So I’m approaching the two-month anniversary of having lungs full of oatmeal and dragging my carcass around in the cold like a character in a “Droopy” cartoon. How did I celebrate this milestone? How else? By camping out in a cave for two nights.
While some Boy Scout troops concentrate on rocketry or sports, ours has a passion for camping. This can prove to be difficult in the winter months, but there are ways around the inclement weather. One is to bury yourself deep underground in an onyx cave in Wisconsin. Many people are aware that caves can keep a constant temperature year-round. What many people DON’T know (including our troop) is that this is not universally true, especially if you get placed in the part of the cave adjacent to the vent shaft blasted into the rock quarry on the neighboring property. This tends to let the frigid air drift down the cave floor, directly into your sleeping bag like floodwater. As long as you don’t mind sleeping with all your clothes on, this wasn’t a problem. With outside temps around 0* on Sunday morning, the situation was a little less pleasant. I was curious what the temp was by our campsite, but wasn’t foolish enough to check until the final morning when we were ready to pack up. Then, I didn’t bother mentioning to anyone that it was about 38* inside our part of the cave. Next time, we’ll have to remember to tip the concierge better.
Still, it was quite a time. The boys got good and muddy from climbing down little holes and seeing where they led. I even crawled through one that went about 30 yards. That was enough for my old bones. I was worried that the whole experience would be torture for Number One Son, who has complained about claustrophobia for some time. But the only part he balked at was climbing down the tight shafts. He was fine hanging out in the cave in general, and didn’t have much more trouble sleeping than the rest of us. Which is to say, he had trouble. But hey. Stiff upper lip and all that. The staff fed us well and organized hikes, contests and Bingo games to keep things going, and our troop is a good bunch of boys in most any conditions.
There was an arcade on the property, next to the dining hall, which became a hang out and a place to warm your bones. With pool tables, video games, an air hockey table and an old Husky dog, it was a typical Wisconsin tavern without the beer and smokes. At 10 am, the jukebox began playing Zep’s “Black Dog” and I had a cosmic vision–that across the state and indeed the entire Great Lakes region, “Black Dog” was likely blaring out of the jukebox in every other tavern, road house and supper club at that very instant!! Wow, dude!!! Such an epiphany sent a chill down my spine. Very 60s. Only this time it wasn’t caused by MDA but lack of REM. The sleep thing, not the band.