Under the Karst

I drive through the Hill Country whenever I can, which hasn't been nearly enough over the years. The other Dees Stribling loose in the world, my musician nephew, knows the meandering farm and ranch roads, the towns and especially the Hill Country's many music venues much better than I do -- which I only imagine as dance halls, beer halls, holes-in-the-wall, road houses, juke joints and dives in wide places in the road. Lucky fellow.

With two children in tow, holes-in-the-wall weren't part of the plan this time around. But I had a much larger hole in mind as we headed out from San Antonio on the morning of August 16. I took Lilly and Ann to Natural Bridge Caverns, out in Comal County but barely beyond metro San Antonio. It's off I-35 near the towns of Selma and Schertz, and it probably shows my age that I automatically think of these towns as notorious speed traps, since they were when I learned to drive.

It's wetter down in Natural Bridge than I remember, though considering its position in the Edwards Aquifer system, dampness underfoot and steady dripping from the ceiling shouldn't be a surprise. It's been nearly 30 years since I last visited the cavern, which was only discovered 50 years ago. How fast do living limestone cave formations grow? Maybe the flowstones, stalactites, stalagmites and such have grown a few millimeters since I last saw them.

I haven't mastered the art of taking digital snapshots in darkish places yet. Or rather, taking good snapshots in such spots. That might mean consulting the instruction manual. But the cave's own web site has much better images than I could ever take, freely available under media photos.

The public parts of the cave are more than 200 feet deep, meaning that you walk down and then up that far. Such an expenditure of energy meant that lunch was inevitably next, and we found what we needed in New Braunfels at a Sonic. There are more than 3,500 of them nationwide, and the corporate headquarters is in Oklahoma City. But I persist in associating them with Texas, for the same reason Selma and Schertz remain fixed in my mind as speed traps. Some of the notions that get stuck in your head at 16 have amazing staying power.

Two More Boneyards of Note

On the grounds of the capitol in Raleigh, NC, there's a curious statue depicting three US presidents -- Andrew Jackson, James K. Polk and Andrew Johnson (see "Three Presidents" at this site). Are not these three closely associated with Tennessee during their adult lives and political careers? Are they not presidents from Tennessee? They are, but North Carolina claims them too, since they were all born in North Carolina (unless Jackson was actually born in South Carolina, which is another story).

I saw the Three Presidents back in the mid-90s, not this trip, since we didn't make it to Raleigh. We did, however, drop by Andrew Johnson's hometown: Greeneville, Tennessee. I believe it's a good time to recall the life and career of the 17th President of the United States, since 2008 is the bicentennial of his birth -- a fact noted by lamppost banners flying in Greeneville. He was born in late December 1808, in fact, making him about six weeks older than Abraham Lincoln.

The Andrew Johnson National Historic Site features a replica of his log-cabin tailor shop (behind glass), the modest house he owned as a tailor and local politician, and, a few blocks away, the larger residence he bought as he succeeded in antebellum Tennessee politics. There's also a small museum that includes a short simplified version of his life and time in office in the form of a video, ready for viewing on demand. Former Sen. Fred Thompson voiced Johnson's parts, whenever his public statements or papers were quoted. That's probably as close as Thompson's getting to the presidency.

A few other people were there on the Fourth of July when we visited, but Johnson isn't a top-draw president. At the Andrew Johnson National Cemetery, not far from his houses, no one else was there that afternoon. A hilltop obelisk topped by an eagle marks the grave of the president and his wife Eliza. His place is marked:

ANDREW JOHNSON
Seventeenth President of the United States
His Faith in the People Never Wavered

Maybe, but he must have had bitter doubts about their elected representatives in Congress. Other Johnson family members are buried elsewhere on the hilltop, and on the slope of the hill, scores of servicemen rest, not just those of the Civil War era, but some down to our time.

