I recently went cave diving for the first time with a handful of people I met online through a meet-up group for outdoor enthusiasts. I’d been on a few hikes with the group and really enjoyed it but I was ready to switch up my routine and the pictures I’d seen from the previous cave-diving trip had me fascinated. In each one, people had on cool looking gear and stood covered in dirt, smiling broadly amidst their jagged surroundings. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. Plus, spelunking is pretty affordable (my dive was under $50 with my group) and most groups have guides who can rent you the gear. So I didn’t have much legwork to do before I showed up at Yankauer Nature Preserve in West Virginia with just a backpack with my hair in a weird, weave-bun-headband combo that I deeply regretted when it was time to strap on our helmets. I chose the largest one, strapped on knee guards and tested my headlamps at the mouth of the cave before listening to our instructor, Darwin, run through a few more safety tips. Despite his thoroughness, a few minutes later I realized that there was nothing he could’ve said to prepare me for what I would experience inside that cave.

First, let me say that I am not small. So before you conjure up an image of a petite powerhouse capable of sliding effortlessly through impossibly tight spaces, just know that I am not that woman in the least. And I was quickly reminded of that when we descended a rickety wooden ladder at the beginning of the cave and discovered that the high ceiling and open space ended at that point. For us to even get to the next portion of the cave we had to wriggle on our bellies through tunnels formed from thousands of years or rushing water, using only our knee guards and elbows to push us forward. As I squirmed through space the width of my shoulder span, I found that I had to follow the sound of Darwin’s voice to keep my focus. Even when the strap to my knee guard got caught on a rock during the first crawl, I struggled to keep calm for a number of reasons. But my main reason —my need to avoid public failure — began to reign supreme over all my other reasons as fear factor numero uno. Sure, I was the only woman, only black person and probably the heaviest person there. But I was also armed with three years of Ashtanga yoga practice and about thirty years of accomplishing things others didn’t think I could. So I squeezed my eyes shut, shifted my leg until the strap popped back in place, and pushed forward.

Lesson #1? I have to be brave against all odds and opinions — even if it’s an opinion I’ve formed about myself.

Armed with this internal knowledge I did pretty well for a while. And by that, I mean I didn’t slip and break my ankle or slow the group down. We hit the halfway mark about an hour after we started and, to my surprise, I was still feeling pumped. But when we stopped at that point to take in some water and catch our breath, Darwin explained that the first half was always the easy part. I gulped my water audibly.

“What do you mean? Are there more tight squeezes?” I asked.

“No,” said Darwin, “It’s just that even though the climbing is hard on the way up into the cave, descending the rocks is how most people get hurt. The bedrock is slippery and you have to be careful to maintain four points of contact at all times.”

Four points of contact. Both hands and feet on the rocks on both sides. Identify your foothold first, I thought. Got it.

48bea337-6e64-4f7d-81b1-2224b2a3c025 — Photo: M’Shai Dash

I soon found that it was easier in thought than in practice. Less than five minutes after Darwin’s anti-pep talk I was staring down a scramble that required a nearly impossible maneuver for my frame. Darwin saw me struggling and rushed to support me. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I could hear the grunts and scrapes of everyone else’s gear as they approached the spot where I was stuck and I frantically tried to swing my leg forward onto a foothold. My foot slipped again and again until I finally accepted Darwin’s knee as the leverage I needed to angle myself up and over to the next scramble. I allowed myself a sigh and made a mental reminder to work on my upper body strength before the next meet-up but I decided not to take it too hard.

Lesson #2 hit me like a freight train right then. Sometimes you simply have to allow yourself to swallow your pride and accept the help.

Darwin is a seasoned outdoorsman with years of cave diving under his belt. It would’ve been foolish to refuse his help. Hey, there are times when you just need to take a knee…or accept someone else’s.

The last lesson I learned was a truly unexpected one. After we finished an exhausting journey back to the starting point, we took time to marvel at the beautiful formations of cave coral. As the only one bold (or reckless) enough to bring their iPhone in, I snapped as many pictures of the glimmering rock and icicles as I could before losing battery. We were headed to retrieve our packs from an area near the entrance of the cave when Darwin told us he wanted to show us one last thing. Apprehensively, we followed him down another rocky corridor and crawled through a small opening into wide, low space. The ceiling was so low that when we sat cross-legged we had to lean forward so our heads didn’t touch the ceiling. Then, Darwin told us to shut off our headlamps. When it was completely dark, he explained his reason for guiding us there.

“The human eye needs light to assess its surroundings. It is not accustomed to complete darkness,” Darwin’s Ecuadorian accent was especially thick at that moment, “It would try and try to find light until one becomes blind. That process takes about two weeks.”

“You would have us turn our headlamps off before spooking us out like this. Sheesh,” one of my fellow cavers said in the dark (I don’t know which one). A nervous flutter or laughter resounded in the small space.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t know if you will go on to bigger caves, but if you do, you need to be prepared for instances when you lose power. No light,” Darwin continued, “Now, I want you all to keep your headlamps off and find your way out. It shouldn’t be too hard because there’s only one way.”

And with that, I could hear Darwin moving quickly away from the group. I followed his sounds but they were diluted by the other sounds around me. Gear scraping sediment and the sounds of dripping water were all amplified by the utter darkness in the cave. Listening for the last person, I moved slowly along on my belly and decided to keep my eyes closed and focus on how temporary this part was. The others made it through and so could I. I felt along the ground for nodules that could poke me in the rib or hurt my elbows as I went. Finally, I could feel the space around me widen and the air felt cooler. Darwin’s voice came last.

“Good job!” he said, and everything about it was genuine.

As we trekked back from the cave we laughed and talked between cramming protein bars and bananas into our faces. During that time, I also made a mental note to hold onto the valuable lesson I gained from crawling blindly in the cave, which is pretty simple.

Lesson #3: I just need to remember my bearings and who I am every time I want to panic in the dark.

cave diving

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