explored existing caves and they discovered at least one system of caves in the area. There are many caves in E TN due to the abundance of limestone and underground water.

Mac had to be rescued once after he and another young man got trapped, suspended in mid-air for 24 hours, when their ropes got hung up, either as they were rappelling down or coming back up. He later told me the worst part was the fact that his caving partner was freaking out, talking the whole time about how they were going to die. Another caver, a high school teacher, did die in a caving accident around the same time.

Mac, being a thrill seeker and daredevil, loved spelunking.

I was fascinated with the equipment: helmets, head lamps that went on the helmets, nylon ropes, caribiners, heavy canvas clothes. I loved how everything was always muddy and smelled like damp earth.

For some reason, Mac thought it would be a good idea to take his mother and two younger sisters caving one day. For those of you who are asking, "Why not?" let me remind you that these were not commercial caves that had been prepped for the general public. Oh, no. Going caving with him involved being in very small spaces in the the pitch black, crawling through tiny openings, and walking crouched over through low tunnels.

And crossing a wooden plank that stretched above a deep, black hole. No lights except flashlights and head lamps. Did I mention above a deep, black hole? And that I was about seven?

As I recall, he had to carry me across. Piggyback. I was, as they say, scared s***less.

Needless to say, I never wanted to go caving with him again.

Many years later he admitted that he hadn't exercised the best judgment that day, bringing his mom and baby sisters caving.

Ya think?