My wife just kicked me out of our house. She’d grown tired of my shenanigans and told me to take a hike. I told her about deadlines for writing jobs that wouldn’t allow a holiday, and she didn’t care. Her only other instruction was to return by dinnertime. 

So – here I stand on our front porch with my day-pack on my back, a clear sky above, and our yard in front. I climb the hill to the road and turn northward. 

The sun bakes me pleasantly across the hundred yards or so until I face the entrance to the woods beside our home. 

Here, I have a choice to make. I can take the northeast route that passes between a young tree and an old one. But, that ain’t really a choice: I never trust that way, because it has fairy gateway written all over it. Instead, I take the safer route to the northwest between an old looking tree and an even older tree. 

There’s a nice, easy plateau of grass before a drop off into the woods. I plan my descent, slip on the very first rock, and all the lights go out. 

Welp, there goes my pleasant stroll down to the creek. Truth is: I was thankful for my wife’s offer of a holiday. There were plenty of birds to watch and even the off chance of spotting a deer. I planned a relaxing day while wandering around to see what I could see. 

Now, I can’t see anything except darkness, which would be bad enough, but I get the added bonus of what feels like a bare stone floor, instead of my preferred soft dirt. 

I suppose I need to see whether or not there’s a way out, so I imagine closing my eyes – but who could tell in this darkness? An “Our Father” would give my eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. However, as soon as my eyes shut, I become aware that I’m about five pounds lighter. 

I hop in place, but nothing moves on my back. This inspires a frantic shuffling of my feet in any and all directions. My feet touch nothing – not my pack, a wall, a puddle, or even the dirt from whence I came. Great, not only am I completely disoriented, but also, I have no supplies. That pretty much means things moved from bad to worse. 

All right, panic will get me nowhere for sure, so I’m gonna try saying that prayer now. After a couple more turns, I blessedly spot the smallest, vaguest, haziest hint of a light, so for some good news, I have my first destination. 

One hiking boot scrapes to my right before I drag the other foot to meet it. I keep thinking this must be a cave, so maybe, I can find a wall. 

Somewhere between the fifth and eighty-second step of my crabwalk, my groping hand finds a bumpy, grainy wall. I press my hand against that wall, hard enough to lock my arm, and attempt my first steps toward that ghost of a light. 

The stuff beneath my hand feels like limestone, but I can’t hear a single drop of water. Come to think of it: There’s no wind sound either. I miss my birds. Even the sounds of a squirrel or chipmunk would be welcomed at this point, but the silence feels as deep as the dark. 

There is some good news: This cave seems totally flat. I’m not tripping over anything, like that accursed rock. If I had any form of light, this might be a cool, little stroll. As it stands, I’m not enjoying myself. 

Plus, the speck of a light has grown in diameter, but I wonder if it’s getting any brighter. Seems to me the brightness remains constant. Questions about the meaning of that begin to worry me. After all, unless a new crater opened up in the past month without making a sound in my woods, there’s no telling where I am. 

Not that I would’ve been around to hear it. Writing work has me all over the place to find topics that “they’ll” be interested in, whoever they are. Don’t get me wrong: the search for those willing to see words as an art form is exhausting, but I do love the process. Besides, it does send me to some of the coolest places on earth, like here – if I am, in fact, still on earth. Though, I must see what that light is. 

When one is limited to the sense of touch, strange thoughts can occur, like this one: The temperature of the wall hasn’t changed, which brings to mind a lack of desire for a jacket. I’ve packed a jacket for every spelunking adventure. Not that caves always get cold, but there can be a surprising temperature difference away from the sun. 

I remember this one trip that a travel site sent me on. They wanted a piece on a historic bootlegging cave in Alabama. Since it was a short drive, I jumped on the case. It was a good ten or fifteen degrees cooler in the depths of that thing. Turns out, they wanted to know more about the history of the cave – not the adventures one could have there today. Still, that’s a different story. 

Here, though the temperature has been the same for my fifteen minute or two-and-a-half-hour walk. Thankfully, it’s been comfortable; I was worried about the heat back home, so this has been a decent part of this change of plan. 

All right, I’m about to solve one mystery, and would you look at that? I’m going to fit through that opening. Although, the light outside barely lights the cave opening. No choice now but to take these last steps. 

What new marvel is this? 

A black dirt path stretches before me, about the width of an average road back home. But, I doubt two cars would comfortably pass on it. Then, the hills roll away from the road in what looks like a neatly layered garden. The hills rise to meet the one behind it, but they never reach a point of blocking the view of the others. I see no stars or moon in a sky as dark as the cave, but the trees likely provide enough light pollution to hide the stars. 

That’s because the trees are glowing! The one kind of tree would be (at least back home) a pine, and the cones stand on their branches, casting a brown light like might come from an oddly realistic Christmas tree. The other kind is a Magnolia – again based on back home. The flowers give a light as I might expect from a novelty light in a teenager’s room. 

