Blind Descent

"Sorry," Iverson said politely. "I guess 'I'm here' are the two scariest words in the English language."

"Nope."

"Uh-oh?" Iverson guessed.

"Floyd Collins," A

Holden joined them and switched off his lamp. Having no taste for the darkness, A

Hodags, A

Just beyond the cra

"Who rigged the traverse?" she asked. Her insecurities were showing.

"Me and Holden," Iverson said.

"I sure hope we were sober," Holden added.

"From here on we're in new country," Oscar said, and A

"You've never been to Tinker's Hell?"

"Nope. Neither of us. Just got to pore over the surveys. Might never have gotten to go either. The chief-Iverson referred to his boss, George Laymon, Chief of Resource Management for Carlsbad Caverns-"has been keeping a tight lid on who goes in here. After the big push in the 1980s they closed the cave to all but scientific research and restoration-"

"And anybody who knew somebody they could lean on," Holden put in, and A

"Hey, it's who you know," Oscar said equitably.

The closing of Lechuguilla was an old bone of contention. "How do we know where we're going?" A

"If you don't know where you're going, you're liable to end up someplace else," Holden said philosophically. A

"House rules," Iverson told A

"It happens," Holden said. "Somebody gets excited and boldly goes where no man has gone before. But it's severely frowned upon."

"Do they lay orange tape like we've been following?" A

"Them's the rules," Holden said, and she found herself immeasurably relieved, though she knew the tape was laid more for the cave's protection than that of the cavers. If each expedition followed precisely the same trail, never veered from between the lines, a majority of the cave would remain untrammeled. Oscar looked at his watch. "Seven p.m.," he said. "We've been on the go just over two hours. With luck we'll be there by midnight. Everybody holding up okay?"

"Okay," A

"The Wormhole," Iverson said. Clicking on his headlamp, he ran the beam along the traverse to where it was anchored on the far side. Below the jug handle securing the line was an irregularity in the stone about the size and shape of an inverted Chianti bottle. The opening was flush with the wall: no ledge, lip, or handholds; no nooks or cra

"You're kidding," A

"I'll admit it looks tricky," Iverson said. "You want to go first, Holden?"

"And rob you of the glory? No indeed."

Iverson peeled off his pack and began strapping on ascenders.

The one time A

Mechanical ascenders were a relatively simple invention that had revolutionized climbing. A one-way locking cam device about the size of a pack of cigarettes and shaped like a tetrahedron was strapped to the right boot above the instep. An identical device was attached to the left foot but on a tether that, when pulled out to full length, reached the climber's knee. This ascender was tied to a thin bungee cord and hooked over the shoulder. Once this awkward arrangement was complete, the rope to be climbed was hooked through both ascenders and a roller on the climber's chest harness. Thus married to the rope, it was a not-so-simple matter of walking, as up an invisible ladder. Raise the right foot; up comes the Gibbs ascender. Put weight on the right foot; cam locks down on the line. The foot is firm in its stirrup, and the body is propelled upward. This movement tightens the bungee, which in turn pulls the second ascender up along the rope. When the left foot steps down, the cam locks and another "stair" is provided.

A

"Croll," Iverson said as he rigged a third ascender into his seat harness. "Ever used one?"

A

"Like falling off a log," he assured her.

Rotten analogy, A

"Get the packs ready," Iverson said to Holden. "Once I get settled, I'll bring them across with a haul line."

"We'll use the haul line, too," Holden told A

As Iverson rigged himself to the traverse, A

Crouching on a thumb of rock as big around as a plate, eighteen inches of it thrust over the chasm, Oscar attached his safety, clipped his Croll into the rope, wrestled his two foot ascenders onto the line, then pushed till his torso and buttocks hung like a side of beef a hundred twenty feet above God knew what.

A

Holden was occupied with the business of tying the packs into trouble-free bundles that could easily be hauled across. Along with personal gear were medical supplies requested by Dr. McCarty, among them oxygen. In the case of a head wound it might be the only thing that could keep Frieda's brain tissue from permanent damage.

Iverson finished and snaked an elbow over the line so he could hold his head up. "Check my gear?" he said to Holden.

"Right-o."

Having been checked out by a fresh pair of eyes, Oscar began rope-walking over the rift. Suspended at four points along the line, his body was nearly horizontal, spine toward the center of the earth. As always in a traverse, there was an element of sag. It made the operation of the ascenders inefficient, and progress was measured in inches. As the line began to angle, rising steeply toward the Wormhole, the slack was taken up. After a few strangled kicks to get the cams to lock down, Oscar climbed like a pro, covering the last thirty feet in as many seconds. The rig was a work of art; not so much slack that he was head-down at the bottom, but enough so that he was standing upright when he reached the hole.