Krubera: Part 3


The Crow’s Cave

Elliot emerged from her pop-tent to greet the morning sun with a groggy apprehension. She adjusted her hair with the aid of a breeze that fluttered through area. The others still slept with sky’s massive star only just ready to breach the horizon. The previous day’s hike had been uneventful, tiring. They’d climbed over hills of dense conifers, trekked to high peaks, sprinted down them only to follow the Earth back up again. It was nearly nightfall when they entered the limestone valley.

They’d set-up camp outside of the Crow’s cave in time to cook dinner. But Elliot’s concern rose as time progress. The area was silent, desolate. Odd as it was, they had yet to see a single crow overhead– neither during the day, nor in the night. Common sense would have told her they no longer nested here, but she was certain they should have. For that matter, they should have feared being swarmed by them the closer the got to the cave. Instead Gagrinksy range was still, empty; as though its inhabitants had altogether abandoned it.

The furthest tent unzipped to tear Elliot from her thoughts. Liana emerged, Elliot surprised by her alertness in the early hour. She nodded to Elliot, moved to the embers that still glowed red-hot in the circle of tents, and tossed kindling atop them. In moments, the fire blazed forth as it had the night before as Liana cooked MRE-oatmeal in a hanging pot and trellis.

The others awoke one-by-one, levitated from their tents by the scent of food. The early sun rose around them, kissed dew away from the grasses and tents that had collected overnight. In time, they each took a place around the fire, disheveled, and slow to gain their bearings.

Elliot remarked on the absence of the cave’s avian namesake, directed it toward Liana, “I’ve noticed something. I haven’t seen or heard the crows.”

“I too, have noticed,” she said with a poorly masked suspicion. The others exchanged worried looks over tasteless gruel. Liana caught one, corrected herself, “It is strange, but perhaps they’ve migrated.”

“Not late enough in the season,” Raymond mused absently from a corner of his mouth.

“It is strange, no matter what,” Chad said with a minor agitation.

Elliot glanced around, “Even if they weren’t here, we should’ve seen them somewhere. There’s no way they’d have moved so far from the nesting grounds.”

Liana was quick to subdue her eerie fears, “Perhaps they’ve begun nesting in the mountain.”

The conversation ended here in silent contemplation, but Elliot felt a growing uneasiness at the birds’ absence. Everything about this had been problematic, but nothing near what they could encounter was they entered the cave. They’d been brow beaten, detained, searched, and stuck babysitting some pseudo-soldier consultant. None of that was nearly as bad as a mistake in the caves could be.

Though she suspected Liana was hiding something, she decided it would either work its way out of her, or remain hidden, irrelevant. She hoped for the latter, suspecting any other option meant it would affect their expedition. Even still, the absence of the Crows was disheartening, and Elliot was left unsatisfied with their speculations.

They prepared for the climbs and dives ahead, distributed and secured their equipment. Each person carried at most, eighteen kilograms– roughly forty pounds– as anymore risked their equilibrium or might over-stress their ropes. Though their supports would hold more than their weight, 2,000 meters from the surface and miles from a hospital, Elliot felt it was better to be safe than sorry. Moreover, they had only a few days before they were due to leave the country. With the fuss put up over their entrance, Elliot could only imagine the intrusions and interrogations once they’d over-stayed their welcome.

They traded their denim and plaid for full-body wet-suits, for inevitable sumps submerged below the water line. These passages would be otherwise impassable unless they each donned a breathing apparatus– a hefty portion of their weight-limits. There was little more than two hours of air in each of them; a supply required to last through the return trip. As such, each breath had to be deep, held as long as possible.

Liana understood Elliot’s instructions on the matters without further inquiry. Her immediate compliance somehow made Elliot both uneasy and relaxed at the same time. The expedition was already a mix of contrasted and conflicted emotions, and they’d yet to breach the cave.

They carried little else save small, personal hammocks, that would allow them to sleep from the walls of cave, and rations to last the length the trip. Elliot also wore a small device strapped to her wrist that communicated with SGSM as well as any scientific institution she could think to connect it to. Chad managed to stow a field medic’s first-aid kit in his pack, complete with sterilization liquids, field dressings, and surgical tools.

They consulted a series of scans and dye-tracings that formed a picture of the path to the cave-bottom. The first few hours would consist of a series of long, winding vadose shafts– areas where atmospheric pressure is that of ground level– that intertwined and threatened to throw mislead them from their intended route. Raymond assured them he was certain of their path, began the walk toward the mouth of the cave.

