As of late, I’ve found myself yearning for the caves. Being native of Kansas I thought it only natural to inquire with my state’s National Speleological Society chapter. To my dismay, I learned the local caving opportunities are limited to dank, tight crawls fraught with the peril of angry farmers wielding 12 gauges. It’s not only a dearth of scenic caves which makes the hobby challenging in Kansas but also our overwhelmingly private land and the fickle whims of property owners. As luck would have it though my brother, James, had moved to Arizona some years ago and a certain Arlin Pound of the Kansas Speleological Society happened to have a number of contacts in the area. Arizona, I was unsurprised to learn, has a much more active caving community thanks both to geology and to land ownership. Emboldened, I resolved that my next trip to visit James would involve an underground adventure.
This trip took place at the beginning of the new year and we would be accompanied by our cousin Keitan, a man not overly disposed to physical discomfort and peril. Though he can be coaxed into adventure, there are certain policies which he will not budge on. Bedding is to be laundered every two weeks, pillow cases each week, park slides must be static free, and all downclimbs must be face out compatible. It was this last policy which proved troublesome. Though Keitan is perfectly happy to descend a crag which can be downclimbed while facing away from the rock, crab walk style, he is not comfortable doing so while facing inward. Not being able to see his feet is too unsettling.
So when we attended our first meeting of the Central Arizona Grotto, we were delighted to discover Ray’s almighty tome of caving but quickly realized there was a considerable overlap between exciting caves and those which violated Keitan’s downclimbing policy. So James and I scoured the binder, Keitan’s lawyers striking down option after option. We were on the verge of despair when we flipped to the page covering Crinoid. Holy light shone forth and an angelic harmony sung out. This was it, an exciting cave with no major downcimbs! The following day, Saturday, January 10th, would be my last in Arizona. On Sunday I would fly back to Kansas. Needless to say I was hoping Crinoid would live up to expectations. Exploring 1300 feet of maze like passages seemed the perfect way to bid Arizona farewell.
Saturday dawned, we piled into James’s rickety 2004 Dodge Neon and were off for Tonto National Forest. The drive was long, as they always seem to be in Arizona, but the scenery did much to ease any boredom. We arrived and, as promised, the cave entrance was just a hop, skip, and a jump from a nearby trailhead. As it would be for much of the rest of our adventure, I was first into the tunnel followed by James, then Keitan. The first thing which struck us was the temperature. No surprise that it would be warmer than the chilly mountain air but as we climbed down the temperature must have increased by 20 degrees! The entrance room opened before us with 5 passages radiating out in all directions. The registry ammo case dangled just to our left, rusty but otherwise in good condition. I signed in making us the first official visitors of 2026. A prestigious honor if there ever was one.
The first passage we tried was all the way to our left. A tall, narrow affair, best navigated standing up, walking sidelong through the crack. James gave it a shot but ran into some trouble about 5 feet in. The passage constricted slightly at waist level. James is in the unenviable position of spending too much time at the gym and being a protein powder junkie. So when he tried to pass the constriction his sizable flanks made further progress impossible. For this reason, this obstacle was dubbed the fat ass crack.
Luckily, my buttocks are a bit more slim so I squeezed through without much trouble and found a crawlable passage beyond. This was quite an exciting discovery. The map showed this passage but not where it ended. Though my curiosity was piqued, I would be remiss to abandon the other two. So with a heavy heart and light ass, I returned to the entry room.
We spent the next 2 and a half hours enjoying the finest maze caving any of us had experienced. The closest we’d come before was this rather interesting tourist attraction in St. Louis called the City Museum which has a network of artificial caves in its basement. Crinoid though, put the museum to shame. There were more tunnels, tighter squeezes, muddier floors, and fewer screaming, coughing children. What a treat!
We were determined to make it to each major room (rumpus rooms). Curiosity and lovely flowstone formations motivated us onward. We soon exhausted the more comfortable looking options and were left with the fourth tunnel. James and Keitan were a touch concerned about how tight this one looked. I squeezed through ahead of them to demonstrate just how roomy and luxurious it really was only to emerge into the grandest rumpus room yet. The ceilings alone must have been 15 feet high. This news was more than enough encouragement to get the other two through squeeze.
Impressive though the rumpus room was, it wouldn’t be long till the next enticing tunnel presented itself to us. Just beyond a short climb and a wide belly crawling area lay a narrow entrance into a muddy slope and, further still, an expansive room. There was one more complication however. Just at the transition between entrance and slope, a large rock protruded in the middle of the passage. Since slopes are generally more comfortable when navigated feet first, we were forced to straddle the rock in such a manner that left our fertility in jeopardy. Though we made it through without incident, from then on the obstacle would be known to us as the ball buster.
Down the slope and through the tunnels, to rumpus rooms we went. The next major find was what the map indicated as the root room. A fine room certainly, but soon after entering a timer Keitan had set went off. It was time we beat a retreat. I wasn’t too upset by this point. Even if I did want to explore beyond the fat ass crack, the air was getting stuffy and the humidity was stifling. We navigated our way back through the ball buster. Much easier on the way up than down. Then climbed down to the rumpus room, James and I did that is.
Keitan had found himself at an impasse. Though none of us had considered it on the way up, as it turned out the downclimb was only practical while facing into the rock! Without access to Keitan’s legal team, there was only one option: facing the face-in decent head on (though not head first). With trepidation Keitan lowered himself over the edge, each invisible foot being placed with exceeding care on the holds James and I guided him to. One foothold, then the next, it had to be the most legally harrowing 10 feet of Keitan’s life. But despite all policies to the contrary, he made it back to terra firma in one piece and none the worse for where. Perhaps he may revise his downclimbing policies one day.
A crawl and a climb later and we were bidding crinoid farewell. The surface air was crisp and refreshing. Keitan had gone further into a cave than he’d thought he ever would, James had found more of a cave than he’d yet known of, and I had thoroughly topped my Kansas experiences. A resounding success for all involved.