Commander Cream's Adventures in Stupidity #3

In order to get to the Weminuche wilderness area, you have to ride a narrow-gauge train for about 2 hours. The train stops for a bout five minutes, you jump off and the train continues on its merry way. The train passes twice a day at set times. If the weather is bad the train doesn’t run. If you miss the train, it doesn’t wait. Once you’re in the backcountry, you’re pretty much on your own. I went into the wilderness with a rather large party. I didn’t know too many of the twelve people, but I rather liked our “Fearless Leaders,” and our plans for the trip. Unfortunately, an early, high-elevation snowstorm ruined our summit attempt on Sunlight Peak. We were forced to take shelter in a valley rather than remain at the mid-mountain level. Normally I’d be angry that I was robbed of the chance to summit a new mountain. However, this did allow us some time to explore the wilderness area. Leading me into the middle of nowhere and setting me loose is usually a bad idea.

However, the Weminuche area is very safe: mountain lion attacks are unheard of, and very few people seek out such things as cliffs or lightning storms. Accordingly, our Fearless Leaders allowed us to hike on our own for a couple of hours each day. We had to stay off the ridgelines and were explicitly warned “don’t do anything stupid!” I have a real problem with obeying authority.

During the 1800’s, silver was discovered in the Weminuche area. The valleys and ridges are still riddled with mines and shafts. While hiking on my own, I discovered a rather large sinkhole. At least I thought that it was a sinkhole. About fifteen feet in diameter and nine feet deep, the random crater in the valley held a certain allure. I didn’t know anyone else on the trip well enough to ask anyone to accompany me. And I knew that the Fearless Leaders would stop me from exploring the crater if I informed them of its presence. Fearing that I would be unable to find the cavity again if I left (my orienteering skills leave something to be desired), I elected to lower myself into the hole and explore.

I soon found a rather dark fissure in one of the walls of the hole: it had been hidden by an overhang. At the time, I was mildly claustrophobic. For a number of reasons, I am now extremely claustrophobic. But once again, the idea of exploring the unknown held a certain allure. I always carry my headlamp on day-hikes. I have been caught too many times on the trail after dark (a consequence of ideas such as these). I did, however, lack two of the critical elements that make spelunking immeasurably safer: a partner and rope.

As though that would influence my actions.

My daypack was a hindrance, so I left it behind, entering the darkness with only my headlamp. The LED light threw small circles of the walls into sharp illumination. I had found my way into a long-abandoned mine. Pyrite ore and quartz glittered wherever the light hit. The tunnel slowly turned, and I followed the walls until the light from the fissure was not even an afterimage in my eyes. I soon found that water had slowly accumulated in the mine. Water reached about my ankles: I could feel the pressure of the liquid about my ankles. The water grew deeper. Soon, my waterproof boots would do no good, and the water would pour over the high edge of the boots. Now, a smart person would say “wow, I’ve seen a really neat mine, but I should probably turn back, so I don’t get soaked.” Even most stupid people would think that.

But not me.

Instead, I thought, “Hey, the tunnel is very narrow. I can use my legs braced against either side to continue exploring and avoid getting wet. So I did. The tunnel got wider. The water got deeper. Soon, my legs were nearly pulled into the splits. And then the tunnel split. For anyone who has never managed to get themselves into this position, let me tell you that it’s pretty damn hard to extract yourself. You can’t move backwards, and trying to get into one of the other tunnels is difficult at best. I tried anyway. I wound up with my left leg knee-deep in ice-cold, filthy water.

By this point, I figured that I was already committed, and decided to slog on anyway. I have no idea why. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, only at the beginning. There was no goal I was striving for beyond some irrational thought that I could “beat” the mine.

I continued, walking through the water when necessary. The tunnel branched, and branched again. This is where the lack of rope really mattered. Remember my earlier comment that my orientation skills need some work? Well, when you’re underground in the pitch dark, soaked to the knees and feeling claustrophobic, it’s a bit hard to find your way. A rope would have at least kept me tethered to an area that I would recognize.

A couple hours passed. After the second hour, I thought about finding my way back to the exit. I was certain that I had correctly tracked which turns I had taken. However, in the darkness, you begin to miss turns and lose track. I got lost.

I began to panic. I had left my daypack outside, so was left without food and water. Dumb move. To counter the rising panic, I convinced myself that the rest of my party would be looking for me. Unfortunately, no one knew where I had gone. So much for convincing myself.

Another hour passed. By this point, I had been in water up to my thighs. My arms will covered in mine dust. My LED light seemed to be fading. Just when I was about to really panic, the paths cleared and I found my way. Light glittered on the pyrite far in the distance. A breath of fresh air lured me onward. I had found the fissure and blessed, glorious freedom.

My bliss was rather short-lived. Remember how this started, with the deep hole? I am only five feet tall. On a good day, I can climb really well, so when I descended into the pit, I had no worries about my height relative to the depth. I was certain that I could climb back up. That’s on a good day. I had just spent several hours soaking wet, lost alone in a mine. And now I was stuck in a pit that I chose to climb down into. To shorten yet another lengthy story, let me just say that I eventually pulled myself out of the sinkhole.

By the way, I was wrong with my assumption that people would come looking for me. It seemed as though my reputation for eccintritcy had convinced them that I was off doing my own thing and didn’t want to be bothered. When I made it back to camp, the Fearless Leaders noticed my rather bedraggled appearance. I somehow doubt my answers to their queries reassured them.

“What have I been doing? Oh, just the usual. Exploring the only truly infinite frontier.”

“What, the universe?”

“Oh no. Human stupidity.”