Everyone knows just how absurd those car navigation systems can be. They tell you to turn at a place that would end in disaster if you blindly followed. They humorously try to pronounce road names and sometimes send you many miles out of the way when you could just do a u-turn and be at your destination. Dick Bartlett and I had one of these mishaps in Northeast Alabama.
We decided to take a few days to go in search of the stygobitic Pale Cave Salamander (Gyrinophilus palleucus palleucus) that dwells in caves from Southeastern Tennessee to Northern Alabama. The cave we were heading for was in Northeast Alabama.
We left in the afternoon from North Florida and arrived in the Birmingham area of Alabama just before dark. We neglected to look at any weather forecasts for the region, but we lucked-out on a little bit of rain. At one of our needed gas stops we could hear a cacophony of Upland Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris feriarum) from a ditch adjacent to the gas station. We triangulated a couple, took a few photos and moved on.
Upland Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris feriarum) were calling from a roadside ditch in northern Alabama.
The rain quickly turned from a slight drizzle to a violent and torrential thunderstorm which made visibility minimal. We decided it was probably best to find the next exit with a hotel and take it. In the parking lot of a small roadside hotel (that has probably never had to utter the phrase "no vacancy") the rain and wind only became worse. We got a room key from the office and drove to the back where our room was. The storm became suddenly much worse and we were not immediately able to leave our vehicle. The treetops were nearly horizontal with the ground and the rain was too. After what felt like a fortnight, we scrambled into the room and turned on the TV to see if the apocalypse was upon us. At the bottom of every channel was a significant weather warning, eventually turning into a tornado warning that named our county as the hot spot.
The next morning we opened the hotel door to assess the damage. The sun was out and all was eerily quiet, but there were trees and branches littered in all directions. A Mourning Dove was underneath a car still marinated in the night's rain. We later learned that there were several tornadoes in, and around, the Birmingham area; some extremely destructive.
Despite having to maneuver around a few downed obstacles, we made our way to the mountains with no major detours. We had a GPS coordinate for the area we needed, but we either didn't write it down correctly or we are completely inept at imputing them into our navigation system. I did some phone internet research and found the correct mountain on a caving forum. I manually put the spot into the map on the navigation and away we went.
The navigation system's voice instructed us to turn onto a random road that lead up a mountainside. It was a dirt road that was probably used for logging once upon a time. It looked like no one had been up, or down, this road in quite some time. The road was mostly mud from all of the rain and was extremely difficult to traverse. When we got to the top of the mountain we ran into a gate that said "No Trespassing on Hunt Camp." But the navigation lady was telling us to continue to the other side of the mountain. She insisted that this road continued and we were only a few miles from the destination. Unfortunately for us, she had no idea what was going on. Luckily for us, we could hear the calls of a few hopeful Mountain Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris brachyphona) through the car windows. They were calling from the mud puddles that were caused by the tire ruts in the middle of the road. We caught a couple, photographed them and retraced our steps down the mountain.
Upland Chorus Frogs were breeding in these tire ruts at the top of a small mountain.
Mountain Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris brachyphona) are a medium-sized chorus frog that have been found at elevations as high as 3,600 feet.
We found a roundabout way to get to the other side of the mountain, but not before we saw something truly unusual. In the middle of nowhere Alabama some farmer had a lot of time, imagination and a sense of humor that could fill a thousand silos. It was hundreds of large rocks painted to look like animals. I don't know if it was possible for us to just pass this by without giving it the attention it demanded. The self proclaimed "Rock Zoo" was just the thing we needed to get our moods back on track.
The "Alabama Rock Zoo"
We finally made it to the side of the mountain that held the cave of our objective. The only problem was, the online forums only had so much info. They got us to the mountain, but they didn't give specifics. Cavers are just as (if not more) secretive about their locations as herpers. We parked the car and walked the side of the mountain for hours looking for anything that resembled a cave. Nothing. We drove up and down the road with the same result.