Indeed, he led them the whole first leg with barely a word. The group’s time was consumed by steep descents in claustrophobic crevices, confusing four way shafts that intersected one another as they crouch-walked the length of them, led forward by Raymond’s mental map.

The cave zigged with slopes, zagged with others, wound its way northwest, then down further still. It jutted at a right-angle, continued straight down with steep crevices that they were forced to hook into, inch down. More than once they expended the length of their ropes, forced to connect spares to follow the path further down. The deeper they went, the more Raymond was alight at the cave’s significance.

“In what we’ve passed since our start,” he said, unusually giddy. “Is the whole of human history, laid out in porous, porphyritic limestone.”

To his credit, the stone was an intriguing sight. The vertical walls seemed as though a child had mixed millions of pebbles and grains of sand with everyday cement, the shaped them like clay and pained them with a lime tint. Raymond always saw more than the others in them, as though he were the sculptor’s father that gazed lovingly over his child’s creation.

As they continued further down, the path became more treacherous. Fractures in the floor appeared in the straights, led down hundreds of feet or more to a claustrophobic ending, or otherwise disappeared altogether into the bowels of the Earth. In order to pass such obstacles, they secured themselves to the walls, shimmied over the missing bits of floor to the opposite sides of the chasms.

There were of course, those chasms just wide enough to be jumped over or stepped across. Even still, careful consideration was given to each of them. A single, false step might shift an already crumbling rock, cause the surface to give way. One crumbling edge did give way when Anthony tested its integrity. He fell, jolted the others forward by their ever-present tether. They managed to keep their footing as he slammed the side of newly opened chasm. He yelped, swore. The four worked to step backward together, pulled him to safety.

After it was over, he dusted himself off with a few, fresh and bloody cuts but none the worse for wear, “That was a close call.”

Elliot heart beat like made as she panted with waning adrenaline, “Too close, Tony.”

They traveled onward, crossed more chasms, pulled themselves up lips and plateau-like protrusions, inched down steep slopes until the path ahead became wider, clearer. The dive became a straight line with a few twists and turns, but ended level to the anticlinal formation that at the entrance.

Raymond stared up at stalactites as they stopped for water, “It’s an interesting thought. A few thousand feet above us the sun’s beating down on the ground. Yet nothing here’s ever touched sunlight. It’s a beautiful testament to the solidity of the rock which we on.”

Having long since switched to hanging lamps, flares, and strapped head-lights, the others found little beauty in the thought. They were merely party to its negative effects as they clambered and clanged over each new obstacle. They continued forward not long after Raymond’s musings. Then, after what seemed an eternity of doubt and vertigo, the first sump came into view. They’d reached the waterline, and pending their strength held-out, they would reach their destination by nightfall.

They broke for a quick lunch, traded their dry-gear for the wet, and prepped for the first in a series of sump dives. They secured guide-ropes to the dry land that they planned to affix one they made the other side, and strapped on their breathing apparatuses. They dove into the first sump, the way forward lit by water-proof HID flash-lights.

They managed the first sump without incident, emerged from a pool in front of a high pathway to climb it. The next passage sloped down, ended in a second large pool. They dove into it, search for a half-hour for its exit before they’d climbed onto a low passage. They had made excellent time, already achieved the lowest recorded depth in history. A second pool awaited them on the other side of the small island they found. They agreed to rest for the night. The next two days spent in a scientific exploration of the submerged, forward chasms. And, as Elliot hoped, in discovery of her lost world.

Krubera: Part 2


The Guide

Elliot emerged from the conference room with a huff. Her team anxiously waited to celebrate, she stepped into, smiled at them. The tension shattered into a half-dozen sighs. Elliot laughed, expertly masked her irritation.

Meeting with the Georgian officials had gone well, but they had refused to relent on a single issue. Elliot and her team would be forced to bring one of their countrymen along as a guide. Despite her vehement protests that they would be cave-diving, and could not assure the safe return of the guide, the officials refused to grant her access to the country until she agreed. In all of her expeditions she’d learned only two things were immovable; mountains, and politicians with an agenda. In truth, she didn’t want the straggler to hinder their pace, in addition to presenting a liability. Officially, the expedition was American, but if something happened to the Georgian, accusations would fly when the four Americans returned unscathed– no matter how loud they shouted that the Georgian was inexperienced.

Anthony Weir was the first to approach her; a thirty-five year old paleontologist from Brigham Young, and the jewel of her team. All of the others knew it. He was invaluable to an archaeologist, able to tell the era of bones on first observation. No one knew how he did it, but he was more accurate, and faster, than carbon dating. He also held a Master’s degree in paleobotany. Elliot joked that he must have “loved the idea of robbing the grave” as a graduate student.

