The last morning of our weekend trip to Southern Oregon, Jim told that me while I’m usually low maintenance, I do occasionally inexplicably and abruptly switch to extreme maintenance. This was after I’d had to change my shirt AND my pants due to breakfast malfunctions. Well, the shirt may have already been stained, we’re not really sure.
It was a good thing I had on nominally clean clothes since we were about to take a detour that led us into the mouth of hell. You can’t meet your certain and terrifying death in dirty clothes.
This particular hellmouth is known as Lava River Cave. And sure, it’s been 100,000 years since molten lava flowed in Lava River Cave, but it must have been very hellish at the time. Let’s say it’s now in a low maintenance phase. Now it’s a one mile self-guided trail, that 3 year old children cheerfully gallop through. For me, though, it was a pit of despair.
Jim was eagerly anticipating the cave walk. Ever since we moved to Oregon he’s had his eye on the lava tubes around these parts. I, however, was terrified in that way that no rational argument can dissuade.
I have learned in these situations that the best path is to accept my fear and complain loudly. Pretending I’m not scared just lets the fear expand inside me. If I babble on and on, loudly and with feeble attempts at humor, some fear leaks out and I can jolly myself into doing the foolish thing, whether it’s a tetanus shot, a walk across a swaying bridge, or leaving blue skies to enter the pit of doom.
Approaching the cave, I accepted I was terrified, lamented loudly about my imminent demise, and made Jim constantly praise my bravery. I pointed out to Jim that just as people questioned the sanity of skydivers jumping out of perfectly good buildings, I questioned the intelligence of people who wanted to leave a sunny Oregon summer day for a sunless tunnel. He just giggled and said, “come on!”
When we got to the ranger station I asked for two lanterns.
“Two?” said the ranger.
“I’m an engineer, I always have a safety margin,” I explained.
Having paid, we walked around back to pick up the lanterns. The second ranger handed us a single lantern.
“We’re getting two,” I said.
“Two?” she asked.
“Engineer!” shouted the first ranger.
“Good idea,” said ranger number two. ”One light source in a cave? No way!”
Ha! I was completely vindicated when a swarm of bats extinguished Jim’s lantern. Yeah, not really. But it did work out much better for the photography to have two lanterns as we could strategically place them. Jim does say that next time he’d want three lights and a tripod.
A half mile into the cave I was even willing to temporarily let go of mine. I spent most of the walk torn between sheer terror and the thrill of exploration. But I did get comfortable enough to read the signs, and help Jim with his attempts to photograph the difficult subject. Ever the California girl, I started worrying about earthquakes, until it occurred to me that the 100,000 year old tube had already seen it’s fair share and made it through alright. On the way back, I wasn’t so scared, as it was now familiar territory, but I did move right along.
Leaving I said, “That was a pleasantly terrifying way to spend a morning.” It had been delicious blend of adrenaline, endorphins from the uphill walk, and the thrill of seeing something rare and special.
On this trip we also went to Crater Lake. It’s darn pretty and not scary at all. You should check it out.
