Cavers seek prehistoric roots in Canmore’s Rat’s Nest Cave
by Amanda Follett
Troglodyte \TROG-luh-dyt\, n: a member of a prehistoric race of people that lived in caves, dens or holes; an animal that lives underground, as an ant or a worm.
“This is a wild cave tour,” our guide begins. “There will be no paved path, no lights, no hand rails, no escalators, no Starbucks…”
My head bobs, nodding in rhythm to the list of what we won’t be seeing on our trip beneath Grotto Mountain. Troglodyte Troy, as I like to think he’s been called at least once before, can talk — and talk fast. What I have yet to learn is that he’s just warming up. As it turns out, once we leave our meeting place and begin venturing up the meandering trail that leads to Rat’s Nest Cave, Troy is a wealth — a virtual limestone quarry, if you will — of information about the area.
Stopping at intervals along the trail, Troy flings bits of information past my head like as many pieces of fossilized horn coral. He reveals hidden fossil stashes, talks about the geology of the region, names the surrounding peaks, points out different plant species and explains the formation of the limestone caves we’re about to visit. If I thought this expedition was just about scaring myself silly in narrow passageways, I had another thing coming.
Neophyte caver Amanda Follett is happy to see the other side of the ‘squeezy’ cave passage called The Laundry Chute.
A metal grate blocks the mouth of the cave, making it look as if it might house some prehistoric carnivore. In reality, it’s there to keep inexperienced cavers (the ones that call themselves “spelunkers”, Troy explains) out. All that inhabits the cave, we’re told, are the pack rats who have built nests near the entrance for thousands of years. Once we’ve donned knee pads, harnesses, helmets, gloves and coveralls, Troy unlocks the gate and the four of us slither inside.
Along with myself and Troy are Steve and his daughter, an adventurous 10-year-old named Julia, from St. Louis, Missouri. While Troy talks, we clip into a fixed rope and I swivel my head around, wondering which way is out of this semi-dark cavern. “We’re going that way,” Troy answers my question and I try to adjust my eyes to a dark corner of the room. Shuffling crab-style along the polished limestone, our headlamps illuminate a small passageway. One at a time, we begin to “butt slide” (an effective caving maneuver) down into the abyss.
One passageway leads to the next, and we find ourselves in a network of caves, each varying in size and shape. Suddenly finding myself in the lead, I am gripped with a familiar feeling. It’s the same feeling that gets children lost, continents found and the curious in trouble: I have to know what’s around the next corner. What I’ve discovered is the basis for all cave exploration; the need to push further, to be where no one has ventured before you. Troy has experienced such places. “It makes the top of Everest and the moon feel like very busy places,” he says. “You feel like Neil Armstrong.”
Stopped for a moment in the “Laundry Room”, we stand on the brink of a thrust fault where two sedimentary layers have shifted, one over the other. Troy points out fossilized 400-million-year-old coral on the cave ceiling, formed back when the species was a bit of a loner, an every-man-for-himself kind of organism. In just a moment, we will drop into the somewhat cozier “Laundry Hamper” and to where comparatively youthful 200-million-year-old fossils of the same species evolved to a neighbourly sort that built its home condo-style. With the loss of four metres in elevation, we will gain 200 million years in evolution — Darwinism in elapsed time.
From the Laundry Hamper, we begin our descent down the “Laundry Chute” — the squeeziest part of our journey. Going first, Troy demonstrates how to turn your chest to the right as you begin, head-first, into the hole. Julia is next, having a big, or should we say “small”, advantage in this tight situation, and Steve third. I’m left alone in the Laundry Hamper, with only the light from my headlamp and muffled voices from below.
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‘Troglodyte Troy’, our tour guide, points out fossilized 400-million-year-old coral on the ceiling of one of the fascinating chambers in Rat’s Nest Cave.
From out of the dark comes the instruction to descend and I begin the slow motion swan dive. The passageway is like an esophagus, with ridges and bumps to maneuver around. Movement is awkward, to say the least. Twisting my hip over a lump or dislodging an ankle drops me another few inches, until I have to free another appendage. Steve’s feet plug the passageway ahead and it suddenly occurs to me that there is no one to tug me out from behind. Unless Steve keeps moving, this is where I stay. I don’t particularly like the feeling, and it’s the only time over the course of the day I have to instruct my mind to stay focused.
Steve’s shoes move beyond my line of vision and Troy’s muffled voice tells me to continue. The technical aspects override my sketchy mind. After about two body lengths, I reach a sort of switchback, where I’ve been instructed to hunch my shoulders and let them, and then my feet, drop to the floor of the redirected cave. Flipping onto my belly, I continue crawling two more body lengths to where the cave opens up and the rest of the group waits.
We soon find ourselves in “Grotto Chamber”, the most “decorated” part of the cave system, Troy tells us. Calcite mineral deposits have created exquisite, albeit slimy-looking, formations on the cave walls. The calcite is actually smooth and hard, but touching is not advised. One cubic centimetre, not quite the size of a sugar cube, takes 400 years to form and constant fondling could quickly destroy these unique formations.
We turn off our headlamps. What ensues is the kind of enveloping dark you only experience as a child, where you don’t exactly know if your eyes are open or closed. It’s the kind of dark that consumes equilibrium. The kind that will never allow your eyes to adjust. The only sound is the echo of dripping water about the chamber. Close to half a kilometre from the cave entrance, buried under 200 metres of rock, this damp space seems strangely comforting, as if my psyche had returned to some prehistoric collective subconscious.
Someone shuffles and a headlamp is turned on. The moment is over. We begin our short ascent from the cave, bypassing the Laundry Chute and emerging from the depths like a family of moles. Scuffling back over the polished limestone and through the barred cave entrance, I suddenly find myself standing upright, my troglodyte eyes blinking in the greyish light of a drizzly afternoon. In a moment, I have experienced the evolution from my cave-dwelling ancestors to my truck that waits below.
If You Go:
A Provincial Historic Site, Rat’s Nest Cave is accessible only through Canmore Caverns’ guided trips or experienced cavers with permission from the company. (Tip: Don’t call yourself a “spelunker”.) For more information or to book a tour, call Canmore Caverns at 1-877-317-1178 or visit http://www.canadianrockies.net/wildcavetours.
Canmore Caverns suggests you bring two layers for your caving adventure — make one a warm one. The temperature in the cave is consistently five degrees Celsius year-round, but standing around in a damp cave can get chilly.
Bring a snack for the hike out. Slithering around on your belly can work up an appetite!
Children must be nine years or older to take the tour.
There are more than four kilometres of explored caves under Grotto Mountain. For more information, pick up Charles J. Yonge’s book Under Grotto Mountain: Rat’s Nest Cave.
Amanda Follett is a Canmore-based freelance writer who is not afraid of the dark, cobwebs, close spaces or new experiences.
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