Sandy's cave

I grew up in cave country, and my siblings and I were dragged into many a commercially prepared cavern as children. I know what they smell like, can remember the dampness in the air and the platforms and handrails. The moment that the guide turns off the lights so you can see just how dark the cave gets (and the time that my father's fancy new watch glowed green, destroying the effect).

If I stumbled across a cave while hiking, I'd be intrigued and curious, of course. But I haven't craved tourist-destination caves since I was very young.

Sandy, however, had never seen a cave, or at least not that she remembered. Every time we planned to visit my family in Missouri, we'd talk about getting to a cave while we were there, but in the chaos of the visits, we never found the time.

When we planned the trip to the Southwest last year, we didn't talk about looking for caves. The idea didn't occur to either of us until halfway through our travels. Then, one morning as Sandy slept and I played around with maps, trying to figure out the most efficient way to see what she wanted to see without spending extra time on the road, it occurred to me to search for caves between Las Vegas and San Jose, California. When she woke up, I was able to tell her I'd found us one.

While Sandy needed both hands to negotiate the path, I had the
camera and tried to take photos of everything she pointed
out as interesting.

Sandy was thrilled, especially when I read the description that claimed it was accessible. (That proved to be true once you were in the cave itself, but the path up to it was painfully steep and long.) A year ago today, she saw her cave, Boyden Cavern.

I was worried about her most of the time we were in the cave itself, after a nauseating drive along winding roads to get there and then the slow, challenging climb up the path. I wasn't sure it was worth it, especially because it was all so familiar to me. The same handrails, the same smells, the same formations (does every cave have a "wedding cake"?), the same demonstration of pitch-black darkness. But it was all new and exciting to Sandy. Once she stopped feeling so nauseated and felt steadier with her walking sticks, she was enthralled. And when the guide offered us an extended, off-the-beaten-path tour, which he warned might include some treacherous navigation, I hesitated. Sandy didn't. She wanted to see more, and other group members were all happy to assist her in doing so.

After the others had left, Sandy wanted a photo of us in front of the cave.

Though we had a sense of foreboding, neither of us expected her to die so soon after that. Seeing a cave wasn't a bucket-list item for her, but I was able to keep a promise I'd made her years before. So I'm glad we had the opportunity when we did.

Sandy making her way down the steep trail alongside the
Kings River, which was incredibly refreshing after our nausea
earlier. (The winding road had made me nauseated, too.)

We lingered after the others had left, chatting with the guide and then taking our time wandering back down the steep path. A lovely river rolls by, and we stopped to enjoy it and to marvel at various things that grew along the natural rock walls. Boyden Cavern is in Sequoia National Park, so we stopped to see the giant sequoias on our way out of the park, and were inspired by the Fallen Monarch and other huge trees. 

Like all the days of our vacation, it feels like it was just a few weeks ago. I don't know whether these memories will ever be transferred to longterm memory or if they'll forever stay cached in a spot marked "recent." I'm kind of hoping they stay where they are.