IRAP Administrator
08-03-2007, 09:58 PM
Near my home in Northern Arkansas there are numerous freshwater lakes that were formed by the deliberate damming and flooding of natural river valleys. This flooding often occurred in areas of extremely exotic geologic diversity, including steeply walled ravines and sheer vertical walls perforated with crevasses and caves. All those formations are now flooded and difficult to "re-discover".
Finding them and exploring them is a worthwhile and often rewarding endeavor, but it puts demands on the diver that are often unique to the environment and can be challenging to the point of extreme danger. My first excursion into the overhead environment was in one such place. And for several reasons it was very nearly my last. One afternoon I was doing some spearfishing around a small island that was in fact the top of a steep walled hill that descended into the old river channel some 170' below. During that dive I discovered the opening of a fairly sizeable cave. I had no lights on that dive and did not attempt to explore beyond poking my head in, but I immediately began contemplating a penetration dive.
Eventually I did return with a few friends who were willing to tend the boat and offer "surface support", but I was not as successful at recruiting any volunteers to accompany me into the cave itself. I had never dove in an overhead environment before and had no knowledge of proper procedures or equipment for such a dive, but even then I could hear that little voice in my head telling me to leave it alone, but I just had to go anyway.
I stride into the water and shortly came upon the mouth of the cave. The visibility in open water was less than 20' that day and as usual the water had that eerie green tint to it. I was fully accustomed to low visibility and had logged many dives in far worse conditions than that. But I was not prepared for NO vis.
I switched on my light and entered the cave. The passage was very generous in it's vertical dimension but was uncomfortably narrow from the beginning. This was as I had expected and was consistent with most of the areas' dry caves that I had seen. I pointed the beam of my light downward and was momentarily startled by the fact that I could still see light coming from the passage ahead! Having covered my light completely It was very faint but unmistakable. I paused there for another moment and let my eyes adjust further. Up ahead there was a bizarre "cat's eye" shaped glow (that would later inspire me to name the cave after it) that revealed the fact that this passage cut all the way through the island! My excitement at the prospect of being able to pass through the very heart of the island kept me from realizing some of the problems developing around me at that very moment. I paid only passing attention to the brown blizzard of algal ceiling percolation that was beginning to catch up with me.
Even though the passage was now so narrow that I had to turn 45* to the side in order to make any headway at all, I could see that there was a much wider area ahead if I could only make it past one final restriction immediately in front of me. I sized it up and decided that it was tight but passable. I was wrong.
I gave myself a final shove and felt the walls of the cave dig into my rig and I came to an abrupt halt. I twisted and turned and wiggled in every direction, but it was useless. Clearly I had reached the end of my forward progress, and within sight of the exit on the other side of the island! I was extremely disappointed for sure, but I didn't get much time to wallow in self pity. In mere moments I would be fighting simultaneously against some of my most primal fears.
It became obvious that there would be no turning around so I began trying to push myself back the way I came. But I was stuck from both directions. I got the opportunity to grunt and twist a couple more times unsuccessfully before the brown blizzard hit and literally blocked out all light. The slimy brown algae had been growing all over the walls and ceiling since the cave was flooded and my exhaust bubbles were bringing nearly half a century of it down all at once. I was blind, stuck in a restriction, and the people on the surface were all non-divers and might as well have been a thousand miles away.
There was one positive aspect of the situation though. It had the effect of capturing my undivided attention! I was probably as close to panic at that moment as I have ever been since. But I closed my eyes and forced myself to just breathe and think. I kept telling myself "I got in, I can get out." over and over again. By venting some of the air from my B.C., I finally slipped free and was able to begin the slow, deliberate backward crawl out of the cave. Every few moments I would allow myself to sneak a peek below and behind me toward the exit, quickly closing my eyes again if they failed to detect light.
After what seemed like an eternity there came a time when one of my backward glances detected that familiar eerie green glow of open water, and I practically ejected myself from that cave like a cannon ball! After pausing for a moment to get a hold of myself, I glanced down at my pressure gauge: 400 psi left in a single Al 80. Most of my ascent was spent giving thanks to a merciful God who looks after fools and small children!
Through experience and study I have since learned that most or all of the events of that awful experience could have been avoided entirely. But to anyone who may find themselves in a similar environment for the first time, please remember that very few of these caves are springs. They are dry caves formed by totally different processes that just happened to have been in an area that was flooded by the actions of Mankind. There is almost never any detectable flow and all visibility WILL BE LOST on your way out. One of many lessons I learned that day was that the passage ahead of you is never quite as wide as it looks!
