Cow
Bottom time: 2:15
Max depth: 109'
Visibility: as far as your light will shine
Deco: :05 @ 20'
Flow: extremely low
Preface:
Having now reached the end of my holiday vacation, I had but one more dive I needed to do. That would be Cow Springs. I saved this one for last since it is without a doubt the best cave in the Suwannee area since sliced bread. Some would argue that scootering the Courtyard area around 5000' in Madison Blue is better. Been there. But I won't debate their reasons because they are wrong. Cow is the best.
From my previous trip reports on the forum as of late, frequent readers will no doubt understand why this trip report will be the longest and most descriptive I have written. To do anything less would be an injustice to Cow and its unique and regal stature as the Jewel of Mayo. Interspersed within the timeline of all the other trips I posted were frequent forays into the Devil's system. All of these were mostly DPV dives and involved more or less a mechanical feel with travelling known routes or attempting to accomplish a specific task (otherwise known as goal-diving).
A solo trip back to Mainland after exploring new areas (to me) of Jackson Blue...
Doing the 'Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs' (AKA Mainline, Roller Coaster, Main Line, Double Domes, Hiller Tunnel, Hill 400 Line, Main Line Exit) before the CDF Social...
SM gear 'checkout dive' through the Lips Bypass, on to July Spring, then turn around and wander through The Catacombs before lights out drill up the Devil's Eye exit...
'Stop and Shop' trip to the White Room, get back on the DPV and find parking near the Wonder Tunnel, swim to EOL, get back in the car and drive to River Intrusion Tunnel, swim around a little, then head back along the mainline, stopping one last time after the keyhole passage to check out the Pink Floyd section on the left (unnamed on the map, but reminds me of the Dark Side of The Moon, an especially perfect album if ever there was one).
None of these dives were remarkable enough to warrant a magnum opus dive report, thus I stowed them in my memory to be recalled later, if ever. But Cow has always captured a special place in my soul, partly because I cut my teeth gaining valuable experience there when I began my abbreviated cave diving career. Having suffered through 2 hour dives in a 5mm wetsuit… while breathing nothing but air…in the middle of February…at 2am in the morning…and hitting 30’ deco stop (no O2, just air again) in 60 degree tannen-laden flood water… gives me an appreciation for Cow not many other divers are willing to endure. Thus, when I write about Cow, I wax nostalgic often and digress into long past memories of the dives I’ve once done. Forgive me this one indulgence and I hope you enjoy the report as much as I did the dive.
Part 3 (and Finale) to the trilogy “Coming To Terms With My Addiction”
January 3rd, 2012
As much as I deplore the act of driving, my reluctance to battle on the rural roads of North Florida was tempered with the expectation that what lay at the end of the road was the possibility for tranquility. Thus I began my day in high spirits and brought along a few appropriate CDs to cope with the 2 hour drive from Lake Geneva to Mayo.
I arrived at Dive Outpost just as the final coda of Watermelon In Easter Hay (Frank Zappa) began slowly fading out. Stepping out of the jeep, I was instantly reminded of the cruel irony of diving during this time of the year: The bitter cold often leaves dive sites empty, allowing me unfettered access to the caves. Perhaps the enjoyment of the actual dive is inversely proportional to the harshness endured preparing for the dive. It was a little after noon and even though the sun had been out, it mattered not one bit to the icy breeze that followed me into the dive shop. At least it was warm in here. A few divers were leaving just as I arrived and I spoke with a couple of the resident canines, who kept yelling at me-and everyone else, for that matter- for no apparent reason than that I should pet them and give them a treat, for which they certainly did not deserve. Or maybe they just wanted me to SHUT THE DAMN DOOR (what the hell, you born in a barn?!-they were likely thinking). I did so and spoke with the man and women operating the shop. Though they gave me their names- and I, mine- my mind wandered to the dive that lay ahead. I picked up a few maps and handed them my CDS card, telling them I had no Abe Davis sticker.
Though they probably didn’t know me, perhaps they assumed my experience in the cave by the way I described my planned dive so they would know what time to call the recovery divers, if needed. Either way, I filled out the paperwork and offered my thanks, while they wished me a great dive. I climbed back into the jeep and departed, finding my Wish You Were Here (Pink Floyd) CD, and promptly cranking the volume up to 11 for the drive to Cow. I was told that I was the only diver that had made it out there today so I was especially excited, knowing the solitude of the area only enhances the dive. After securing the gate, I parked and made the obligatory exploratory walk down to the basin, which was covered in duckweed. The vivid greenness of the surface stood in sharp contrast to the brown and wintery landscape, as if demarcating the line between the bleak present and the glorious past, which, for me, was right below the surface in azure water. The air temperature seemed to drop even further and I silently cursed myself for not having the presence of mind to bring one of tanks down to the basin. I then laughed aloud at the thought: I was in no hurry to get in the water and was going to savor every moment of this dive, including the preparation.
