What’s it like to swim through an underground river? I found out at Honey Creek Cave

What’s it like to swim through an underground river? I found out at Honey Creek Cave

swimming in an underground river

Bill Steele, left, gears up before swimming through Honey Creek Cave. Pam LeBlanc photo

I’ve squeezed my way through limestone caverns and swum in creeks and rivers all over the Lone Star State, but until recently I’d never done both at the same time.

Last weekend, speleologist Bill Steele led me through a watery section of Honey Creek Cave, the longest known cave in Texas. I’m working on a story about Steele for a magazine, but can’t shake the feeling of what it was like to swim through an underground river.

I wore a full 3-millimeter wetsuit, fins, and a caving helmet with lights for the adventure. We hiked down into a shallow canyon, where a rocky opening in the cliff wall led to the watery highway.

swimming at Honey Creek Cave

We walked through a tall hallway to reach the underground river at Honey Creek Cave. Pam LeBlanc photo

The water was cold and about 20-feet deep, and once we stepped off a ledge and into the river, we couldn’t stand up. I balanced a dry bag containing my camera on a kickboard and pushed it in front of me as I picked my way through the dark passage, trying to avoid the stalactites that clung to the ceiling.

That was tricky – thousands of them dripped down, forming curtains of mud-colored straws and carrots. Now and then a few tree roots dangled into the water.

The whole experience felt vaguely like a scene from “Les Misérables,” only without the stench. This was beautiful – a fresh river formed by rainwater filtered through layers of limestone.

swimming in an underground river

Naomi Arcadia adjusts her snorkel before swimming through Honey Creek Cave. Pam LeBlanc photo

At one point where the ceiling came to within a few inches of the water’s surface, we removed our helmets, passed them ahead, tipped our heads back and floated delicately beneath the rocks.

Spooky, yes, but beautiful, too. The formations hanging from the ceiling reflected in the water when I pointed my light downstream.

swimming through an underground river

We waded down a shallow stretch, then eased into the deep part of the river. Pam LeBlanc photo

We swam for about two hours, pausing at one end when we reached a small waterfall.

That was just enough. My fingers were getting numb, and I needed to get out and dry off. But when I did, I took with me some surreal memories that I’ll never forget.

And out there in the bright sun, it didn’t feel at all spooky.

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The glamorous life of a freelance adventure writer

The glamorous life of a freelance adventure writer

Colton Moore ascends out of Punkin Cave on Oct. 23, 2019, in a cloud of dust and bat guano. Photo by Pam LeBlanc

People ask me all the time about my life as a freelance adventure writer, thinking, perhaps, that I’ll describe a glamorous life of swanky hotel rooms, gourmet meals and international travel.

While I’ll readily agree I’ve got the best job in the world, I’m more often wiping blood off my elbows, shoving energy bars in my mouth as I bounce down a desolate ranch road in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, or pitching a tent in the desert than hopping a jet to an exotic island.

For fun some days, I assess how much my latest adventure has cost me in clothing, vehicle and skin damage.

Take this week, for example.

I crawled face-first into a cloud of bats. One crawled up my pants leg. Pam LeBlanc photo

A caving assignment for a state-wide magazine led me to a preserve near Carta Valley (not far from Del Rio), where freelance photographer Erich Schlegel and I spent two days crawling through the underbelly of the earth with one of the state’s finest cavers.

We rappelled 45 feet down into a pit. We dove down dark, scorpion-populated tunnels. I narrowly avoided plunging my hand into the half-decayed body of a raccoon. I admired webs of what looked like delicate vermicelli – only to find out it was fungus growing out of bullet-sized bits of porcupine poop.

Most exciting of all, I scrambled over mounds of bat guano and face first into a cloud of bats. A few dozen smacked me on the arm and head, and one fuzzy, fig-sized individual snuck its way up my pants leg.

See that gaping hole in the front? I did that caving this week. Adventuring is hard on clothing.

Before the five-hour crawl wrapped up, I’d ripped a hole as big as my face in the front of my shirt. (It’ll go great with the palm-sized hole I ripped in the seat of my pants two weeks ago on another assignment.) I was covered with shit from assorted creatures, and polka-dotted with quarter-sized bruises from whacking my body parts on knobs of rock.

Then, while driving back to the cabin from the caves, our parade of two vehicles hit a boulder-strewn rocky ledge. The vehicle in front of us got temporarily hung up. Its tires spun, the vehicle rocked back and forth a few times, then suddenly broke free, firing a barrage of baseball-sized rocks into the air. One smashed the corner of my truck’s windshield and punched a hole in the roof.

Whoa, and thank goodness for shatter-resistant glass. The body shop reports the damage at $4,000.

Was it worth it? Totally.

I’m beyond thrilled that I’ve made a life out of backpacking, snow skiing, camping, caving, scuba diving, hiking, paddling and more.

Just don’t confuse it for a life of luxury.

 

 

 

 

About Pam

I’m Pam LeBlanc. Follow my blog to keep up with the best in outdoor travel and adventure. Thanks for visiting my site.

Where is Pam?

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