It was probably in the fall of 1963.  I was in college and our trail club was on a day trip to Baldwin’s Hill, a collection of about twenty small caves and grottoes in a wooded lot on a farm near Front Royal, VA 

 

We did a lot of spelunking then, and these grottoes made a great training trip to break in new members.  I was among the “Elite”, those with lots of experience in the outdoors and indoors (caves).  Although this was my first trip to Baldwin’s Hill. 

 

There were about six of us Elite members of the club on this trip.  The other dozen participants were newbies on their first caving trip.  We Elite stood in the middle of the group and poured water from our canteens into the filler caps of our helmet mounted Carbide Lamps, bringing curious stares from the newbies. Then as the water slowly dripped into the lower chamber and mixed with the calcium carbide, acetylene was released through the nozzle.  Cupping our hands over the parabolic reflectors, we took turns pulling our hands across the flint strikers, igniting the lamps with loud pops. 

 

The newbies watched in awe at our bright lamps with their fascinating inch long white flame.  Of course, we did not tell the newbies about the calcium carbide.  We just let them think we were using water-powered lights.  They tested their hand held flashlights.

 

None of the grottoes is very big, so we split up into smaller groups going different directions on the surface and began seeking dark holes in the ground.  The grotto my group entered had a low crawl followed by a bend and then a long drop soon after the entrance, nothing difficult.  You just had to keep three points of contact to keep from falling.  We all descended without incident and had our fun exploring the few hundred feet of level passage at the bottom and headed back out.

 

One newbie, a young lady whom I will call Linda because I can’t remember her name or face, had exhibited a few signs of claustrophobia in spite of our assurances, so we decided to let her go out first.

 

I followed right behind, helping with verbal kindness and climbing advice she had no hope of comprehending.

 

There is nothing wrong with the feelings she was experiencing, she simply had to believe they were normal for a beginner. Then she would be able to control the fear. 

 

It hit her while climbing up that entrance slope as it got narrow enough that you could not straighten out both arms in opposite directions at the same time.  Above that spot, it got narrower.  I guess gravity had moved her down on the way in, but now she had to use her muscles to pull her up.  However, those muscles were now shaking with fear and she could go up no further, nor could she come back down.

 

I remembered the summer of 1960, when I had the opportunity to take mountain climbing lessons in Grand Teton National Park.  My guide was Glen Exum, a world-renowned climber.  The climbing school was established by him and was named after him.  People came from other countries just to climb with him.  I had read his book, and here I was taking climbing lessons from him.  He lived up to his billings and my expectations. 

 

There were about eight or ten students under his tutelage on that day.  Several had never climbed anything harder than a ladder before.  Our group’s ages ran from twelve to fifty, with me at seventeen.

 

He started us out on level ground and taught us to trust the belaying rope by having us tie in and just lean back against the rope being belayed by a fellow classmate.  Then he put us on a gentle slope and taught us to trust the belaying rope the same way, leaning down hill against the safe belay. 

 

Later in the day, after gradually increased exposure to steeper grades, each and every one of us was able to climb a vertical cliff because we trusted the belaying rope.  We knew that if we lost our grip on the mountain, that our climbing partner would arrest our fall in the safest manner.  At the end of the day, we all rappelled down a forty-foot overhanging cliff without letting our fear interfere.

 

So here I was, the “Elite” helping the Newbie, and I had done it all wrong.  There was no way to get around her to help pull her up from above.  There was no way to get eye contact with her to reassure her.  I could not even shine my light up where it would help her see handholds. 

 

Glen Exum would have gradually introduced her to the darkness of caves with a walk-in cave first.  He would have introduced her to climbing where she could see what she was doing, on the surface, in the sunlight.  By the time she was in that tight slope up toward the entrance, she would have felt comfortable knowing it was similar to other things she had already done. 

 

I eventually got my hands under her boot soles and gave gentle but firm support.  She began to relax, knowing that her feet were not going to slip.  She did get herself out of that cave, and after a while, entered a couple other grottoes. She did it on her own determination, not because of a good teacher. 

