We recently introduced a few friends to caving in Cullaun 2, Co. Clare. The young son of the friends, Joost Bos, had to compose a short story for his English class, and remembering the the caving trip decided to write about it! So here is his story, hope you like it. Phil Walker
THE CAVE I walked into the clearing. The faint, steady trickling of water could be heard nearby. I neared the source and found a mantel of moss and ferns concealing a rocky outcrop. The trickling stream disappeared over a stone into a deep, dark and sudden void. I peered over the edge. A five-meter drop confronted me. Finding a well-worn, natural staircase, I descended it into the deep chasm. Reaching the bottom, I felt a strong pattering of water hitting my helmet. Not looking up, I knew I had broken the falling stream’s path. In front of me, I saw a dark, mysterious entrance. The water trickled carefree into this seemingly black hole, as if knowing its fate. I wished I could know that fate, as expertly flicked on a torch attached to my helmet. Moving cautiously inside, the light blue halogen light transformed the entrance into a passage. Grinding over well-washed gravel, I paced forward slowly, taking in the views. I was in the cave. Just wide enough for one shoulder span, yet higher than three adult men, the corridor twisted and wound about as I walked, amazed, through this incredibly ancient path. Only recently had this labyrinth encountered the strange, curious humans. Yet it seemed that the water torrents had flowed through this path since the beginning of time. Of course it was water that chipped, sheared and sanded the passage into the shape it now is. The walls were moist, yet rough to the touch. They seemed to resemble a person’s ear, and I imagined I was climbing into it, exploring that person’s deep, secret past, or maybe, I thought, it was my past, my inner conscience. This made more and more sense as I went on, following the stream’s path. To say that nothing grew here would be a lie. Magnificent stalactites glistened above me. Some seemed old and wizened, almost like sages, storytellers of the cave’s history. Some looked like straws, patiently built drop by drop through millions of years. Stalagmites faced their Stalactite partners adoringly, almost like the Sistine scene of Adam gazing upward to God. I dared not to touch these priceless works of art. As one would not dare to fell a majestic, knotted oak tree. I eventually reached a point where the water veered to a different path, too difficult for me to follow. I chose a drier, higher path that the stream had also once followed before changing its mind. Squeezing through a small gap, I began to hear a louder rush of water. There, below me, was a cascade of water, which flowed from another outside stream. The waterfall splashed into a stone bowl, naturally formed, and flowed off into the distant corridor. I sat down on a ledge, taking in the beautiful wonder of it all. The waterfall rushed down beside me like a comforting friend. It reminded me of the outside world. Twigs, pine needles and a tiny scrap of plastic were brought along the waterfall like messengers from above. I continued once more, following the water’s path. The water became redder of the iron seems it had flowed through. I found myself at the place frequent visitors referred to as the “Bloody Guts”. Limestone veins ran down the wall beside me each stained a glistening bright red. They did look exactly like bloody guts, and reminded me of the weeds in “War of the Worlds” that fed on blood. This sight began my more fearful view of the catacombic cave network. I began to find the water to become deeper and more treacherous, but I persisted with my journey. Suddenly my torch illuminated a vast, dark cavern. My gasp echoed loudly. A dark oily stretch of water formed the floor of the cavern. Ever so curious about what lay beyond, I built up my courage to cross the pond. I lowered myself in. It was only knee-deep, but I was frightened as the cold, dark liquid enveloped my legs, hindering my movement. I carefully waded across, touching the rocky walls for comfort. Finally, I reached the other side. I sat down, emptied my boots and took a rest. A cluster of aragonite formations hung in a corner. The sugary bacteria-formed lumps seemed like a cobweb. The ground here wasn’t firm like the rest of the cave, but soft, moist clay deposited by the stream. I felt somehow safe, here two hundred meters under the ground, and four kilometers from the entrance. I crossed the black expanse once more, and made my journey back. I was more surefooted now, and I felt like I was rushing at tremendous speed. Almost like a train in tunnel. I didn’t notice the mysterious beauty of the limestone sculptures, or the wondrous waterfall. It seemed I walked so quickly, that the stream was driven to flow the opposite way by my ankles. Because of the way water had eroded the rock, solid stone jutted in spikes toward me, hooking in my clothes, and trying to keep me from leaving. I was concentrating so much on my walking, that I didn’t notice where I was. Suddenly, a flash of myriad green and yellow lights hit my face. It was incredible. I saw the blinding green trees and ferns above me like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. The wonder and mystery I felt was equal to the wonder and mystery I felt upon entering the cave. I climbed out of the hole and into a sea of shimmering green and gold. Everything which I had previously taken for granted seemed so beautiful. I now understand why people considered a cave like a womb. I truly felt like I was reborn. Joost Bos Cullaun 2, Clare.
