The portal lies in a deep valley just off the nature trail, where a massive
tree has fallen in the relatively recent past, all but obscuring the entrance
from view. Getting down to it and back up from it are more difficult than
negotiating the tunnel itself. To prevent tumbling into the chasm, Ms. Natalie
made the mistake of grabbing a thorn-studded tree (which Scott informed us is
called "The Devil's Walking Stick"), which resulted in considerable bleeding
and swearing. Fortunately, no amputations were necessary. A rusty steel cable
goes across the culvert, and I made the mistake of grabbing it on my way down.
Unbeknownst to me, the section of cable was splintered sufficiently to bite my
hand pretty deeply, which resulted in considerable bleeding and swearing.
Fortunately, no amputations were necessary. A surprisingly large volume of
water was gushing from the culvert's mouth, given there's been no rain to
speak of in recent days. But we were all able to enter the darkness without
mishap.
Apparently, this particular culvert has attracted graffiti artists of every
stripe, and for almost the entire length of our journey into darkness — just
under half a mile, by our calculations — the tunnel walls were decorated with
intricate images, a variety of slogans, and the occasional dire warning that
hell lay just ahead.
We hadn't gone but so far when Scott and I heard a holler, and we turned just
in time to see Ms. Natalie take a quick seat in the chilly, rushing water.
Yeah, it was pretty slick in there. Fortunately, her pride suffered more
bruising than her butt, and from there, we proceeded without mishap — well,
except for my flashlight going dead. I knew I should have brought
that extra light along! Happily, Scott carried a spare, and he handed it over
to me, if somewhat grudgingly. We pressed on and on, and — finally — our
flashlight beams fell on an object that appeared slightly out of place in the
deep, dark underground.
Indeed, it was the cache.
Once we had signed the log, taken a few pics, and re-secured the container, we
made our about-face and hoofed it back toward the portal. To my chagrin,
Scott's spare light also began to fade, so we made haste for those last few
hundred feet. By the time we again emerged into daylight, this second light
had also bitten the dust. But we had our smiley, and — happily — there were a
couple of more caches along the nature trail, which proved a lot of fun to
hunt. The woods here are gorgeous, and just enough fall color remaine to make
the trip visually memorable.
We found lunch at a lovely little place called Four Corners
on Franklin Street, where I availed myself to what was surely the largest
half rack of ribs I've ever been served. And they were freakin'
delicious.
On our way back to Greensboro, we stopped off in Hillsborough to grab a trio
of hides, one along the old
Occoneechee Speedway Trail, where we've hunted caches several times in the past. It's a lovely place,
the oval racetrack having long ago been swallowed by forest but converted to a
hiking trail.
All in all, it proved a wonderful day to add to our caching totals. Definitely
a day for quality over quantity, which, for me, is always more than fine.
Cache on.
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| Along the Coker Pinetum Trails: A good place not to lose one's footing |
|
| So far, so good. |
|
| Oh, shit, Scott's got a camera. "No, dear, I didn't do anything foolish. Why do you ask?" |
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