Early morning storm clouds descend on San Marcos, Texas. The wind begins blowing, rattling maps and poster board-sized photographs that are being loaded into the van. A handful of geologists, biologists, and cavers huddle nearby, running to their cars now and then to gather additional layers as the temperature drops into the low fifties. It is field trip day, part of the 2021 National Cave & Karst Management Symposium. This is the day I have been dreaming about for months. . . really. The trip is being led by Dr. Nico Hauwert and is titled "Finding Caves in North Hays County: Recognition of Caves in an Environment Of Widespread Filling." I watch as caving equipment is placed in the van. Helmets. Rope. Okay, I have been obsessed with subterranean ecology for three-and-a-half years. I have visited many caves, show caves with lit pathways and staircases. I have been searching for caves on my own property. But I am terrified of entering a wild cave. I think I am claustrophobic. I have a fear of heights. I am nearly fifty years old and not in the best shape of my life. Despite my racing heart, I secretly hope this group of fearless explorers will finally get me into a wild cave. It turns out that the day is too wild and wet for caving, especially with certain inexperienced members of the group. Phew?
Instead we witness karst terrain - limestone with sinking streams, sinkholes, caves, springs, and subterranean water pathways - come alive. The storm dumps water on the land for hours. It gushes and gurgles and bubbles and forms whirlpools in the creeks nearby. It makes its way down into the aquifer through holes and cracks. The landscape is transformed. The aquifer is recharged. It is breathtaking. The cave adventure didn't happen, but the possibility remains. The idea is growing and growing, like a tangled vine. As Merlin Tuttle, the bat conservation legend, reminded us during the symposium, "People rarely conserve what they fear." This dynamic, karstic place where I live should be cherished and protected. And, for me, that means I have to experience a wild cave. And now that it is written, there is no turning back.
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December 2021
AuthorLaurie Roath Frazier has worked as a science educator and naturalist for more than twenty years and writes about the ecology of places, near and far. She lives in New Braunfels, Texas, the gateway to the Hill Country, where she loves creating wildlife habitat and exploring wild places with her husband and three sons. In 2008 she became a Texas Master Naturalist. She also holds a Biology degree from Bates College, an M.Ed from Marymount University, an MS in Ecological Teaching and Learning from Lesley University, and an MA in Science Writing from Johns Hopkins University. |