Down Down to Goblin Town

It's unusual for me to volunteer to go into a hole in the ground.  Between adult-onset claustrophobia, a fear of undiscovered mole-people, and a healthy desire to avoid millions of tons of rock directly overhead, spelunking is not a cherished hobby of mine.  There may or may not also be unresolved issues with the Hobbit cartoon from the 80s and my father randomly singing the goblin song when I was a kid.  Add in an unpredictably cranky four-year-old and I'm more than happy to stay home, safely near snacks, air, and Octonauts.

However, I now live within a two-hour drive of one of the most famous cave systems in North America.  By the laws of homeschool it was a requirement that I go.  That's how, after a month of studying types of caves, formations, ecosystems and all things speleological, I packed up the cranky four-year-old and her sisters and headed two hours northeast to Carlsbad Caverns*.

*Be warned.  There is just about NOTHING between El Paso and Carlsbad.  That includes bathrooms.  So dehydrate, or be willing to go behind a most-likely abandoned building.*

Just past the Guadalupe Mountains, we turned off onto a winding two-lane road that twists through a series of hills covered in cactus and creosote.  At this point, all we could see was desert, stretching off in every direction, and the visitor's center.  There was nothing else.  There was certainly nothing to suggest a massive network of caves just below our feet.  After we were checked into the visitor's center, we were offered a choice: take the elevator down 800 feet to the Big Room, or take the longer, steeper, more exerting route through the natural mouth of the cave.  Since anything worth doing is worth doing more painfully and dangerously, we chose the second option.

A little path took us past a bored guard who gave us the "Good Tourist" spiel--no gum or food of any kind, pee before you go because it's a long walk, don't touch or lick the stalagmites--and suddenly the mouth of the cave yawned open in front of us.  It was enormous.  Cave swallows flitted around their nests, completely unconcerned with the people trekking down the steep switchbacks into the darkness below.  After a couple of pictures, including one of the very comforting sign warning about radiation levels in the cave, we started our descent.

The temperature dropped quickly.  The caverns stay a temperate 56 degrees F year round.  In the middle of a Texas summer, however, it took a great deal of cajoling and ultimately tyranny to make sure everyone was dressed appropriately--long pants, a sweater, and closed-toed shoes.  Once we were in the cave, the complaining stopped.  Shocking.

The first part of the caves are pretty dark.  The paths are lit just enough to prevent lawsuits, and there are hand rails to keep you from imminent broken ankles, but we still spent the majority of the descent looking down at our feet. In a flash of brilliance, I had requested that Echo wear her light-up sneakers--she was incredibly easy to find for the next four hours.

I only have one kid who really struggled with claustrophobia.  She fights the good fight against anxiety anyway, and I didn't exactly do her any favors dragging her underground.  During the descent she asked constantly about seismic activity, and what we would do in the event of an earthquake or if the ceiling fell in. Just when she was on the verge of a full blown panic attack, Echo looked up calmly.

"Where it's darkest is where you have to be bravest."

I was impressed with her young wisdom and compassion.  I should have waited for her to finish.

"...Especially if you're behind." Then she proceeded to talk about the cave collapsing in great detail for the next ten minutes.

Sisters are the best.

Anyway, once we wound our way into the main caverns, everyone stopped worrying about imminent crushing death.  It was incredible, an alien world of stone and water and the occasional memorial marker to the crazy people who mostly lived while initially exploring these caves.  It was marginally more illuminated than the walk down. I didn't count the pictures I took, but it was easily in the hundreds and none of them did the place justice. Below are just a handful. Even when I returned with my brother and sister and their kids (bringing our total up to 3 adults, 11 kids between the ages of 1 and 16), I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  Frankly, I'm just impressed that we didn't lose a kid either time.

One of my favorite parts was the elevator.  It counts down your 800-foot ascent, and also cheerfully warns you not to jump or you risk breaking the elevator *insert ominous music*.  In a brilliant marketing stroke, the elevator--the only exit from the caves-- opens directly into one of two gift shops, replete with stuffed bats, posters, and informational books. (The second shop focuses more on crystals, candy, and more generically New Mexico stuff.) Do yourself a favor and don't spend $10 on two disappointing tacos or a sandwich at the cafe. 

We didn't stay for the bats, but I've heard it's pretty cool to watch them leave at twilight.  I believe they are active between May and October.  If you choose to go, know that for the foreseeable future they are excessively paranoid and require masking and reservations made at least a day in advance of your trip.  As holes go, this one's pretty spectacular and worth the inconvenience.  Fully recommend.

Ho ho, my lad.