I grabbed a nearby fallen branch and while carefully stepping across the exposed limerock entryway, I managed to scrape away the thin layer of duckweed from the shore. Cow has a way of letting you know immediately what you can expect when you arrive. The duckweed parted and revealed the crystal clear water below. I could see the dive log from its top all the way to the sandy bottom. It was telling me that this dive would indeed be special.
I left the jeep running so that I could take breaks in the heated cabin while I set up my gear. My hands had already grown slightly numb from the water while I unloaded my double 120s and AL80 buddy and ST72 oxygen bottles. I left the passenger window open so that I could still hear the rhapsody from Rick Wright and David Gilmour, their exquisite aural manifesto filling the woods with synthesizer and guitar while I assembled my dive gear. After piecing all the components together, I was now ready to start shuttling gear down to the water. But not before the title song finished. I stood outside and drank from my water bottle. For no reason other than that I could, I just walked around the parking area sipping and listening, just killing time. The song faded away and I hit pause, for anyone who has ever heard this album knows you cannot faithfully listen to the last song with interruptions. I now began the methodical and arduous task of taking my tanks and fins down to the water. It was really getting cold now, and after allowing my tanks, fins, and reel, to glide gently under the surface to rest on the limestone shelf, I began shivering. Time to make the donuts, as they say…
After donning my drysuit, and having all my other gear readied on the park bench, I climbed back into the Jeep for one last soliloquy before entering the water. I sat in the front seat and emptied my coffee thermos into my cup while I lit up a pre-dive cigarette. The coffee filled with me warm earnest and the music put me in the mood for which I was sorely in need of. As if to punctuate the moment with authenticity, the unmistakable resonance of the first four notes of guitar raised goosebumps on my arms under the layers of undergarments and protective dysuit. Being an occasional musician myself, I compare the quest I am about to undertake to the brilliance in the opening guitar riff to Shine On You Crazy Diamond. I know what I am doing just as Gilmour did; and to paraphrase an unknown writer, I am left thinking: “You only have to hear those four notes, in any context, on any instrument, to know the piece they come from. Genius”.
Cow Spring, itself, is genius. Come on, you miner for truth and delusion. You will find it in the voids between the silent walls below the earth, its secret revealed only to those who dedicate themselves to the task. After attaching my deco and buddy bottles, I slip below the water surface and begin my journey. I am ever so carefully pulling by fingertips my way over the ledge into the openness of the basin, my next task to secure my reel to the dive log and find my way to the obscured entrance. I freefall effortlessly into place, double wrapping my line to the log in record time, then pay out the line behind me as I venture deeper, further into the cavern zone above the upstream entrance. I remove my O2 bottle and guide the line around the clip, securing it and leaving it just above the entrance series. Down and down I enter the twisting breakdwon strewn ‘tunnel’ that leads to the main line. A little bit of bouyancy control here and there and I find myself at the final shelf, and it seems as large as a train tunnel. I am still unreeling the guideline from my right hand, keeping the reel near the rocks to place it exactly where it is needed, and with my left hand I press the tank valve on my buddy bottle back and upwards, so that there is no unexpected shift of the tank when I navigate the crawlspace. I slide in and pause while I overlook the next drop. My head is just above the start of the permanent guideline attached to the wall below me. The line leads straight down until it reaches the bend 10 feet below where it leads out of immediate sight. I attach my reel and lift myself forward, then contort myself so that I can simultaneously arch and twist my body to better anticipate and negotiate the next restriction into the cave. Just when you think you are about to hit the main passage, Cow makes you bend your body again. No, you are not there yet, it seems to say to me…keep going. Yet another bend downward and then I am greeted by the telltale sand slide. I know I am there now. The guideline is now to my left and follows the vertical wall in front of me to still further downward to the unseen ceiling of the main passage, just below where I am hovering. I gently maneuver lower and lower, just below the awning of the passage...until…
The guideline now forms a straight path from the sand slide to the open tunnel and I am now staring into the genius. I say ‘genius’ as if Cow were laid out by a watchmaker: there is so much variety and unique formations within that you can’t help but be impressed. And that is just within the first 200 feet. I swim forward above the sand floor-there are no good purchases for pull/glide in this first stretch. But I don’t even want to touch anything yet. I am in awe when I see the first breakdown block to my right, its cavity left in the ceiling where it had broken free many, many centuries ago. Further in, I see more breakdown blocks scattered here and there with the occasional water-cut rock formations jutting from the floor and side walls. Some are as tall as me, and some are barely visible, their sight being an afterthought when you see the shadows they leave in your light beam. The cave has arced horizontally back and forth, never forming a perfect straight passage until I reach a slight bedding plane. Here the floor allows pulling and I position myself well above it so that my buddy bottle clears. I pan my lighthead ever so slowly back and forth, reveling in the moment. I am hardly even aware that I am making forward progress, nimbly placing fingertips upon exposed limerock divots and propelling myself further in and on. Before I even realize how little time has elapsed, I am approaching the first restriction, where the ski rope begins.
