Charles C. Deam Wilderness Spring 2008

Hello all,

This past May my step-father and I made a trip down to the oft' visited wilderness environs of the Charles C. Deam Wilderness, Indiana. My brother and I had already hiked the eastern portion of the wilderness I was keen on exploring the rest of it. I realized we only had a few days to backpack, and with Southern Indiana only a 4 hour drive from casa Gruber, I was able to convince my dad to come with me and explore the western portion.

Convincing him to come was easy. All I had to do was describe some of the personal adventure accounts I had read on the net that detailed the whereabouts of vast caves, mammoth snakes, and unearthly treasures, and he was in.

The western portion of the Wilderness contains trails that are shared by hikers and our equestrian friends. I found the trail system to be well marked and maintained and scattered with horse shit. There wasn't much difference in the topography from my last visit but oh what a difference a season makes! When Sean and I had hit the trail it was Autumn, cold, and dry as a bone. Spring had brought with its arrival a lushness of vegetation that was breathtaking. Cool water seemed to fill every gulch, stream bed, and ravine and we were blessed with mild daytime temperatures and sunshine that seemed to kiss the leaves overhead. We crossed water dozens of times and each crossing brought with it another pristine picture opportunity.

What we didn't know (at first) was that the southern and central areas of Indiana had been hard hit by storms and flooding. Well, armed with a hand drawn map and an abundance of enthusiasm, we made it our trip objective to find the cave. This would prove far more difficult than we had suspected but more on that later.

Day One:
We arrived at the trail head just after 1pm and and were on the trail by 1:30 pm. The sky was gray and overcast as we set off onto the Sycamore Trail. I wanted my dad to have the opportunity of hiking a hikers only trail before we headed west to the other side of the wilderness. We camped that first night near a small pond as a very light drizzle fell on us. It only lasted a half hour or so and after eating we discussed the next day's itinerary - climb the fire tower and then find the cave. We went to bed a couple of hours after darkness fell and rain wouldn't be the only visitor to our campsite that night. Countless numbers of frogs descended upon our camp, taking up positions all around our tents, and generally creating a raucous cacophony of trilling that was ear-splitting in volume. I am not kidding - these tiny little frogs were LOUD and they were everywhere. Needless to say, sleep was a long time in coming.

Miles hiked: about 4

Day Two:
The next day we were both up very early, tired and stiff, but excited to find the cave. We checked our maps and decided to make a side trip to the fire tower. It was the same beautiful vista as the year before only much more green. Dad and I decided to save some exploring time by going back to the truck and driving to the Grubb Ridge Trail Head. From there we followed the trail west, along the service road that marks the boundary of the wilderness to the north and the northern edge of the Hoosier National Forest to the south. We passed through Blackwell campground and eventually made our way north with the intention of connecting up with Hays Trail as somewhere near there we were told we could find the unmarked trail that would lead to the cave. The problem with our plan became apparent just after we reached the junction of Hays and Grubb Ridge - there was water. And a lot of it. Apparently nearby Lake Monroe had breached its own shores and had pushed a 1/4 mile or more beyond the natural peninsula which extends southward. Essentially the entire small valley between Grubb Ridge and the ridges that flank the peninsula and wrap around the Hays was flooded with water that was no less than waist deep right at the trail terminus. I scouted ahead and found an alternate route around this area that was a very nice, somewhat steep, horse trail that did very little contouring and would deposit us on the far side of the valley, a bit northeast of where we wanted to go. We knew the cave lay somewhere across the murky water, possibly under it, and I admit I was feeling a bit discouraged but my dad allowed me to revert to my Tom Sawer/Huck Finn alter ego and keep looking in scout mode. But, before we took off we made another side trip down the Hays Trail just to see what we could see. We weren't certain what to expect but the Hays Trail is flat and filled with beautiful flowers, buzzing bees, and sun dappled forest canopy. Quite by mistake we stumbled upon an unmarked waterfall. It was tiny, perhaps 5 feet wide, but very tall and it cascaded down over several ledges before disappearing into a small ravine bed. I'd say it was a good 50 feet up the slope perhaps more. After some bushwhacking we headed back and continued with our search for the elusive cave.

After following the trail (we dropped back down onto the Grubb Ridge Trail, this time heading east on the north side of the large ridge) I discovered another trail, unmarked, that led back the way we wanted to go. What a great trail this was! It was secluded, beautiful and rugged. We descended for about 15 minutes before crossing a large, fast moving creek. We attempted to cross a very small rapids section when dad slipped in! He sighed, looked around, and with sweat beading on his brow and chest heaving a bit, he gazed up and said, "I found the trail on this side. It goes up and up and up. I thought we were in Indiana!" It was a very fun climb - at least for me. On the other side of this last ridge we stopped for some water before descending once again into the valley that lay between the Grubb Ridge and the Peninsula ridge. We hit bottom alongside the largest creek yet, a small river actually, and I probed the water's edge for about a mile and found a muddy, swampy bottom land, and a small continuing trail that was obviously more game trail than human route. It was now well into the afternoon and I began to worry that not only would we miss the cave but we'd have to strike camp in this muddy mosquito pit.

