The passage to ‘The Choker’ is a narrow one, to start. And it’s not like they want you to find it, they being the Rangers who maintain and supervise Washington’s Greater Cave System which, until recently, was closed to the public due to all the deaths. Now re-opened (because those Rangers were blind sighted by an argument that those people weren’t just endlessly wandering in the caves, very much alive), accessing ‘The Choker’ has become a little easier and, passing by, it’s finally made sense for me to cross it off the list before an appeal on the dead vs. missing decision inevitably comes through.
Still, ‘The Choker’ is only accessed via a branch of the caverns that is deemed ‘unstable’ and it takes the better part of three hours just to reach and find the little crevasse that opens wide enough to take a body but isn’t one of the similar but much more dangerous crevasses that just become tighter and tighter or drop travelers into seemingly endless pits. A small, spraypainted ‘X’ inside ‘The Choker’s’ passage confirms I’ve got the right one, which is only so comforting.
It’s still a tight squeeze.
‘‘The Choker’ is observed, not visited- a massive crystalline geode with a relatively tiny hole in the bottom where, if one chooses, they might painstakingly shove their head through to get a view of the sparkling panorama. It’s recommended that travelers bring radiant light sources, again, small enough to fit through a melon-sized hole, and it’s recommended that a form of lubricant is used at the penetration point. Heads go in a lot easier than they come out, and ‘The Choker’ is littered with the blood and skin of panicked visitors.’
The entry makes me think that the entrance to ‘The Choker’ is going to be this scene of old violence, brown with blood or something like that. It’s not- I almost miss it, actually, and could have spent another half hour crawling through the narrow approach passage which is said to end abruptly some ways ahead. As it is, I happen to glance up in time for my headlight to catch something glimmering in the shadows above and, to the left, I find another small ‘X’ indicating that I’ve reached my destination.
My research allows me to avoid two common pitfalls, here. One is the utter destruction of my headlight while attempting to shove it, and my head, through the hole at the same time. The other is getting my head through without considering that I won’t have room to pass a light source in after. Several blogs I’ve read suggested candlelight is the way to enjoy ‘The Choker’ but I do carry some semblance of Leave No Trace in my philosophy and so have opted for a small, collapsible lantern. I pass it through the hole and start the unpleasant process of lubing up my head. For this I’ve chosen a water-based based lube that’s graphic design and instructions indicate it was meant for something a great deal more enjoyable than this.
And it’s cold.
Generously lubricated, I start to squeeze my head up into the chamber, rotating, a little, so that my nose and chin can pass through small divots in the stone. Through, finally, I try to enjoy the crystals and I try to wonder at the mysterious beauty of nature and consider that I’m probably one of only a handful to have seen this and so on and so forth but the rock around my neck is oppressive and the prospect of now pulling my head back down daunting and when I do a small test to see if I can alleviate some of the anxiety I find, to my deep concern, that I can lift my legs from the ground below me and be stably, if not comfortably, supported by my neck alone.
It takes a great deal of mental effort to not immediately start shoving myself back down with my arms and, instead, remember a suggestion that I instead try to lift my shoulders and rely on that more subtle, and thus more gentle, leverage so that when I emerge I will still have most of the skin of my face. Another panicked minute ticks by as I search for just the right angle and then suddenly my chin scrapes below the edge of ‘The Choker’ and, slowly but surely, the rest of my head follows.
It must be frustrating for the Rangers to see people, like myself, emerge from the cave with the facial scrapings and dirty lube-matted heads indicative of visiting ‘The Choker’ and to have little-to-no recourse. I don’t dwell on it for long, though. There are certain Wayside destinations that make me happy to be free and alive, by comparison, and ‘The Choker’ proves to be among them. I rinse my head with a bucket outside the camper and smile as the afternoon air stings the little pink wounds about my head.
-traveler
