We are the first to arrive at the Caverns of Sonora, thirty minutes after their published opening time. The place is deserted except for the young woman at the cash register and the peacock out back.  Nothing is allowed in the cave—not purses, not jackets, not sweaters. Not food. Not water. Almost nada. But they do allow hand-held cameras. Only hand-held cameras.

Michael disappears.  I occupy myself by checking row after row of mineral specimens in glass cases while we wait the forty-five minutes till our tour begins.  I would be tempted to buy something, but I don’t see a price tag anywhere.

Michael finds me, and after listening to my lament he admonishes, “Of course they are for sale—everything is for sale.”

Our guide finds us. There is good news and bad news.  It will be a private tour. Just us.  The forty-five-minute delay was a result of another guide trying to determine if it was OK to go into the cave through the main entrance due to the recent heavy rains. The answer was NO.

A Private Tour

We walk up a hill and enter through the locked back door.  Continuing down a man-made tunnel, reaching another door—the cavern is sealed off in an effort to preserve it—we step over the threshold and are enveloped in a blanket of warm, humid air.

The cave is a colossal sized white bone; we are visitors to an alien world walking through the skeleton of a giant mammoth. I fantasize about the possibility of Fred Flintstone tunneling out this space, making a home for Wilma and Pebbles.  I point out to Michael the beautiful formations in back of us.  Our guide is not impressed by my discovery, ignoring my comment, pointing out it is just a dead-end. We reach the stairs and descend and descend and descend and descend.

The world turns into a fourteen-million-year-old crystal explosion. Of all the caves I have visited  I have seen nothing like this.  When the light shines, the world sparkles.  There are formations here unlike any I have ever seen, and paths so narrow and so intricate I hold my breath till I get through in an effort not to touch, not to break, anything.

Because we are only two, our guide has the discretion to take us where larger groups (maximum 12) are not allowed to go. Each room is more spectacular than the next. And then, we walk into the heart of a geode.  How cool is this? Words can’t describe, and pictures can’t capture what we see. I must trust my mind’s eye and memory not to fail me.

The hour-and-forty-five-minute tour has turned into almost two and a half hours of stunning beauty.  I don’t even notice the climb back up and out of this crystal palace. Not reading about this cave beforehand, we came because I knew Michael wanted to see it.  Back in the car, I Google Sonora Caverns. If I had read and researched I would have known. I’m glad I was taken by surprise.

An Expert’s Opinion

“Where the Texas Hill Country meets the Chihuahuan Dessert sits thousands of acres of limestone-rich ranch country. Found below the boots and hooves of those who inhabit and work the land is one of Earth’s most revered underground treasures, The Caverns of Sonora. The Caverns of Sonora is internationally recognized as one of the most beautiful show caves on the planet.“

Bill Stephenson, founder of the National Speleological Society, says, ” The beauty of the Caverns of Sonora cannot be exaggerated, not even by a Texan.”

In Search of Lunch

Our drive east is filled with brooding skies and sparsely traveled highways.  The roadsides groan with an abundance of lush green grass and a multitude of wildflowers the colors of the rainbow.

At 1:30, we are ready for lunch, but lunch is not ready for us.  Tuesday’s in the Texas hills finds most small-town restaurants closed.  Today is no exception.  Our first choice, Santos Taqueria in Mason, is not open, our second choice, the Hill Top Café, is locked up by the time we reach its door. The Red Bud Cafe in Blanco, the last restaurant on our way home, will definitely be closed before we can get there.  We detour to Johnson City and the Pecan Street Brewery—always open—and so far, always good.

After finishing off an order of fish and chips that any Englishman would be proud of, we continue our journey, taking back roads out of Johnson City.  Apparently Michael has a plan—which consists of another walk—another climb—more exposure to the power of water. Pedernales Falls State Park is just a slight detour on our journey home.

Pedernales Falls State Park

 Not able to view anything from afar, I follow Michael down the trail to the—new to us— viewing area.  I continue to follow as he descends some very civilized steps—sans handrail—and follow still as we clamber over and down rocks till we reach the roaring center of the falls.  I’m content to sit and listen and be and absorb. Michael sees more white water which beckons him further.  I take a deep breath and follow.

In years past, when we lived in Fort Worth we’ve camped at this park; walked its trails. Standing here I can’t help but wonder why—now that we live so close—it has taken us so many years to return. 

Busyness is no excuse.

Our first…and only selfie.

4/20/2016 4:54:47 PM