Daring to enter the darkness of Ape Cave
And, as luck would have it, there's a doozy of a hole just three hours away, on the south side of Mount St. Helens.
Ape Cave, named by the Boy Scout troop that first explored it in the early 1950s (no, there is not a race of wild apes gamboling about our state's southern region), is a 2,000-year-old, 2½-mile-long lava tube, the longest intact lava tube in the United States and the second longest in the world.
What does that mean for the casual spelunker? In a nutshell, don't expect to find any stalactites hanging from the ceiling or stalagmites jutting up from the floor. Those fabulous rock icicles produced by thousands of years of dripping, dissolving limestone are prevalent in the caves of New Mexico, Kentucky and Missouri but hard to come by in good old Washington state. Our little landform, created by an underground river of long-gone lava, is a different animal altogether. In fact, you might compare it to a gigantic stone snake buried deep within Mount. St. Helens (or, for the less poetic among us, it's sort of like the volcano's lower intestinal tract).
Named one of the top 10 caves in the U.S. by Gorp.com, a Web-based outdoor recreation clearinghouse, Washington's Ape Cave may not have the fancy geegaws the other caves have, but it does have its own peculiar charm.
For one thing, it's cool — literally — measuring in at 42 degrees, a refreshing change of pace from the high temperatures late summer can sometimes produce. Also, despite its high ranking among the speleologist set, this natural attraction is still relatively tourist-free, perhaps due to the fact that many people are still loathe to spend half their day buried alive.
Not that a journey through the Ape Cave is all that hairy (after all, this clumsy amateur managed to make it). But a pamphlet produced by the U.S. Forest Service cautions visitors against entering the cave alone. Danger is always a very real aspect of cave exploration.
For those of us raised on campy classics like "Journey to the Center of the Earth," it's the danger — that delicious frisson associated with descending into the mysterious bowels of the earth (where you might find, say, a race of wild apes, or the scrawled initials of Arnie Saccnuson) — that's the biggest draw of all.
So what exactly is a hike through the entire 2½ miles of the Ape Cave like?
Grueling, exhilarating and really, really dark. Cavers can enter at one of two openings, either down a large metal staircase just on the other side of the Ape Cave Headquarters (most people use this entrance for a quick stroll through the easy, breezy Lower Ape Cave) or at the crest of a winding half-mile-long forest trail heavy with tree roots, wildflowers and birdsong. At the top, the path to the more difficult Upper Ape Cave spirals into a dark pit, out of which jut the first few rungs of an iron ladder. Cold air emanates from the cave's mouth, and there is a smell of dampness and something else, perhaps the "cave slime" forest officials ask you not to disturb.
Soon after entering the cave at this point, explorers will encounter the first of many boulder piles, also known as "breakdowns." Try not to have one yourself, since you'll be climbing over 27 more of these gigantic piles of jagged rock, some on your hands and knees. (A word of caution: Unless you're part mountain goat, take your time on the breakdowns.)
Warm, comfortable clothes and sturdy shoes are a must for this underground adventure, as is a strong light source. In fact, three light sources — including a clean-burning lantern and two flashlights — are recommended. A few caving buddies — whether you know them or not — are also a smart idea, particularly when it comes to maneuvering your rear end down an 8-foot-high lava fall (a sort of subterranean slipper slide) or pulling off the intimate contortions necessary to make it past what came to be known on our hike as the Rock of Love.
Surprisingly, the camaraderie established with your fellow cavers (many of whom you may literally stumble upon in the dark) can be one of the most enjoyable aspects of the Ape Cave hike, turning an afternoon outing with strangers into a sort of "Inward Bound" adventure, with everyone banding together to proffer steadying hands, words of encouragement, and much-needed lantern light through the dark and devious passageways. In some ways, it was a bit like starring in a mini-episode of "Survivor," only without the back-stabbing, the bad wardrobe and that really annoying host.
Are there interesting sights to see along the way? It all depends on what you call interesting. While out-of-state caves boast gigantic throne rooms or moaning chambers or underground gift shops, the Ape Cave offers The Skylight, a stunning shaft of light in a sea of stygian blackness, a few patches of lava cave slime, some "frozen ripples," some flow marks and, in the Lower Ape Cave, a big round rock stuck in the ceiling that early cave explorers dubbed The Meatball.
Other than that, it's way too dark to see anything.
Except perhaps how brilliant the sun, how graceful the evergreens, how lovely the wind-rippled grass and sweet the daisies and foxglove; except perhaps how very, very beautiful is the September day, into which you finally, thankfully, emerge.
Diane Mapes is a freelance writer and inexperienced spelunker who lives in Seattle. The Ape Cave is a great first date, she says (particularly if you need to ditch the person).
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