Being underground is where it’s at

Whether it’s driving through a tunnel, walking into a cave or riding a coal train into a mine, I love going deep beneath the ground.

Going underground gets such a bad rap. Hell is below us, organized crime is referred to as the underworld and we bury trash.

Still, I’m fascinated with what is underneath the earth’s surface. Whether it’s driving through a tunnel, walking into a cave or riding a coal train into a mine, I love going deep beneath the ground.

I first entered a cave in South Dakota at Wind Cave National Park. That subterranean visit was an eye opener.

Those much younger than me know little about vinyl albums, Ronald Reagan or clothespins. And they probably wouldn’t understand why I so enjoyed viewing Wind Cave stone work resembling intricate post office boxes. The formations were deep underground, in the roof above us. Box work is delicate, seemingly man made, but a gift of nature.

Like many natural features, including that peculiar box work in caves, water slowly changes the topography. While stalactites drop from a cave’s ceiling and stalagmites rise from the floor, both are formed by dripping water.

And it’s pooled water deep underground that makes Luray Caverns in Virginia worth the trip. Sometimes it’s tough to differentiate the masses of water from the walls. Several Luray Caverns pools or ponds perfectly and beautifully reflect the ceiling and walls above, since there’s little wind deep underground.

Luray also features a pipe organ playing an eerie tune. Piano-like hammers tap stone of various sizes, while producing distinct notes. The music made underground at Luray is way cooler than the constant temperatures in the fifties.

During every tour, guides turn off the lights. This might be the only time we ever experience full and total darkness. In Luray, the guide laughed when telling us that even with a power failure we’d be able to get out by the light of our cell phones.

Maybe it’s the bats living in caves making us the most squeamish. From inches away, I closely examined a sleeping bat in a Kentucky cave. My fears were groundless, though I was scared that she would wake up and fly into my hair.

I was again scared, and my fears were magnified, at Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico. More than a hundred of us watched hundreds of thousands of bats take to the air at dusk. The mass of bats resembled cartoonlike bees chasing a cartoon character. Nothing that night landed on anybody’s head.

Earlier that evening, we’d first heard screeches and the flap of bat wings from a pair of microphones placed deep within the caverns as those amazing creatures neared the surface.

Overall, the scariest part of Carlsbad was imagining a power failure while the elevator whisked us in a minute’s time to a depth of 750 feet. I don’t think the light from my cell phone light would have helped me if the elevator had stopped half way.

In Nicaragua, we got even closer to flying bats as they left volcanic tunnels in search of insects just after dark. As we stood 5 feet from a hole in the ground, bats flew a fraction of an inch from us. We could intensely hear and feel bats guided by natural radar. Surprisingly, I had no fear, while photos taken with a flash show bats flying directly at us.

Kentucky’s Mammoth Cave is well—mammoth— but still not big enough that I didn’t almost bump my head a couple of times. They call those babies headache rocks.

AT Pinnacles National Park in California I toured the caves on my own. A stream ran through the volcanic rock. I was on my own and carried a flashlight. Thankfully, the batteries did not go dead.

In Northern Pennsylvania, I once, and it will likely be the last time, went spelunking with just a battery powered flashlight and headset for illumination.

We crawled through gaps, little wider than us, on our bellies. I came out filthy dirty and was thankful to not get stuck.

Also in Pennsylvania, I’ve walked above the Northeast Extension of the turnpike along the Appalachian Trail. On a mountain ridge high above the roadway, we jokingly put our ears to the ground, while unsuccessfully listening for traffic racing through the tunnel below us. We knew we wouldn’t be able to feel cars like you can feel a train from far away when placing your head on the rails.

A coal mining tour at Pioneer Tunnel Coal Mine, in Ashland, took us deep underground. The coal bin train traveled on a level course as we tunneled deep into Mahanoy Mountain.

The joy experienced on previous cave adventures was tempered by the realization that coal mining is not scenic or fun and games, but rather a dangerous and tough job.

It’s way cool. You ride a boat around Penn’s Cave in Centre Hall. There’s even a beaver that lives beneath the surface and can find his way around when the lights are turned off.

When the time comes, plant me 6 feet under. Please make sure I’m upright so I can watch the grass grow from the roots. Looks like I’ll be spending eternity underground, but you won’t hear me complaining.