But there is no ski rope there anymore. The line has been replaced by what appears to be PMI max-wear pit rope, a 7/16” kernmantle rope used predominantly for rappelling. It has vivid orange strands that really stand out from the rest of the tannin stained nylon, and I immediately recognize its significance. Someone spent some serious money, time, and effort to install this line. For this they have my extreme gratitude. I want to immediately put it to the test and I venture further away from the main line onto the rope. I know this cave well and am aware of the deviation from the path to the exit. But this new rope just begs to be pulled upon and I oblige. The lack of flow in the next area is remarkable and the one-handed rope-walking technique I am using is hardly even necessary to move forward. But I am a lazy diver and the rope will be used. I adjust my buoyancy to slightly negative so that with each pull along the rope I can use my weight to help keep the rope taut. The cave walls move further apart and form a distinct linear path, their surfaces scalloped by the perennial flow of millions of gallons of water. Occasionally the path bends, but I can see well ahead of me since the water is still pristine. There are no silt clouds or particulate in the water column to speak of and I see only the minute amounts of clay silt billowing up from the areas where the rope is knotted around an acnhor point on the floor, my pulling of the rope creating the turbulence. The rope wends its way on, sometimes nearing the wall where I have to change pulling hands and shifting my light head to my other hand. But most of the time, I merely straddle the top of the rope and hold my lighthead forward while grasping and pulling the line. My left arm lies on top of my buddy bottle lengthwise, allowing me a streamlined presence.
I soon arrive at the first large room of the cave. The passage grows very large with a dome situated above me. The floor retreats further deeper and the cave expands in all directions. I am coming upon the Clay Banks, a divine area within Cow that has no equal. The rope continues onward along the right side of the passage now and up the hill to the top of the large room. The Clay Banks emerge and I am enthralled. Those same four guitar notes by David Gilmour enter my mind and I can even hear the tones through my wet hood. At the weighted anchor tie-off in this area the line continues on rightward, away from the Clay Banks. But I leave the rope, rising higher and higher until I am but two feet from the ceiling, the Clay Banks nestled in the corner of the arced room, occupying their assigned place, where no one dare enter. (Sadly, some DO enter, and they hold my ire). But I do not let this occupy my mind- I hear the four notes again then the crescendo into the blast of harmony. I am recounting every note and snare strike as I drift above the Genius of millennia of strata exposed to all. Hues of tan, brown, orange, and milk form distinct horizontal bands for the entire length of the formation. Below it, a shelf of rusty and crumbly clay pebbles and plates forms another tier. It extends further into the cave another foot or so and then precipitously forms a sheer cliff for the entire perimeter. More rust, and (unfortunately, handprints) the occasional band of eroded innards showing.
Remember when you were young? You shown like the sun.
I think of how this area looked over 16 years ago, when I first witnessed it. I was too scared to get anywhere near it then, and I held the ski rope firmly, knowing that if my light were to fail, I could lose the line and/or buoyancy control and crash right into the formation. The horror at such a prospect reentered my mind today and I immediately began my trek back to the safety of the rope. Pulling and pulling I eventually found my way to the end of the rope, at the bedding plane to the Not My Fault restriction. The line hugs the left wall at this point before it nose dives into the rabbit hole. Preceding the hole, however is the vertically challenging bedding plane which offers very little room for passing. To make matters worse, there is a solitary knob hanging from the ceiling about 8 inches long that invites your next decision. Left or right? Should I stay near the line on the left and squeeze past the knob? Or should I avoid the knob altogether but be away from the guideline?
