There he is, in all his scientific glory-- a long-winded fellow, full of terminology that confounds me and a love for the caves that inspires me. But I must say, sometimes he stopped too often and spoke far too long. We were at Wind Cave National Park from 10:00-5:30. I'm thinking the whole time, "Ok, Rod, dude, caves are cool, but I'm about to lose it down here." He kept telling stories of Alvin McDonald, the 16 year old founder of the cave who mapped about 9 miles of it. I think in a past life, Ron must have been Alvin's publicist. He was all about some Alvin McDonald. For me, the long, detailed stories about Alvin were a welcome break from the scientific drone about surveying and pegmatites and Paleo entrances and box work. The parts I could understand were all very interesting, but I'd say 40% of it went right in one ear and out the other. Once I heard 3 or 4 words over 12 letters long, I drifted away into daydream land. And I soon discovered that caves are quite a nice birthplace for imagination.
I became a microscopic person walking around in a porous rock with an infinite number of holes and passages, like in Honey I Shrunk the Kids. Then I thought of Dante's Inferno and wondered if maybe this cave was a passageway into the first circle of hell. Rod became Virgil, leading us through the nightmares and punishments of the cave. He kept talking about the different levels, and all I could think of was how they sounded a lot like the circles of hell. Luckily, tours only go down so far. Once I decided I didn't want to live through the Inferno, I thought of a happier literary plot-- Peter Pan. We became the Lost Boys, and Rod, with his baby face and innocent demeanor, became Peter Pan, on the run from Captain Hook. Because the professors were always far behind the rest of the group during our trek, I couldn't help but think of Dr. Garihan as Mr. Smee, Captain Hook's trusted right hand man, chasing us through the twists and turns of the cave maze. That was, without a doubt, my favorite daydream. My mind simply doesn't work scientifically, so I have no choice but to resort to a fantasy world after 3 hours of being underground.
Once we finally left Wind Cave, the professors decided to squeeze in one last educational opportunity-- the Mammoth Site. By this time, my mind was fried. I zombied my way through the 2 hour tour (zombied: past tense of the fabricated infinitive "to zombie," meaning to be braindead for a finite amount of time. Synonyms: blackout, sleepwalk). So I don't have much to say about it, because I'm pretty sure my brain activity during that time was moving at the same speed as these Rocky Mountain boulders. All I know is that some people excavated some mammoth bones, and I guess it was pretty cool.
We finally piled into the van to get back to the campsite before dark, but once we started winding our way through the twists and turns of the mountain highway, we fell upon one of the most magnificent things I've ever seen. Our whole day prior to this moment was either inside or underground, and I'd almost forgotten what the sun looked like. But it was gracious enough to give us a reminder of its beauty just before it fell asleep for the night. I only wish that my pictures could give it justice, because this was the most heartbreaking and breathtaking sunset I may ever see in my short life:
I'm praying that someone got a better rendition than what I could capture with my mangy iPad, but hopefully you get the idea.
I was too busy trying to enjoy the fleeting seconds of the sunset to take many pictures. I knew that nothing I could do would give it justice, and the best way to appreciate the little sneak peek of heaven was just to stare in silence, put aside all electronics, and be present. Now I can rest in knowing that the trip was worth it. If nothing else, just that one moment was enough to make me happy I came.
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