At Mammoth Cave National Park, on the surface not far from what's called the Historic Entrance -- where people touring the cave in the 19th century would have entered, and where those taking the "Historic Tour" still do -- is the Old Guide's Cemetery. While waiting for that very tour, I took the short walk to the cemetery. It's a tumbledown, weedy place with many broken headstones, and others worn beyond reading.

Steven Bishop, a famed Mammoth Cave explorer and guide before the Civil War, reposes there. He's credited with exploring miles of the cave, discovering many passages and features -- truly going where no man had gone before. He had no flashlights nor acetylene gas lamps, which is remarkable enough, but the astonishing thing about Bishop is that he did all that discovery, and was famed as a guide, while he was someone else's property, for he was a mulatto slave owned by the cave's owner.

The cemetery is fenced, and Bishop's stone is toward the back. Just legible, it says:

STEPHEN BISHOP
First Guide & Explorer of the Mammoth Cave
Died June 15, 1859
Aged 37 Years

Actually, he died in 1857, having been freed the year before. More about Steven Bishop here.

Caves I've Known

In the summer of '72, my family went on a cave vacation. At least, that's how I remember it, because the goal was Carlsbad Caverns, but on the way there we stopped at the Caverns of Sonora in west Texas, and on the way back, Longhorn Cavern State Park in central Texas.

I was duly impressed by Carlsbad, such as by the fact that each tour visited only part of the developed trails, that plenty more undeveloped passages branched off, and that in fact not all the cave had been explored, and maybe never could be. The enormous vaulting ceilings are grand. The huge stalagmites, -tites and other formations are as well. And, being a kid, I was also impressed that there was a whole snack bar in one of the cave's larger rooms, and by the speed at which the elevators moved to take you to the surface.

We also waited one evening at dusk near the main entrance of the cave for the bats to come out -- there is, or was, seating available for that purpose. A park service employee was at hand to talk about bats, and I remember him mentioning in passing that it sure did snow a lot in New Mexico, and that bats rarely flew into anyone's hair, not to worry about that. The bats dribbled out at first, then became a torrent.

As memorable as Carlsbad was, the Caverns of Sonora made a bigger impression. Even at 11, I was struck by the intense beauty of the cave. Unlike Carlsbad, it didn't overwhelm with size. It's a modest cave in that way, but packed with formations, including amazing numbers of helictites, thin formations that seem to grow every which way, seemingly without regard to gravity. Of course I don't remember a lot of detail after 35 years (I haven't returned), but I do remember being blown away, and I don't think my age was the main factor.

Over the years since, I've visited a fair number of commercial caves, perhaps looking for the awe I felt at the Caverns of Sonora. It isn't quite a hobby, more of an active interest, and when the opportunity arises, I'll go, which has taken me as far as an interesting cave on the island of Shikoku, Japan -- which proved that you don't really have to understand the guide -- and a nice jewelbox of a cave in Western Australia. Closer to home, Mammoth Cave duly impressed as Carlsbad once did, and Wind Cave had its charms too. Mark Twain Cave, on the other hand, was part of the tourist snare -- "trap" is too strong -- that is Hannibal, Mo., and not that great as a cave.

Unfortunately, I never followed up on the single non-commercial caving experience I had, in July 1982, when two college friends and I spent most of a day inside the Earth at a cave some distance outside Nashville, equipped with hardhats topped by acetylene gas lamps, flashlights, candles and lunches that we packed in. It was muddy and exhausting and good fun, with plenty to see by that eerie acetylene glow, though not as picturesque as a commercial cave.

On August 4, we made it to Cave of the Mounds, near Blue Mound, Wisconsin, just in time for the last tour of the day. It's a fine cave, not lacking in worthy formations, and more interesting because the first half of the tour was done entirely by flashlight -- a special feature of the day's touring, since it was the anniversary of the day the cave had been discovered in 1939. I'm also happy to report that Ann walked all the way through without asking to be carried. This bodes well for future walks through caves, in search of one that will recall Sonora.