“Slurp, burble, gulp,” my sister Danielle chants as the slippery mud swallows her Vibram sneakers with every step. “It’s eating me alive!”
Her once-blonde hair is now a deep chestnut, tied behind her lilac bandana in a high bun I always admired. Her calves bulge from her black capris and her arm muscles flash under her winter-pale skin as she walks, but still she says, “I’m in the worst shape of my life.”
Today we're hiking Buggytop trail in South Cumberland State Park to whip ourselves into shape for longer adventures, and the week’s recent rain is making me glad I didn’t opt for my Chacos. The mud I’m slinging from my boots is narrowly missing Danielle's face.
We laugh about it for too long, partly to distract ourselves from the initial climb. The first part of the trail is uphill, then drops down, then up again. The undulating elevation makes this a moderate hike, and we move swiftly in anticipation of Buggytop Cave, a wide-mouthed formation often inaccessible due to high water and annual cave closures. The cave is closed from October 1 to May 1 to protect bats from the devastating White-nose syndrome, a disease that keeps bats from hibernating restfully and prematurely uses their fat reserves, forcing them to starvation.
The park displays an informational bulletin warning researchers and cavers to decontaminate before and after visiting the cave. Although groups like the National Speleological Society have called into question the efficacy of blanket cave closures nationwide, cave-goers are still expected to follow federal rules and regulations to respect and protect the fragile cave environments—especially in the Cumberland Plateau. A variety of bat species call this area home, including the Eastern Small Footed Bat, one of the smallest bats in eastern North America that can weigh as little as 3 grams—that’s about the weight of three paper clips!
We won’t be seeing small-footed bats today, but we do see lots of little legs, or what we can assume are legs under the caterpillar's bushy body. The ruby tiger moth caterpillar ran so fast across the trail it registered as a blur on Danielle's camera.
After about two hours of moderate-paced walking and photography breaks, the path gives way to a T-section, a wooden sign that points us in the direction of Buggytop Cave. We veer left first (toward the lesser known Peter Cave) for a great vantage point of green Tennessee hills and Crow Creek, then descend several large boulders to arrive at Buggytop.
Tennessee boasts some of the largest networks of caves in the nation thanks to limestone, the soft rock formation often responsible for homeowners' sinking foundations (and the 2014 sinkhole that hungrily digested classic cars at the National Corvette Museum in Bowling Green, Kentucky).
Carbon dioxide-rich rainwater is the tincture needed to dissolve limestone, and here in the South, it’s well-supplied. All rainwater absorbs carbon dioxide as it moves through the atmosphere and ground, especially as it percolates through the decaying leaves that comprise earthworms' favorite layer of soil. The carbonic acid solution created when rainwater mixes with carbon dioxide is precisely the chemical recipe needed to dissolve the mineral calcite in limestone. Over time, this process forms passages that widen to eventually form caves like Buggytop.
The basement cold emanating from the mouth of the cave reminds me of my grandparents' cellar and a deep freezer of German chocolate, and I walk on toward the damp pockets of darkness. Stacked boulders on the far side of the cave lead to a second exit, but first I veer left toward a shelf that glimmers under the light of my phone. Here I rest, listening to the creek that runs through the cave. I think about how a cave is a delicacy to those who love the night, a largely spiritual thing that requires intentional walking forth into, and out of, the darkness, to play again our societal roles. It feels like I could walk out with a new perspective. But in the daylight, I'm the same, and so is our hike back: I worry it might rain; I laugh again about the mud; I try and photograph a too-fast butterfly. I continue the elusive chase.