“Well?” He asked with an anxious step forward. His hands shook change in the pockets of old khaki, cargo shorts, his button-up shirt curiously still. He looked out of place in a building full of suit-clad politicians, but didn’t seem to mind. Elliot wasn’t sure he noticed anyhow.

“Well, what?” She asked, almost oblivious.

“Are we in?” He retorted.

A voice piped up behind him, “Of course we’re in Tony, that was never the question,”

Chad Balzray, an Aussie-American and eternal rock star that even now wore his sunglasses despite the dark, wood-paneled hallway of the Embassy. His Hollywood-style blue blazer was draped over a shirt unbuttoned to the middle.

Chad held a Master’s in Micro-biology from Berkeley, but was also skilled herbalist. For as many times as Elliot re-considered his position, he’d come through doubly when someone was ill, and the team was out of or low on medical supplies. Through-out all of the various terrains they’d been through– deserts, jungles, even a few ocean-dives, and more– he’d made four times the amount of herbal remedies. He was, ostensibly, the team’s physician if they’d been allowed one. On-paper he was the consultant for fossilized micro-biology, able to stick rocks under a scope, deduce what bacterium had ruled the de-calcified life. Otherwise, he pulled his weight where it was needed, and that was enough for Elliot.

“So Ell, what’s the catch?” He asked intuitively.

She sighed through pursed lips, “We’re taking a guide.” The group remained silent. She continued with a shake of her head, “Something about tensions on the border. I’m sure it’s B-S, but I have to seriously question whether or not they’ll be a liability. They haven’t chosen who’s going yet, but I told them it needs to be someone that can dive.” She sank on to a bench in the hall, rubbed her forehead, “I swear it’s like talking to trees– you know they’re communicating, but talking back’s useless.”

“Egg heads,” Chad chuckled.

“Without a doubt,” Tony agreed.

The final member of the team, Raymond Bradley, was as quiet as ever. He sat on a bench across from Elliot in a tweed jacket that was tattered around the edges. He stared at a piece of limestone in his hand, as if it explained some deep, philosophical mystery of the universe to him. His mind and attention hung on its every word.

Bradley was the most eccentric of the group, with a PhD and tenure-ship from Stanford, and an undeniable geological-attitude he’d inherited from his life’s work. He weighed every word he spoke, as though to test its weight in his hands before it became a corner-stone to be laid with the greatest of care. His patience was eternal, because, in his words, “stone makes fools of us all.” He was also a walking, geological encyclopedia. Long before they had decided to explore Krubera, he had known all of its facts. To him, the expedition was an exercise in review; every twist and turn of the system undoubtedly already mapped in his mind.

“What do you think Raymond?” Elliot asked across at him.

He stared a moment longer, sighed with tongue-in-cheek, “Eggheads.”


The team’s lengthy flight exhausted them to irritation. They’d left JFK International for a connecting flight in Moscow, airborne for nine and half hours. Then, without warning, their second leg was diverted around Abkhazian airspace, back into Russia’s Krasnodar Krai. Their twin-engine charter was threatened by a pair of MiG-29 fighter jets, forced down on a long strip of dirt-road, boarded, then searched by Russian soldiers. They were held there until several Russian officials arrived with a translator who claimed they were bound for forbidden airspace.

No one was in the mood, Elliot especially. She produced their itinerary and signed, official documents. The translator explained the situation between the two parties, neglecting Elliot’s swears and curses. Evidently, the flight had warranted Russian authorization, Abkhazia a contested zone between the Russians and Georgians. Elliot assumed there would be political opposition to her entry, but never imagined the Russians would force her plane down

Unfortunately, as far as the Russian government was concerned, Abkhazia was an independent nation. To Georgia, it was not. Their government, as well as most of the world, refused to acknowledge Abkhazia’s independence, but it was Russia’s job to assert it.

Elliot didn’t care for the politics of it. There was more to be concerned with on this trip. She pressed the officials, and after several hours, they agreed her team could enter the country, so long as they not continue to Georgia. Elliot was fine with it: Krubera was only forty kilometers inland from the Russian border. Even so, she purposely neglected to mention the Georgian guide.

They took off once more from the stretch open, dirt road for their last stop; the Sukhumi Dranda Airport. Customs officials met them on the tarmac, no doubt sent by the Russians, pulled them from the plane, and ransacked their belongings with dogs. Haggard, jet-lagged, and on-edge, the team hurled their luggage into awaiting Land-Rovers. There beside them, was the Georgian guide.

