Hocking Hills and an Ice Cave

Friends of ours invited us to join a large group of their friends at a cabin in Ohio several weeks ago.  In fact, it was the last time I saw any of our Ohio people before I started my hike, but that happened after we left the cabin.

By the time we reached Athens, the predicted snow had started, and grew steadily more serious about its intentions as we neared the cabin itself.  Only two cars arrived before us, and the two guys who had arrived with said cars had to help push my brave little Tardis up the slope to our parking area.  It was a portent of things to come.  One of those guys, eventually exhausted by our efforts to clear the driveway and get other cars parked, finally retreated to the cabin.  Whoever else was up there collaborated on dinner that night (I had already made my contribution) while our host and I spent the two hours following my arrival trying to get everyone into a legitimate parking space.  We were nearly successful, but I think he was greatly disheartened.  He needn't have worried; I think everyone was so excited to have a great place to spend the weekend that we weren't too concerned about the conditions, once we knew everyone had arrived safely.

Most of us went hiking the next day.  We had planned to drive to the nearby state park and hike there, hopefully getting to Old Man's Cave (a location I remember from several childhood outings), but our difficulties with the driveway precluded any option requiring vehicles.  Instead, we walked down the road to its intersection with the Buckeye Trail and followed that toward the park.  Our intention was to hike until we were half tired (or until our daylight was half gone), then return, hoping to find something interesting along the way.

She is one with the ice

Shortly after the bulk of our pack became half-tired and returned, the six of us who remained found an icy overhang.

Later, we crossed a frozen river, and on our way up the next hill, we saw a small opening between a rock ledge and the snow heaped up beneath it.  I peeked in over the log at the entrance, and immediately decided that it warranted further investigation.

We enter the ice cave.

We kept calling it an ice cave, but technically it was just a deep, low rock cave whose floor had been 80% covered in ice.  In warm weather it would be a short, curved tunnel, but when we visited, the other end of the tunnel was blocked by icicles.

The far wall of the cave, usually a doorway.

What at first appeared to be an insignificant hole ended up occupying a solid half-hour of our afternoon.  Each of crawled throughout the enclosure, peering closely at odd ice formations and the second, inaccessible room beyond the icicle wall, and trying to body-luge down the sloped floor at one end.

The cave became our turnaround point for the hike, but nobody was disappointed.  We were so excited about finding something so neat in such an unexpected manner that we were pretty certain we wouldn't be able to top it in the half-hour or so we had before diminishing daylight would necessitate our return.

Lacy ice drooping down from a horizontal crack in the ceiling.

That night brought chili-fueled gaming, Olympics coverage, and slightly fewer hot-tubbers than the previous evening.

The Girl was our champion body-luger, probably thanks to her snowpants and aerodynamic hat.

The next morning, we had to push a van out of a ditch (with the help of several bearded strangers from the next cabin), but after the plow arrived to sand the dirt road, we managed to get everyone out safely before the snow started falling in force.  That night was my farewell dinner with family, when we hastily made plans to meet again during my hike.  Dad brought me a new, lighter pocketknife for the trip, and delivered my passenger.  My aunts told me they were proud of me, and I haven't even done anything yet.

We like to make our weekends as densely-packed as possible.

I can't explain this, but every toilet in the cabin bore the same pictograph.