Breathing

Saturday afternoon, I crammed rope, ascenders and a couple trustworthy carabiners into my old canvas bag and threw it into the back of the truck.  My caving suit was stained from the mud from the last trip, the red faded slightly to pink, and the blue darkened with fine clay.   I stuffed my old backpack with the necessary clothes and food, and set it on the backseat.  Shortly thereafter, Andy and Matt, (two good friends from work) rolled up and loaded their gear along with mine and climbed in.  Andy, with two half sleeves of colorful mystic tattoos and a snarling beard, Matt, with his intellectual circular-rimmed glasses and manicured beard, and I, with chaw and sunglasses and unshaven scruff started on our way, and the three of us unlikely comrades lit into the mountains of the Alleghany Plateau to find cave known as Breathing.  We found a quiet campsite beside the headwaters of the Calfpasture River Saturday evening and set up, with chairs, fire ring, and tent to enjoy the evening.  As the sun set on riffles and leaves gave way to evening breeze that swept through the hollow, we cast fly rods in hopes of luring fish to our plates.  Andy was fortunate, and caught two chubs and a native trout, all of which we ate around our little fire.  When that was gone and the evening gave way to night, and the dew set on litter, we sat and smoked, listening to the remnants of this year’s cicadas, eating sausage and trail mix, before retiring to the tent.

Upon waking in the morning, we tore down the campsite and left nothing but our fire ring, in hopes that someone else might enjoy this place where we dined on fresh fish and gossip.  The truck loaded again, and we set off for Breathing Cave.  After searching for a marker for a while, we came upon a small 4x4 post planted in the earth with a metal box and arrow, and knew that we had found our trail.  We parked, crunching chicory and thistle under tires, and dismounted, throwing on our rugged jeans and shoes, ready to peer inside the skull of mother nature, where the axons are trickling waterfalls and the synapses are ancient streambeds of clear water.  A two-mile hike among sinkholes and forest brought us to the mouth of the cave, and we ventured inside.  I had been before, but, as always, I reveled in the firm grasp that the cave had on me.  We squirmed through a belly passage to the first room where we took in complete darkness.  It was incredible.  For the next few hours, we looked around, navigating passages and holes and fissures and climbs the best we could.  Everyone would navigate obstacles differently, just as we all do life.  Eventually, we exited the mouth of the cave and walked back to the truck, a bit more weary than before, but more invigorated for the excitement that rushed in our veins, and the experience of a new place.  At the end of the day, we wound up a bit dirtier and with a few more pictures to show for the trip.  But we had seen and shared a great campsite, a beautiful clear night, and we all now know the cave called Breathing.