Elliot guessed she wasn’t more than thirty, but she seemed out of place in the crowded terminal. A few inches taller than Elliot, and well-toned with black, mid-back-length hair, she introduced herself as Liana Lomidze. She watched them load their things with curiously wily-eye, took a seat on the driver’s side of the first of the two SUVs. Elliot and Chad, climbed in with her. Anthony and Raymond followed close behind her, drove as she did; the last thing they needed was to be pulled over, searched again.

Elliot watched the gray-cities pass by, matched by the gray-sky overhead, “Any idea why the pulled that stunt on the plane?”

Liana replied with a resonant guilt, “It is unfortunate. For as little good as it does, you have my apologies. It is sad that my homeland and my countrymen do not see eye-to-eye. It is not however, surprising in the least.”

“Why dogs? Do they think we’re militants?”

Liana’s eyes were focused ahead, her tone dead-pan, “Or smugglers moving weapons.”

Chad leaned in from the back-seat, “Is it really that bad here?”

Liana glanced back at him, then to Elliot, “Only to those in power, and those that fear change.” She returned to her focus to the road with a breath, “Truly, the situation is reflected by the people. And they’re very angry. A decade and a half of peace after a purge not seen since the likes of Stalin, interrupted by politicians pulling strings for their own gains. It is not bad. It is terrible.”

Elliot threw he head back against the seat, “Christ. What the hell was I thinking?”

Chad smiled as he relaxed backward, “Don’t worry, Ell, we’re Americans. No-one’s got the balls to mess with the U.S. military.”

Ellie breathed a reply, “I’m more worried about being an innocent bystander.”

Chad laughed, but Liana glanced sideways, “Your friend is right– however misplaced his humor may be.” Chad’s smile fell away. Liana refocused on the road, “There has been no fighting recently. When there is, it is on the Georgian border, far to the East. You are in no danger.”

“That’s helpful,” Elliot snarked.

They followed the twists and turns of the highways out of the city and into a wooded, forested region, stopped at a motel to pass the night. The small, cramped rooms smelled of damp mold and old, stale smoke. The storm that raged during the night shook open cracks in the bathroom ceiling. Water dripped from loud leaks, splashed on the bathroom floor to lull Liana to sleep, but kept Elliot awake in the bed beside her.

They left first-thing in the morning, well before sunrise, traveled highways and rural roads to a clearing that sprawled out into a forest. The mountains rose above far ahead, lit from the sun that rose behind trees to one side. The group set to breakfast on the hoods of the SUVs as the mountains continued to lighten, and the sounds of morning birds resounded from the forest ahead.

“Ever been spelunking?” Elliot asked Liana, between bites of food.

“Once, long ago.” She hesitated to drink, swallow food, “I am not usually one for exploration, but I was contracted by the Georgians for things of this nature.”

“What do you do normally?” Raymond asked as he balled up a sandwich bag.

“Travel. I am a consultant for several large industrial companies,” she replied vaguely.

Chad’s attempts to press her were obvious, “Uh-huh, and why’d the Georgians contract you to us?”

Liana sighed her wits too sharpened for Chad’s lack of subtlety, “I will be frank with you. I am a military consultant for the Georgian government. I was chosen to guide you as protection because of my background. The Georgian government, as you said–” she nodded to Chad. “–was afraid of involving you, and vicariously the U.S. Military, in the conflict here.”

Raymond gave a silent nod, as his eyes worked its way up the mountains ahead. Elliot looked to her feet, like the others, clad in blue-denim pants, hiking boots, and long sleeved plaid shirts. Her boots hung from the hood of the Land-Rover, dangled childishly. She dropped down on instinct, shifted uncomfortably across her hips.

Liana’s admission forced a silence over them that lasted through breakfast. When everyone was finished, Elliot broke the tense silence to spend a few minutes planning their trek along topographical maps of the area. They found the best possible route to lead them through the woods, down into glacial, limestone valleys, and straight to the entrance of the cave. With the weight the five were required to carry, it would take all day. They would make camp at the mouth of the Crow’s cave, sleep through the night, and begin their descent first thing in the morning.

Krubera: Part 1



The Sell

She leaned in close, whispered as though she feared being overheard. “John, please!”

They were two of six people in the small patio of a Parisian-style cafe.

John, the curator, watched her display with pity, “Elliot, what makes you think this is it?”

She scowled. He responded with a crossed leg, and a lean back to sip his Cappuccino while his little-finger protruded further than a man’s should.