I stand at the opening of the cave with my mouth open. The whole scene is clearly visible. A walk down that road would be simple enough without a flashlight because there’s plenty of light. Yet, there’s no glare. It’s like being in a really large room with thousands – no, millions of candles. Seriously, the light simply glows. 

Bushwalking (going into that forest off the road) would be about my last idea, but the road itself ought to be as easily traveled as any road back home. Still, my feet refuse to move any farther. I can only stand, trying to see what’s undeniably in front of me – though my mouth does finally close. 

My hands reflex to where my day-pack’s straps should be, because I could get a picture of this. However, I’m reminded that my pack is gone. Then comes an echo of my wife’s last instruction: “Be home by dinner.” I guess I’ll just have to find my way back through the cave. 

Now, it would be nice if I could get one of those pinecones as a flashlight. With all the appearance of a blessing, a towering pine directly across from me has cones all the way down to the ground, so I manage my first steps onto the road. 

But, I wonder if the cones only light because of the tree? If I pull the cone, will it stay lit? I tried to use some moss one time in a tent, but as soon as I pulled it up, the bioluminescence went out. These trees could work the same way. Although, I’ve never seen a whole forest lit like this, so who knows? 

After I reach the tree, I drop to one knee; I want to take one from near the bottom. I’d rather not mess up the beauty of this tree. 

I grasp the cone while looking to the top of the tree and remind myself that this is only one experiment to get a huge help. With a quick yank, the cone is in my hand and still lit. 

In a single motion (that I didn’t think myself capable of anymore), I give thanks, stand up, and dash across the road to the cave opening. My light could go out at any time, so I’ve got to be quick. The cave is very deep, and I have no idea what my exit might look like. 

A sheer rock face hovers outside my field of vision as I enter the left side of the cave. One hand goes to the wall while the other holds the pinecone over my head. I have about a foot of light, and I begin counting my steps. 

Five steps have me feeling pretty good. I imagine the cave having basic gray walls, cause they reflect a whiter brown than outside. The temperature remains comfortably warm, and I can see enough of the level ground to step with a wider stride. But, the tenth step brings me to a wall. 

I glance over my shoulder at a pretty wide cave opening. There has to be a crack or way past this. I move to my right, feeling the wall in front of me, and using the pine come to investigate every chip, while pleading for the light to stay on. 

Well, the light does stay-on until I come to the opposite wall. I’m no deeper into the cave, and there appears to be no way through or around this wall. 

I make seven or eight passes along this back wall with no improvement. My right shoulder leans against the opposite wall from my entry point, and all I can think is: “I’m stuck.”

As soon as that thought settles into my mind, the pinecone goes dark, and the blackness covers me again. Everything disappears into a black blob, and I accept that I will not be home for dinner. 

Now, that wouldn’t necessarily concern me. I’ve been late on instructions before; to the point that, my wife probably expects my tardiness. However, I don’t know where I am, and I have no way to get back. I will definitely have some explaining to do, and even worse, I have no provisions for staying here. 

But okay, I do have a forest outside, so there must be some wildlife. I should be all right until daybreak, so I only need to get back to the cave opening and make a camp.

So, I put my right hand on the wall and inch my way forward. Blessedly, this is a shorter trip, and the trees begin to take shape outside, but two steps from the exit – I kick something hard enough to stumble. 

I reach down to find what feels like a wooden box. It’s heavy, but I carry it outside without too much difficulty. Vertically, the box reaches slightly past my knees, and there are two leather straps on one side. Great, someone stashed an ancient backpack here, and I have stumbled upon their hidey-hole. 

On second thought, could this pack have been left for me? The first pouch out of the box contains a tapered candle, a pipe, and a tin of tobacco. Next, the two cubbies along the outside edges have fish and carrots in them. Then, the middle compartments hold a cape to protect me from the rain, a thick sleeping bag, and one change of clothes. 

I mean: What are the odds of literally stumbling on a pack with my favorite food and my favorite vice? I resist the temptation to eat, for now – After all, I could get stuck here permanently for eating. Plus, it’ll be safer to make a cookfire after sunrise. 

Still, I cannot resist trying out the half-bent Dublin. The flint stick and candle accompany me into the cave. The tobacco has a soft, natural odor, so I load a bowl. After dragging the flint across the cave wall, the candle comes to life, and the pipe quickly follows. 

I take only the pipe back outside to sit on my box. Blessedly, the scenery is made for contemplation. For just one moment, the trees, their lights, and the sound of a breeze are enough; I confess no disappointment for the opportunity to explore this place. I can’t imagine what daylight will bring, but I’m confident that it’ll be worth the adventure. 

Soon enough, my thoughts convict me with an image of my wife. I will miss dinner without any way to warn her, and that will raise all kinds of seemingly undue worry. The lack of a way home concerns me, but something will turn up – it always does.  

At present, I can only take my next step, which means finishing this astonishingly delightful tobacco and trying out my new sleeping bag. Then, we’ll see what happens.

See Next Installment @ Bucola #2 >