I’ve been a wannabe caver for a few years, mainly because there are a number of caves and tunnels in the Twin Cities. There are also hardcore and possessive urban cavers that do a thorough job of documenting their subterranean conquests, but I’m not one of them. What drew me toward the underground was the notion of a lingering wild place amongst a metropolis and because an environment beneath the topsoil is as distinct as a forest or prairie. So I went into a cave and crawled around. It was a manmade cave, dugout to brew beer. The brewery building disappeared over a century ago, but the cave remains. There were small bats and fine sand. There were two seeps that had formed tiny stalactites and floors slick with orange slime. I explored all the tunnels except for one, a crawl space lined with fine-spun formations like spikes of silk thread. I didn’t want to smash them or breathe their powdered wreckage set loose by the crushings of my knees. Maybe I’ll go back with a dust mask, or maybe I'll leave that tunnel alone to whatever it is the air has stitched upon its walls. Full Post»