He returned the cup to its saucer, “In all the years the theory’s been around, we’ve found nothing. More money’s made off speculation on the topic, nowadays than invested by formal channels. No-one wants to find it anymore.”

Elliot’s dark eyes matched her dark hair, both wild in the slight breeze around them, “John, if anyone can find it, I can. You of all people know that.”

His brows bucked grandly, one after the other. It was true; if you needed something found, Elliot would find it. She was young, energetic, and in all the time he’d allocated funds for her expeditions, she’d never returned empty-handed. The Museum received display rights, and Elliot’s fame sky-rocketed again. She’d lived lavishly off the Museum’s grants and various, academic novels and book-tours. Her discoveries drew crowds, and her benefactors raked in the cash.

But this was different. If she found what she was looking for, it would be miraculous. If she found it. The odds were slimmer than nil. The entire scientific community had searched for this since the fourteenth century. Then again, they weren’t Elliot, and only now did she want to find it.

He set is cup and saucer down, folded his hands in his lap, “Alright Elliot, sell me.”

She reached into a briefcase that hung beside her, produced a thick file-folder, and laid it open to subsurface resonance scans. They looked like ultrasounds, but from the body of a creature the size of Earth, and with a distinct, geologic topology in place of a uterine one.

“These are from SGSM– the new system NASA’s just launched.”

He waved his hand to press her forward; everyone knew what the SGSM was. It was the first time NASA had ever collaborated with the National Science Foundation. Together, they built and launched a new type of satellite system known as the Sky-Ground Sonic Mapping system, or SGSM. Its purpose was to map the Earth’s interiors via low-frequency sound waves– well below that of human hearing– on invisible lasers. The lasers simultaneously read the reverberations of the sound-waves, formed a picture of the ground beneath a set of coordinates.

Widespread global earthquakes had both preceded and followed its launch, caused some to decry the use of the SGSM, cite it as the cause. NASA said these complaints were unmerited. The system was simply incapable of this. The truth was, no-one knew for sure. It had however, made it possible to scan for active and building earthquakes. The computers on the control-end received early-warnings of the seismic activity, recorded peta-bytes of varied information in real-time.

Elliot elaborated on this point. John could tell she was leading him somewhere. He stopped her with another hand, “Elliot. Elliot. What have you found?”

She gathered her thoughts, “You know I have more access to the system than anyone outside NASA. I went over the most-recent scans in detail. One stuck out: Krubera’s cave system is deeper than we ever thought possible. Something’s happened. Something’s been shaken loose.”

A curious brow rose on John’s face, “We?”

“My team and I.” She hesitated, “John… we think it’s in Krubera.”

His brows sank. He shook his head, “Elliot–”

“It all fits, John! The Krubera range has cracks beneath its surface where the Black Sea spills in. The cracks have widened from all the activity lately.”

His tone incised her, “So?”

She was taken aback, “So? You know as well as I do there’s been dozens of new zoophyte species in that area in the last year. No-one has any idea how they’ve gotten there, but no-one’s really looking either. They aren’t accounting for the cavernous mountain-range.” Her brown eyes widened with a plea, gleamed from the sunlight above them, “If it’s anywhere, it’s in Krubera. You have to believe me.”

He watched the gleam, considered her logic. He knew of the Krubera cave system and the Gagrinsky range of the Western Caucasus mountains of Abkhazia. It had been in the news some years back when the scientific community speculated on its possible depth. Named for Alexander Kruber, whom founded Karst-Science in Russia, its mouth was discovered in Aribika Massif by Georgian speleologists in the 60’s. It was Kruber’s study of irregular limestone, eroded over time, that led him to trek the range in question. His published observations were later honored by the bestowal of his name on the system. While its mouth– the Crow’s cave– added the alias Voronja; the Russian word for crow, due to the birds that nested there in droves..

More relevant in John’s mind was that fact that, in 2001, it had been discovered as the deepest of all recorded cave systems: Its topology disguised its 2,200 meter concave into the Earth, rivaled the previous record-holder, Lamprechtsofen of the Austrian Alps, by over eighty meters. This last fact had been discovered only recently due to the first Georgian foray being made impassable near one-hundred meters.

This assertion alone convinced John. If the system could have widened to allow for such a depth in forty or fifty years time, then it was more probably the Black Sea findings were indicative of something more. At that, Elliot was right. New species of all kinds were being discovered regularly in the Black sea. Although most were microbial, a few marine Chordata had appeared that were strangely unsuited for the Black Sea.

His mind was made up, and a familiar smile graced his cheeks that brightened the gleam in Elliot’s eyes, “Alright, assemble your team. Find me this “lost world.”