“If anyone is afraid of anything or has any fears, like claustrophobia or I dunno – a fear of the dark – make sure you tell us so we can make fun of you,” our Scottish guide joked.
There are five of us in my group: an American/British semi-professional rock climber; a British couple who was hitchhiking their way through NZ and a German guy who was traveling by car with his 6-month-old son and wife.
We stand at the small cove that serves as the entrance to the cave and make our way down a ladder. The pathway is dark and damp once we enter the cave.
My legs are shaking and my heart is racing like Usian Bolt in the Olympics as I wait my turn. First goes the rock climber, then the German. They disappear in front of me before it is my turn.
I am locked into my harness, which is attached to a rope that is connected to the cave’s ceiling. Another tour guide down below is holding on to another safety rope, so I am as secure as I will ever be. Still, there is a part of me that is very seriously contemplating backing out.
“Just swing out and turn yourself around,” the Scottish guide says.
Fuck no! I shriek out and peer out over the cliff. My father would be ashamed at the amount of swearing I do when I am scared.
I am standing on the edge of where the cave floor drops off into the darkness. I am wearing a thick wetsuit, a helmet with a torch on it and my gum boots. The limestone feels slippery against the rubbery sole of my shoes.
I am taking deep breaths in, trying to build up the confidence to abseil my way 20 meters (60 feet) down the cave wall.
There is so much blind trust that goes into some of these activities. My guide reassures me I will be fine. He even gives me a hug, and slowly I jump out and swing myself around so that my feet are positioned against the cave’s wall. Feet apart, he reminds me, and I am so terrified I struggle to take a wider stance.
My heart is pounding so hard that I am certain it is going to cause an earthquake. I try to remember the run-throughs and practices we had above ground just ten minutes before, but all I can think of is all the ways this can go wrong.
The harness is around my waist, and I hold my left hand around this metal abseiling device that ties me into the rope that runs from my harness up above my head. My right hand is gripping the other end of the rope just beside my butt, acting as a break. All together, the rope is looped around this metal device and locks me in so that I can not move, and I need to unloop it so that I can give myself the leeway to start traveling down the wall.
I feel too paralysed to continue any further. For me, unlooping the rope is the part I am most terrified of.
A small, tight circle that goes clockwise, I remind myself.
I start talking nonsense with my guide, asking him to remind me what I need to do, making sure my hands are positioned exactly as they need to be.
I don’t remember how to do anything. What happens if I don’t make a small circle when I undo the rope? I can’t breathe.
He tells me I know what I am doing, and I muster the confidence to continue.
Slowly, I turn my left wrist over so that it looks like I am reading a watch. I slide my right hand up along the rope toward the metal device so that I can unloop the rope. I take my right hand and unloop the rope around the metal device in the smallest and tightest of circles I can manage. I drop the slightest of centimeters down the cave wall.
Oh fuck! I scream, but I am fine. I am in one piece. I am petrified (ha), but I am ready to start abseiling down the wall to go and explore the Waitomo caves of New Zealand’s North Island on Waitomo Adventure’s Haggas Honking Holes Tour.
Derived from the Maori word for water (wai) and hole (tomo), Waitomo is home to a dizzying maze of limestone caves that were formed millions of years ago from water running through weakened and cracked limestone that had risen up from below the ocean floor.
The caves are adorned with stalactites hanging down from the ceiling and stalagmites growing upward from the floor, both of which are layered rocks that look like hardened candle wax and were formed over centuries by dripping water.
Yet the biggest reason for tourists from all over the world to come to Waitomo Caves is not just for exploring the caves but instead to experience what can be found inside of them: arachnocampa luminosa, or glowworms that native to only New Zealand.
Really they are maggots, not worms, but as my guide said: “Who would be drawn to come visit glowing maggots? Worms makes it at least a little bit cuter.”
The glowworms radiate from the ceilings of the cave, decorating them like lights on a Christmas tree and reflecting down onto the waters that puddle and run throughout the caves. (You can see them dotted faintly here in these photos below.)
But the glow serves a very distinct purpose. The glowworms weave a prison of pearly-looking, sticky strands – almost like a thinner version of strands that come from a hot glue gun – that hang from the cave ceilings and catch the insects that are lured into the nets by the faint greenish glow of the worms organs. The insect gets stuck in the sticky strands, and then it is dinner time for the hungry and growing glowworm.
When glowworms eventually grow and break free from what is essentially a cocoon, they go out and mate for basically three days straight, laying eggs throughout the caves before eventually falling victim to the same spell-binding glow they used to catch their prey. And so, the cycle continues. Egg-citing stuff, hey? (Great joke, I know!)
There are ample ways to experience the glowworm caves of Waitomo, the most popular being black water rafting, which many of my friends did and loved.
Yet I decided to explore the caves by abseiling, crawling and rock climbing my way through them, which actually was at time really terrifying but ultimately some of the most fun I had whilst in New Zealand.
I felt a surge of accomplishment when I finished my first abseil (I screamed the whole way down) and my feet finally hit the ground. I was still shaking, and I held my hand out in front of me to see how unsteady it was. Despite the trembles that had claimed my hands and legs, a fit of giggles erupted from the depths of my belly and a giddy smile bounced across my face. My good friend Adrenaline had come back to play, and I decided once again that I really liked him.
My Scottish guide, however, was definitely best friends with Adrenaline; he came flying down the same cave wall face forward, his arms outstretched and his feet tearing down the wall like he was Batman or something. He looked pretty damn cool.
And though it was only a measly 20 metres, I felt tremendously proud of myself. Despite how scared I was when I started, I felt like I wanted to abseil until the end of time. Luckily, we had two more abseils throughout our exploration of the caves that afternoon. We were headed 80 meters below ground, and we were set to travel around 6 or so kilometres through the caves.
I channeled my inner Indiana Jones that afternoon as I abseiled down the cave wall again – but this time through a waterfalls, which brought about more laughter than terrified shrieks as the deluge of cold water pounded down through the back of my wetsuit.
At points I could walk through the cave easy as, staring up at and hypnotised by the stunning limestone arching over my head and piercing down from the ceiling, almost like the cave was frozen mid-scream. I could feel the cold air cycling its way through the caves, and I could see my breath as I made my way deeper in and further underground.
Surrounding us were the sticky nets of glowworms dotted through the caves until we came to a point, lost somewhere in the endless tunnels, where we all turned off our torches (re:head lamps). The ceiling was covered with glowworms. They reminded me of that Lite Brite game with the the small colored pegs we would use to make glowing designs when we were kids.
The guides told us about the life and times of glowworms, and we sat there lit by nothing but the super-efficient lightbulbs of the glowworms. It felt like in the depths of this dark network of caves, there was just a galaxy above our heads, the glowworms like a consolation of stars we stared up at.
A little while later, we began our ascent upward, which involved a heap of rock climbing that I was in no way prepared for and struggled heavily to climb despite the cheers and directions from an American/British friend I made on my tour. (He was basically born rock climbing.)
But I survived. I survived the damp darkness and tiny spaces of the tunnels and passageways. I survived the abseils and the rock climbs. I survived the thought of all the creepy crawlers that could be lurking about.
I came out of the cave with a smile and a small battle wound: a small scrape in the palm of my hand, definitely a testament to the warrior I was taking on all the adventures found deep within the Waitomo Caves.
Disclaimer: Waitomo Adventures hosted me on the Haggas Honking Holes Tour. All images were also provided to me by Waitomo Adventures. All thoughts and opinions are my own.
