Norskie's Blog

Day 7: The Cavern

I know the Cavern tours don't start until 8:30 so I sleep in until 7am. I't strange not having to pack. A little oatmeal (ok two packets!) and two cups of coffee with morning temperatures around 70F are a luxury. My backpack gets packed with fleece (the cavern is 56F) and water and snacks and I'm off.
The road from Whites City to the Caverns is a twisty 6.8 miles of blacktop with a typically artificially low 40mph park speed. There are some exhibits to read regarding the native inhabitants, but it still doesn't take me long to get there. I sign up for the 10am guided tour to the Kings Palace, and since it's only 8:45am I hike the 1.2 miles down the natural entrance (there are elevators). Once in the rest area I have some time to relax and each some eat mixed nuts before going on the guided tour. After the tour I hike the last loop, the Big Room, also about 1.2 miles, then return to the surface via the elevator. In the visitor's center there is more information about the cavern's creation, features, and history. By 2pm I'm finished and return to the campsite.

The cavern itself is huge. I spent four hours 800+ feet below the surface and didn't dally much. There are a variety of formations varying size and shapes. I don't know if any of my photos turned out, you can probably find some online. There isn't much color variation in the cave - mostly limestone tan and some gypsum white. The colors aren't as impressive as the Lewis and Clark Caverns in Montana, but the size is what makes it special. There is also a newly discovered cave that branches out from Carlsbad Cavern called Lechuguilla Cave. Only scientists are allowed into that cave. The visitor's center has an exhibit with photos from that cave, and the colors and formations far surpass anything underground that I've seen. It is quite impressive.

Back and the campground I prepare lunch (clam chowder) and type away at some of these notes. While at it, a new camp-neighbor stops by and introduces himself as Dave and wants to know if I can lend him some salt for his eggs. MRE's come with salt packets so I give him one. Later he comes over with half of a melon and a plastic spoon, saying he can't eat the whole melon and it'll go to waste unless I want it. We start chatting and I learn he's from San Antonio, on his way to Durango (Colorado) for a mountain-bike tour. He's never been to caverns but mentions that he'd be interested in seeing the bats fly out tonight, so I ask if I hitch a ride with him in his truck, and he agrees. At about that time a rider pulls into camp on a fuel-injected Harley Davidson tourer. He introduces himself as Mike, and apparently Dave and Mike already known each other from a construction stop near Van Horn earlier in the day. Mike is from Ontario, Canada, and just got back from Big Bend National Park.

Dave and I watch the bats fly out of the cave. At about 8:05pm they start coming out, and then continue to come out. They come out in spurts and the park rangers indicated that there are about 400,000 bats and when they come out like this it might take hours. Usually there are a million bats, but due to the 11-year drought there aren't enough insects for the bats to feed on. When it gets dark Dave and I head back to the campground. Apparently he had forgotten that we're in New Mexico, not Texas, and was about to enjoy a beer on the way back to camp. Personally I think he's and idiot. Other than being generally slow, he's a sign-painter. Note: I took a bunch of photos of the bats coming out but none turned out. On the photos, there are no bats to be seen!

Back at camp I make dinner and pack as much as I can in preparation for the next day. I see that Mike is studying his maps, and I grab my last two beers and head over to his table. I can't resist maps either. We discuss routes for him and I before it gets late.

I head to the restroom for the last time that night and on the wall are two scorpions. They're tan, about two inches long. Hm... The stinger is too puffy, I bet they're just molts. They don't seem to be moving and I'm not about to poke one to find out it's not a molt. Interesting nonetheless.

I expect tomorrow to be the worst day. It's sort like watching a pot boil, or driving the last few miles home after a long trip. Every mile seems like it takes forever. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. And so on. Tomorrow will be like that, 450 miles of dry hot flat Texas, with nothing to distract me from counting these last few miles.