By divine providence, or merely good luck, we ran across two college aged hikers who had just come from the cave and told us how to get there. We were less than an hour away and even better there were two decent campsites located above the mouth opening of the cave high up on the ridge. Sweet.

We kicked it into high gear and followed what would turn out to be the best trail yet. Once we made it through the recently flooded valley floor we began to ascend quickly. Up and up we went through what just might be the most beautiful and remote section of the wilderness. We skirted the top of the ridge, crossed a deep, cavernous drop off and found ourselves on a ridge-top that looked down on what should have been forest floor but was instead a muddy, watery extension of the southern tip of the Lake Monroe peninsula. We were literally across from where we were forced to change our route earlier in the day. But, where was the cave?

We turned to our left (the path went both ways) and found the two campsites we had heard about and knew the cave was somewhere nearby. I went up and down the sheer, leaf strewn, escarpment walls many times and, after nearly slipping down a rocky cliff I had climbed (more for the fun of it than through any need), I spotted a dark, rocky hole, about 20 yards below me. I'd found the cave! Water was pouring sluggishly from its mouth, to tumble some 200-300 feet down the cliff and into the swamp like pool below. It wasn't cavernous like I had read it described but it was big enough to walk into with only a slight bend at the waist. We made camp and decided that it was already too dark to go exploring. We'd go spelunking tomorrow morning on our way out of the Deam.

That night was pretty cold. Dad fell asleep immediately. I, however, am a light sleeper, and his snores sound like a bear humping a razorback...not exactly a lullaby. But, one of the things I most enjoy about backpacking in the wilderness is the clear skies and the stars. There are so many more to be seen once you are removed from the ambient glow of the city; it's awe inspiring and this chilly night was no exception. Our camp was also visited by some wild turkey and a snake. The turkeys gobbled for over an hour, and it sounded like they were fighting or something, because they made quite a ruckus. I heard many animals, probably deer, splashing in the water far below our campsite and for about an hour straight I heard the howling of three separate coyote packs.

Oh, the snake. How do I know it was a snake? I don't. I just knew it was a snake. I heard something slide up to my little one man tent and I felt a presence lurking just off to my left. I heard nothing for several minutes but I am certain it was there. Some dim, ancient, warning screamed DANGER at me as I lay there, heeding the call of my ancestral instincts, and reverting to my primal roots, if just for an instant. And though I heard no retreating tread, no slithering uncoiling of muscled belly, I knew just as suddenly as I had known it was there - that it was gone. Needless to say, I lay awake for quite some time before falling nervously to sleep.

Miles hiked: there is no way to give an accurate number. Based on the map and the mileage legend I'd say we traveled no less than 18 miles. That's not counting the two trips to the large creek I made to fetch water for my water starved dad.

Day Three:
OK - finally, after rushing through breakfast, and forcing my bone weary dad to get the hell up, I got to crawl around in cold water, dodge bats, and generally have the time of my life traveling through my first real cave. I spent about an hour in there and went a few hundred feet in with only a head lamp I had brought. To those who have never entered a cave what I am about to say might be accompanied by a loud "duh!" But hear me out, willya? It's dark in there. I don't mean dark like your bedroom with no lights on. I don't mean dark like when you camp out at night and there isn't even a sliver of moon. I don't even mean dark like the inside of a kangaroo's pouch which I imagine is pretty dark. What I am talking about is the kind of dark that feels oppressive as if the weight of some unseen force is pressing upon your nerve endings, gobbling up your psychic energy. Once I made my way through the main entrance and had navigated beyond the first hairpin turn and into ever smaller natural passageways, it became that kind of dark. My feeble little headlamp seemed to struggle to keep the darkness at bay. Inky blackness seemed to push in from all sides. The only noise seemed to come from the staccato tap of water dripping onto the watery runoff and the gentle splashing of tiny pale frogs as they danced to and fro in a mad attempt to escape my clumsy feet and the glare of my tiny light. Eventually, I came to the end - at least for me, as I was alone (my dad having stayed at the mouth of the cave) and not willing to lie down in water to squirm into a crevice I knew would lead to another anteroom. I will come back though and I will come out the other side...

We took many pictures of that dark, natural, fortress of rock before we packed up camp and made our way back to the Grubb Ridge Trail. It was a long hike back to the trail head but we made good time. We left in the morning and didn't get back until almost 3 pm - a good 7 hours after leaving the enigmatic Patton cave behind us. We could have shortened the trip by heading left, or east, once we were back on the trail but for some reason we were talking and continued back the way we had come in the day before which stretched out the hike by several miles.

And that's it, another satisfying weekend filled with blisters, sweat, BO, Mother Nature and adventure. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Miles hiked: 12+
Total Miles: 34 + or -

I found this link which takes you on a photo journey through the full extent of the cave's depths. http://indianacaver.com/patton1.htm