 

You think this story is over, don’t you?  But wait, there’s more.

 

On that same afternoon, I was with a different group in a grotto called Baldwin’s Squeeze.  There is a passage in that cave that only experienced cavers should attempt and we had reached the beginning of that passage.  I was going to try it while the others waited in this standing room chamber about ten minutes from the entrance of the cave. 

 

The “Squeeze” is a slab of rock that has separated from the ceiling and dropped leaving a shelf over its top leading away from the chamber.  The height of the cavity above the shelf starts out about two feet high and six feet wide, definitely a crawl way, but easy to start into.  It is low enough to keep you on your stomach but high enough to allow you to raise your helmeted head to see where you are going.  Then it gradually gets lower, the further you go back into it.

 

The object for the explorer is to reach the other end of the shelf where it opens up into another chamber, then turn around and come back, or explore beyond the chamber.  The important thing is to be able to say you have done the “Squeeze”. 

 

Since I was the only one attempting the squeeze this time, I planned to return right away in keeping with the first rule of safe spelunking, “Never cave alone.”  The squeeze is only about forty feet long, so I would be within voice contact of my companions waiting in the first chamber.  

 

The challenge of the squeeze is that the floor and ceiling get gradually closer together the further you crawl.  You first start to notice it as your helmet bangs the ceiling more often when you look up to check your progress.  Eventually, it gets too tight vertically to allow raising your head, so you turn your head sideways to allow you to see where you are going. 

 

Crawling is strenuous exercise, especially with your belt buckle never getting more than an inch off the ground.  I don’t know how lizards do it, walking, even running with front and back legs out from the sides of the body.  You are using a lot of energy, so you are breathing hard.

 

Soon, it gets so tight your helmet is too wide at the brim to fit sideways on your head.  You take your helmet off and set it down ahead of you.  You push it forward with one hand, the carbide lamp mounted on the helmet still showing the way.

 

Then it happens!  You take a breath and pull yourself forward as you exhale.  In that one foot of progress, the space between the floor and ceiling has closed just a tiny bit more.  When you inhale for your next desperately needed lung full of air, your lungs expand.  Your chest is already on the floor so your back has to rise.  Your shoulder blades hit the ceiling.  Your reptilian reflex brain takes over.  You are about to be trapped by something.  You need to get your muscles ready for a dash to escape. 

 

These thought do not occur to you in words.  Your brain just assumes there is no time to analyze the situation.  You rapidly inhale.... Bad move.  There is no room for your lungs to expand any further, but the muscles in charge of that task don’t give up.  Your shoulder blades feel the pressure of the ceiling above.  Without saying the words, consciously in your mind, you believe that the tons of rock above you are collapsing on you.  Fear says you must fight or flee right now.  For that, you need more oxygen... so “INHALE, YOU FOOL.”  The panic begins.

 

Then the conscious mind remembers what you were told by a fellow “Elite” who had done Baldwin’s Squeeze, that you would encounter this.  It has been less than two seconds since you began to inhale this time.  It has seemed like a minute.  Your lungs report that you have been holding your breath for that imaginary minute. 

 

You force yourself to exhale, all of it.  The ceiling pulls back away from its terrifying grip.  You start taking shallow breaths, never filling your lungs all the way.  This is what your friend told you in that casual comment last week when you asked about the squeeze. 

 

I was able to continue crawling to the chamber at the far end.  That is, I got my upper torso into it.  But my buttocks would not clear the last inch of the squeeze, no matter how hard I wriggled.

 

I retraced that tightness back to my friends, feet first.  If anyone asks, I “did the Squeeze”.  If any one asks, I felt the fear.  When I thought about it this is what I had learned in those two incidents that day.  I did not remember Linda’s real name or face, but I remembered her boot soles.  And I wanted to become a teacher like Glen Exum.

 

                       -- Bob Kuhns