On one final pass we came to a switchback that had what looked like a faint path at it's apex. We parked the car and noticed that this was indeed a path, so, naturally we followed it. We walked for a long distance with pessimism until we found a telltale sign we were on the right path; a single, filthy knee pad that had assuredly been on a caver at some point. Now, more optimistically, we traipsed on. We made it to a huge rock wall where the path lead directly to a hole in the ground. We assumed this must be the cave we needed. It didn't look like much from the outside, but after we crawled down into the small opening and onto a flat surface, we could see this was a massive cave. However, the flat surface we were standing on was actually a 50 foot elevated mound of mud that led down to a clear running, rocky creek. It was quite treacherous in that the right side of the mound was an almost 45 degree, sleek-surfaced mudslide. A wrong step would not be difficult and that would lead to a very painful result. Straight ahead there was an area that, over many years of cavers entering, was a worm path in the mud. It was still pretty difficult since it was pretty much a wet, muddy ladder where foot holes were dug into the face of the slope. It was getting late, and we were already tired, so we decided it was probably in our best interest to not attempt this descent with wobbly knees. We turned around and climbed back out.
Large rock face.
Ingress/egress of the cave.
Out of the darkness appears Dick Bartlett. To the bottom left of the photo you can make out a slope. This slope is 50 slippery feet to the bottom.
On the way back to the car we flipped a couple of logs and we found both the lead, and normal phase, of the Southern Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon ventralis). We also found a stunner of a Northern Slimy Salamander (Plethodon glutinosus) that was wedged in a rock crevice. Getting a few "bycatch" species, is something we focus on in-case the target is not acquired. I don't dare to guess how many thousands of miles have been traveled and not finding what we were looking for. But that's part of it (or so that's what I am told).
Southern Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon ventralis).
Leadback phase Southern Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon ventralis).
Northern Slimy Salamander (Plethodon glutinosus).
We were only moderately rested for our plunge into the chasm. The night was long and filled with grumblings about the muddy hellacious hill. But the next morning we got down into the cave, stood at the edge, looked down, and after about 20 minutes of expletives we did reach the actual stream at the base. Once there, we noticed the walking was simple. The cave was large enough to drive a freight train down and the topography was benign. We walked upstream, deeper and deeper into the cave. It must have been close to a mile when we reached a portion of the stream that was much deeper. I shined my flashlight into the deep pocked of water and a bit of movement caught my eye. I took a few steps closer only to watch a large adult Pale Cave Salamander (Gyrinophilus palleucus palleucus) vanish into a crevice that was positioned at the deepest part of this pocket. Our goal just slipped away. We marched on for a bit more until we reached an area where the water was only a few inches deep and had less flow. The water was dispersed in a larger area due to a natural dam caused by mineral deposits. There were several small rocks in this pool, so we began flipping. Under the second rock we flipped was a beautiful, young, Pale Cave Salamander. This salamander had no escape route and it must have been aware of this since it didn't move. We took our photos as best as we could in the formidable darkness, and headed back the way we came.
One of two Pale Cave Salamanders (Gyrinophilus palleucus palleucus) seen on this day.
The ascent up the mud wall was something we hadn't really thought about when we were gracefully falling down it an hour ago. We arrived to the wall, looked up, and took a seat on a rock. While waiting for some kind of inspiration, we see lights coming in the cave mouth 50 feet above us. There were several cavers coming in, so we decided we would wait for them and then we'd go up. They slowly climbed down and eventually reached us at the bottom. They greeted us and told us they were from a local university. They had the complete spelunking gear; helmets, ropes, carabiners, harnesses, spiky boots, the works. They look at us, covered in mud, wearing shorts, boat shoes and nary a rope between us, and must have thought we had fallen into the cave.
We managed our way out of the cave after some creative interpretation, and headed home. Success was attained and we only had to deal with a few days of aches and discomfort. Ibuprofen can dull the pain, but our trip to the bottom of a muddy Slip-n-Slide, and back out, will be etched into our memory for a lifetime.