Student Bloggers

I have joined a few spunky societies since I’ve been here, like movement & dance, bushwalking, spelunking, and philosophy. They have all been equally entertaining activities, but one has proved more physically challenging than the rest. It requires a helmet connected to a headlamp, an adult-sized set of knee pads, and a few double-A batteries to spare. The Sydney University Speleological Society (SUSS) is just as suspicious as the title suggests. It is the only society at USYD that plunges deep into the ground, where all life on Earth ceases to exist. Except for bats. There were plenty of bats, both sleepy babies and non-nocturnal, angsty teens who liked to circle our heads. Anyone brave enough can join SUSS, so a trip can consist of eighteen to eighty-year-olds, all equally keen to shimmy through dark, damp crevices for hours. 

On Friday evening, my friend and fellow caver/survivor, Shafi Iscool, and I embarked on a spelunking expedition to the Jenolan Caves. On the way there, we stopped at a gas station bathroom that did not have paper towels. Shafi searched for something to dry his hands and landed on a crumpled-up newspaper lying on the floor. After scanning the store for any judgy customers and finding no one because we were in the middle of nowhere, he used the newspaper as a paper towel, which defeated the purpose of washing his hands. This fine example of resourcefulness set the precedent for handling many tricky situations to follow.

When we arrived at our cottage, we met the other five cavers and embarked on a nighttime expedition into the surrounding woods. Unfortunately, a large, clumsy moth accidentally flew into Shafi’s face, cutting our expedition short. On our way back to the cabin, we acquainted ourselves with an all-female kangaroo pack that taught us how to hop through caverns. That’s when it dawned on me that I had no idea what spelunking was. When I noticed the sign at the club fair, I liked how the word spelunker rolled off my tongue so I decided to become one and learn on the job. How hard could it be?

In the days leading up to the trip, Shafi and I were so busy trying to find knee pads, batteries, and microwavable mac and cheese that we never thought to question the need for such an odd packing list. Neither of us knew why we were searching every thrift store in Sydney for overalls; we just did what we were told. It turns out that bouldering in the dark with slippery rock as your crash mat is a little tricky without the proper attire and cheesy fuel.

Speaking of cheesy fuel, we came prepared with very little. Four containers of Easy Mac and a few slices of bread with peanut butter are not enough to sustain two people for a weekend. We brought less food to split between the two of us than anyone else brought for themselves. Since there were no microwaves or indoor plumbing in Mammoth Cave on Saturday, we could not make our lactose-infused pasta for lunch. Instead, we ate delicious peanut-buttered bread and the residual dirt on our fingers. Everyone else used silverware to avoid eating with their muddy hands. It never occurred to us to bring silverware to a cave, and it turns out that our little oversight had health benefits! Shafi read somewhere that mud contains traces of vegetables. Once he finished his vegetable bread with peanut butter, he stood up and walked around Conglomerate Cavern until his left foot got stuck. Confused, he looked down to see why his shoe felt so sticky. As it turns out, the stickiness was not originating from inside his shoe. His shoe had fallen off some time ago. The mud on the ground had caked onto his white sock, causing the stickiness.

On Sunday, we hiked to Alladins Cave through miles of waist-high bush. Our shoes were no match for the slippery vertical ascent before us, so we used patches of grass to pull ourselves up. As a new member of the Bushwalking Society, I still could not tell the difference between soft shrubbery and thorn bushes, and the evidence was written all over my hands. Just as I was about to let go of the thorns and roll down the hill, someone separated a particularly thick patch of grass to reveal a gate! Inside was Alladin’s Cave. I strapped on my kneepads and tossed my backpack into the bush, hoping the local wallabies would keep it safe for me.

As Shafi and I took our first steps into Aladdin, our knee pads snapped right off! It was an unfortunate coincidence that might have had something to do with the fact that they came from the children's sporting section of Kmart. A Junior Protective Set is not for juniors in college. I stored my useless knee pads in the front pouch of my overalls and shimmied through the first tunnel with the sheer force of my upper body. Upon emergence, I had no energy and a full day of caving left, so I had to sacrifice my knees to the limestone for every tight squeeze ahead.

Climbing out of Alladins Cave felt like the opening credits of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. I turned off my dying headlamp and let a ray of sunlight guide me through the final stretch, with the lyrics “unbreakable! They alive, damnit! it’s a miracle,” playing in my head and possibly a little out loud. To my surprise, we were greeted by cute wallabies instead of the men in uniforms who rescued the Indiana Mole Women. We picnicked on the grass outside the cave before bush-bashing down the hill, careful to avoid thorns this time.

I would definitely spelunk again but I would only recommend it to others if they have a sturdy pair of kneepads and a Shafi to boost morale. Always best to at least google a picture of a cave before climbing through one. On the off chance that there is no speleological society to join, I would advise searching for a different underground club. Find one that is just as suspicious.