Finding them and exploring them is a worthwhile and often rewarding endeavor, but it puts demands on the diver that are often unique to the environment and can be challenging to the point of extreme danger. My first excursion into the overhead environment was in one such place. And for several reasons it was very nearly my last. One afternoon I was doing some spearfishing around a small island that was in fact the top of a steep walled hill that descended into the old river channel some 170' below. During that dive I discovered the opening of a fairly sizeable cave. I had no lights on that dive and did not attempt to explore beyond poking my head in, but I immediately began contemplating a penetration dive.
Eventually I did return with a few friends who were willing to tend the boat and offer "surface support", but I was not as successful at recruiting any volunteers to accompany me into the cave itself. I had never dove in an overhead environment before and had no knowledge of proper procedures or equipment for such a dive, but even then I could hear that little voice in my head telling me to leave it alone, but I just had to go anyway.
I stride into the water and shortly came upon the mouth of the cave. The visibility in open water was less than 20' that day and as usual the water had that eerie green tint to it. I was fully accustomed to low visibility and had logged many dives in far worse conditions than that. But I was not prepared for NO vis.
I switched on my light and entered the cave. The passage was very generous in it's vertical dimension but was uncomfortably narrow from the beginning. This was as I had expected and was consistent with most of the areas' dry caves that I had seen. I pointed the beam of my light downward and was momentarily startled by the fact that I could still see light coming from the passage ahead! Having covered my light completely It was very faint but unmistakable. I paused there for another moment and let my eyes adjust further. Up ahead there was a bizarre "cat's eye" shaped glow (that would later inspire me to name the cave after it) that revealed the fact that this passage cut all the way through the island! My excitement at the prospect of being able to pass through the very heart of the island kept me from realizing some of the problems developing around me at that very moment. I paid only passing attention to the brown blizzard of algal ceiling percolation that was beginning to catch up with me.
Even though the passage was now so narrow that I had to turn 45* to the side in order to make any headway at all, I could see that there was a much wider area ahead if I could only make it past one final restriction immediately in front of me. I sized it up and decided that it was tight but passable. I was wrong.
I gave myself a final shove and felt the walls of the cave dig into my rig and I came to an abrupt halt. I twisted and turned and wiggled in every direction, but it was useless. Clearly I had reached the end of my forward progress, and within sight of the exit on the other side of the island! I was extremely disappointed for sure, but I didn't get much time to wallow in self pity. In mere moments I would be fighting simultaneously against some of my most primal fears.
It became obvious that there would be no turning around so I began trying to push myself back the way I came. But I was stuck from both directions. I got the opportunity to grunt and twist a couple more times unsuccessfully before the brown blizzard hit and literally blocked out all light. The slimy brown algae had been growing all over the walls and ceiling since the cave was flooded and my exhaust bubbles were bringing nearly half a century of it down all at once. I was blind, stuck in a restriction, and the people on the surface were all non-divers and might as well have been a thousand miles away.
There was one positive aspect of the situation though. It had the effect of capturing my undivided attention! I was probably as close to panic at that moment as I have ever been since. But I closed my eyes and forced myself to just breathe and think. I kept telling myself "I got in, I can get out." over and over again. By venting some of the air from my B.C., I finally slipped free and was able to begin the slow, deliberate backward crawl out of the cave. Every few moments I would allow myself to sneak a peek below and behind me toward the exit, quickly closing my eyes again if they failed to detect light.
After what seemed like an eternity there came a time when one of my backward glances detected that familiar eerie green glow of open water, and I practically ejected myself from that cave like a cannon ball! After pausing for a moment to get a hold of myself, I glanced down at my pressure gauge: 400 psi left in a single Al 80. Most of my ascent was spent giving thanks to a merciful God who looks after fools and small children!
Through experience and study I have since learned that most or all of the events of that awful experience could have been avoided entirely. But to anyone who may find themselves in a similar environment for the first time, please remember that very few of these caves are springs. They are dry caves formed by totally different processes that just happened to have been in an area that was flooded by the actions of Mankind. There is almost never any detectable flow and all visibility WILL BE LOST on your way out. One of many lessons I learned that day was that the passage ahead of you is never quite as wide as it looks!