Only the Strong Survive: Timpanogos Cave Nat'l Monument 7/17/10

Fine, we cheated. While we have the stamp to prove we've at least been inside the site's visitor center, neither one of us actually saw the cave. You know, the one so remote and so difficult to reach that it might as well be accessible only by sea plane and a sixteen-day hike through snowdrifts reaching your eyeballs. In reality, the cave is at the end of a 1.5 mile hike up switchbacks so daunting they had me in tears by the first 100 yards. Sure, spry young ones came ambling down the lane as if on a mild stroll, but they're in shape and have energy to spare, while we are old, fat, and barely able to get through lunch without having to pause for a quick nap.

Before reaching the gates of Timpanogos - a gorgeously tucked natural wonder on the slopes of Utah's American Fork Canyon - we knew we had no shot at reaching the summit. Channeling Clark Griswold at the Grand Canyon, we had every intention of jumping from our car, scanning the horizon with rapid half-interest, and retreating to air conditioned comfort without having broken a sweat. But as we parked, guilt set in. Surely one of us had to at least put one foot in front of the other, right? I mean, the stamp is for the cave itself and not the parking lot, is it not? Being the noble warrior that I am, I stepped forward with old fashioned gallantry and made my way to the steep, unforgiving slope. Hell, even my heart can handle a 1,092-foot elevation climb.

Or not. The above photo captures it all: the pain, the fear, and the sheer, white-knuckled terror of monumental failure. Wait, we're still on level ground? This doesn't look good. Not good at all. Camera in hand, I set off on the journey of a lifetime, even though the cave tours stopped a half-hour earlier. Any and all accusations of having a handy excuse to turn back are, well, not at all unfounded, but I'm a risk-taker down to my marrow, and peering in the cave's entrance would satisfy my insatiable curiosity. But after the first 100 yards, the futility of it all set in. Yes, of life in general, but more specifically, the very idea of tearing my body to shreds just so I could feel that a passport stamp had been earned. Caves I've seen, and there's no way in hell this baby will top Carlsbad. Hell, from the pictures, it doesn't even stand with Jewel Cave in South Dakota. So why were my feet still moving, albeit with leaden inaction?

Sure, my fifteen minutes on hell's detour produced a striking view, but I don't remember the stamp saying anything about trees. It said cave, and I felt like a fool for thinking I had the muscle to attempt the impossible. More people made their way down - young, svelte women among them - and to a person, they gasped for air, expressed their regrets, and all but grabbed me by the lapels, demanding I return to my car in pitiful silence. Fortunately, the park service had placed benches along the switchbacks, though not a seat could be spared. Who thought of this sadistic monument? And what the hell is in that cave to keep it so off-limits to all but the hearty? The site's brochure spoke of narrow passages, small chambers, stalactites, and flowstone, but nowhere did I read of an ER to save my very life. Pausing briefly to get my heart rate down to a non-jackhammer pace, I surrendered at last. By my count, I completed 1/6 of the total journey, conveniently avoiding each and every dramatic incline.

So if you're in the mood for caving, let me be the first to insist on avoiding any and all that do not have the decency to include elevators. Or at least a golf cart for the lazy. Timpanogos would, if completed successfully, be one of life's major achievements, but as we have a few hundred stamps left to collect, I'd rather not meet the reaper quite yet. And not before consuming the In N Out burgers so painfully far away in the back seat.

FINAL RATING

Parking Lot - 5/10
Visitor Center - 4/10
Cave - n/a