Cave Women

Personally, I think Robin and I are ready to grace the front of a Wheaties box. If this picture doesn’t scream “Breakfast of Champions!” I don’t know what does.

Ok, perhaps I jest. But there is something about putting on a wetsuit, a helmet (complete with its own torch), and adventuring through a cave that does make one feel a bit inspired.

Accomplishment number one: putting on said wetsuit, when it was still wet from an earlier run through the caves. If you’ve never experienced this particular joy yourself, the sensation of putting on a waterlogged wetsuit is not pleasant. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that it’s downright nasty. It’s cold and rubbery and feels like you’re trying to put on another layer of skin that disagrees heartily with you. Robin caught this, um, charming picture of me as I pulled up the bib top of my wetsuit. I assure you it was as clammy and cold as the rest of the suit.

Accomplishment number two: facing the more frightening cave critters. Ok, I’ll admit that this wasn’t the worst thing ever. In fact, it was pretty easy to avoid the frightening cave critters altogether, and frankly, they weren’t that scary. But we did see a weta, a sizable cave-dwelling spider that looks like it popped directly out of the fourth Harry Potter flick as soon as we entered the Ruakuri Cave in Waitomo. (Robin was none-too-pleased by its presence.) And though we thought our guide was joking, there was in fact an eel waiting to greet us in one area of the cave. For some reason, that gave me the willies, and I proceeded to squeak whenever someone in our rafting group shouted “eel” to me throughout our adventure.

Accomplishment number three: black water rafting. Robin sent me an email that listed several things we could tackle prior to my trip to New Zealand, and this was one that made my “must” list. Ostensibly, we simply “tubed in a cave.” Yet, there was a bit more to the black water rafting than simple tubing. We did a bit of hiking through the cave river, which was tricky at times. Although you have a torch on your helmet, you often can’t see your footing through the darkness of the water. Rocks jut up out of nowhere and if you’re not careful, you may just take a nasty dive and injure yourself. (For all of you who are privy to my more clumsy exploits past, I am pleased to say that I emerged from this particular venture without incident!) We also got to jump off some waterfalls that were 3-4 meters in height. They weren’t particularly daunting in comparison with the waterfalls that Robin and Rich had already conquered weeks earlier whilst canyoning, but we still heard our guides give the warning: “Make sure you jump far enough away from the fall so you avoid the undertow, but not so far that you hit these rocks . . .”

Accomplishment number four: singing in a cave. It’s a funny thing, but as soon as I told anyone in New Zealand that I taught choir here in the states, I was asked, “Are you going to sing us a song then?” Ordinarily, I don’t feel stage fright. I love to entertain an audience from a stage either as a soloist or part of a choir. I like the adrenaline rush and the thrill of live performance. Yet, when asked to do this human to human, without the distance an audience and performance space, without a character to play or a planned program, suddenly it’s the most daunting thing in the world. My mind blanks, my pulse rushes, and though I nearly always have a soundtrack running through my head, I can’t think of a song. I feel like a stunned child, paralyzed in the moment, struggling through the far reaches of my mind. What can I sing? Why can’t I think of any songs that I know??? Then I proceed to berate myself for not being able to think of any songs since having a catalogue of songs in my brain is so much a part of who I am at every other juncture of my life that I often sing bits of songs when people utter phrases from them in ordinary conversation. Thankfully, I was able to pull a verse of the Irish folk song “The Salley Gardens” out of the recesses of my brain. So while floating through the river, helmet torches dimmed, and only the light from the glowworms above to light our way, I sang. It was a frightening moment personally--Robin had built me up to the rest of our caving group, and I was loathe to disappoint. But regardless of what others thought of my singing, I enjoyed a moment of personal satisfaction both while singing and afterwards. The acoustics in the cave were stunning. (I should sing in caves more often!) And I take great pride in the fact that I was able to share something I find intensely personal in a truly unique situation.

As mentioned above, we also saw one of New Zealand’s natural beauties while in the cave: glowworms. From the water below, we stared up at the dazzling light of what looked to be thousands of glittering stars above us. In reality, the glowworm is an ugly, gooey little larva, made pretty by its bioluminescence, which, as our caving guide pointed out, is really just glowing fecal matter used to capture its prey. However, knowing the truth about our little friend, arachnocampa luminosa, could not diminish the beauty of the little buggers. They are truly a sight to behold.

Perhaps the only downside to the adventure was the chilling cold. However, this was nothing that a hot shower, followed by hot soup and a toasted bagel, couldn’t fix. Would I do it all again? In a heart beat! Perhaps next time we’ll add in some repelling for an added thrill!