I chose the latter (I always have). I again lifted my buddy bottle rearward and upward so as to gain a firm grasp on its potential direction and attitude and hugged the rocky floor, since the ceiling will offer no quarter when it comes to this area. Inch by inch I pulled with my fingertips forward to the plunge hole, stopping once to look behind me at the point where I knew my fins would shift upon entering the hole. Deliberately I hovered directly above the hole, inching further past the line that now turned downward out of sight. I then tucked my legs below me and allowed my fins to go first down the hole, eventually being able to straighten my legs completely. I released air from my BC and climbed my way down the hole allowing my legs to arc behind me until I could completely achieve a horizontal position with my entire body. Down yet another drop until I reached the ‘other’ cave.
Cow changes attitude and demeanor here significantly, one reason being the deeper depth and the nature of the passage itself. Everything is darker, the rocks are sharper and more menacing, and every surface gets a coating of rust color. The music stops for me here, because my attention is now focused acutely on the fragile cave ahead. Though not nearly as decorated as the earlier part of the cave, it is still unique and worthy of preservation. I swim past the jump to the right and continue along the main line. I really notice the lack of flow here and I decide to swim until I either reach the end of my NDC time on my computer or I hit ΒΌ air pressure. My NDC time reads :08 right now so I continue on. There are not a lot of great rocks to pull along for this area (without causing them damage) so I figure I will swim touch-free the rest of the way. I pass the end of the side line jump arrows and check my computer. NDC time now reads :06 and I forego my original decision process and decide to turn right then and there. I still want to be able to view the Clay Banks again from the outbound direction and there is still the matter of visiting the downstream cavern. My bottom time reads :46 as I begin my exit.
Exiting Cow has always been the most challenging aspect of the dive. This is because of the flow which tends to move your legs where you do not want them to go. This invariable happens at the worst possible moments, as well. But not so today. Today everything went right. Every nook of the Not My Fault restriction was faithfully where I remembered it to be. I had no worries as I made the last bend over the exit, twisting at just the right moment to face outward and to reenter and ultimately clear the bedding plane. Soon I was back along the pull rope, making my way to the Clay Banks. Normally, I never even had to pull on the rope outbound but to get that same sensation of speed today without swimming required its use. The flow was that insignificant. I found myself back at the Clay Banks again. This time I never left the rope and remained there panning my light beam over every square inch of the formation for five whole minutes. I wanted to take in as much of the beauty as I could, knowing that I probably would not be back here for a while.
The trip back out was melancholy in that it was a sober reflection of the fragility of the cave. I recounted a recent posting about Cow access in the ‘Polls’ section of the CDF and it made me think of all the divers who did not appreciate the cave as I did. That they could visit this site and not be as mindful and careful as possible was a bleak reminder to the nature of cave diving. As Heraclitus wrote: “You could not step twice into the same river…”
My mood brightened again once I reached the last straight section of the pull rope. I could still see my lightbeam illuminating the walls well in front of me to the terminus of the rope’s path. I stopped pulling once I entered the smooth tunnel and drifted past the mail line where it deviates to the duckunder on the right side. I followed the rope to its end and turned to find the main line. One last restriction and the rest is pretty much a cakewalk with some good sights to take in. The breakdown looks quite different when exiting and I noticed the hidden alcoves that I had forgotten about on the way in. They were sporadically placed at most every slight turn of the passage and lent one to believe there might be cave beyond the walls. Upon reaching the last straight section I saw the sand slide again. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn I saw the blue hue of daylight reflecting off of the pebbles and the sand below the last obscured turn before the line makes its way upward. For some inexplicable reason, it just looks as if THAT should be the exit into the cavern. I even had to cover my lighthead just to be sure. Not only is Cow genius, but it makes you really think. About your attitude, your competence, your training, and your reason for cave diving in the first place.
I made my way to the ceiling dip and again arched and twisted, getting my body into good position to follow the upward trending line until reaching my reel. But after each small increment outward, I kept covering my lighthead, hoping to find the first possible moment where I could see the sign of daylight. Upward and upward still, past the final restriction where I could see the reel 8 feet above me, I again covered my lighthead, this time hoping it would the moment. Nothing. It was at that moment that I realized what I was doing wrong. I was not allowing my eyes to fully dilate so I decided to shut off my light completely. I grasped the rock wall behind the upward trending main line and extinguished my light. I could see nothing and only listened as my breathing pattern filled my only sense left. I added some more air to my drysuit and became slightly buoyant. I estimated that I was still probably a good 5 feet from my reel while following the line with my enclosed fingers. Then suddenly there was light. My face was now right in front of the reel (even though I could not see it) and a split second later, my guiding hand touched it. In the same perfect moment I could make out the blueness of the water and the sunlight must have cleared some cloud cover, giving me an ethereal look out into the open world above. Not wanting to spoil this moment, I left my light off and removed the reel taking care to reel in about a hlaf foot at a time until I could crawl my way back into the exit tunnel. Once horizontal, I would reel in line, then lay the reel on the floor while lifting my buddy bottle and inching forard. Repeating the process took some time but it had to have been one of the most enjoyable times I have ever experienced when running a reel (the other being the time I tied into the line of the Crevice Cave in Eagle’s Nest).
But this was not the end of the dive by any stretch. To gain the complete Cow Experience, you MUST travel downstream. I swam over to my deco bottle and removed the line from its snap and attached the tank to my harness for the short swim over to the downstream side of the basin. I made a secondary tie-off on the branch of the dive log in the downstream cavern and swam inward, following the line formed by the dive log. At the end of the log, I reattached my deco bottle and kept moving onward. There were quite a number of leaves on the floor and they were covered with a fine layer of gray, powdery silt. About 30 feet in there are a couple of domes in the ceiling and each of these displayed the mirror like reflection from air trapped in them. I shined my light upward and watched the floor, using the mirror to spread light along my path. Soon I was past the bend to the left and reached the shelf where the permanent line was affixed. I carefully tied in as there was a substantial amount of silt all along the shelf. A catfish awoke below the shelf and darted into the cave, away from me. He was the only living animal I saw on this whole trip, which is remarkable. He left a small silt trail in his wake and I could barely track its movement due to the low flow. I continued onward and reached the start of the canyon. The once silty floor now changed to clean white clay and rose upward before me. I tucked my buddy bottle in closer to my side and proceeded through the canyon, remaining slighty buoyant and grasping the underside of the exposed canyon wall so as not to float upward and high enough so as not to disturb the clayey floor. Past the canyon the cave narrowed and formed a bedding plane, getting wider at some points before tapering off to the left and right to a very narrow ceiling. Still plenty of room to travel here, though, so I pressed on taking care to keep the buddy bottle high and tight at this point. I now had to operate all my buoyancy controls with my right arm as well as to keep myself oriented straight- the only way to ensure the bottle didn’t swing downward and stir up silt was to hold it. I nonchalantly made my way to the clothesline clip placed right at the bend before the line turns leftward and downward and the cave gets a little too tight for backmounted doubles. It was CERTAINLY too tight for doubles AND a slung bottle so I turned in the relatively large alcove right at that junction.
Making my way back up the syphon Cow again reminded me that I am only mortal. A small silt cloud was inching its way toward me right before I reached the canyon again. It was NOT the catfish who did this! Recognizing my imperfection, I laughed through my regulator and continued onward, knowing I had but one more task to complete- the reliving of memories in the cavern. I made my way back to the reel, but stopped in the area of the air bells, whose mirrored surfaces invited me to investigate. Hovering below them, I reached my lighthead upward to measure the amount of space I would have in which to operate. There was very little at the moment and after poking my head into the void, only half of my mask could make it into the dryness. This was the final reason that I elected to carry my buddy bottle this far. I purged the bottle regulator and removed it from the tank valve. I then opened the valve slowly, carefully watching the air fill the chamber above. Once I was satisfied with the position I had placed the valve, I opened it completely. The noise was insanely violent but exhilirating at the same time. I filled my drysuit and wings with air, making myself buoyant enough to remain above the water line formed by the dome I was creating. On and on the air rushed into the dome and I could actually see the water level receding below me, occasionally making a burp when it would spill over into the adjacent chamber. The tank valve was growing cold in my hand as the air rushed out. Soon my shoulders were completely out of the water and my head touched the ceiling. I had almost completely emptied the tank when I shut it down. The cacophony ebbed into a semi-silent pause. There was still the slight echo from the former din and I could make it out a few bubbles escaping the lower parts of the dome. Another few moments and it will be quiet, I felt.
This was my private moment that I had looked for in Cow for quite some time. I can’t (won’t) share this moment and its true significance, but it was a personal milestone for me. This moment of silence and reflection meant the world to me now and when I removed my regulator and breathed in, I felt that Cow was returning the favor to me. This was the reason I cave dive.
Shine on you crazy diamond
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Originally Posted by T. Bix
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