We've all seen those videos where people explore very tight and dark caves, or those who climb Mt. Everest only to find out that their bodies are not capable enough to endure the environment. Some manage to survive, while the unfortunate ones breathe their last breath in those places.
I want to dive deep into the mindset of these people who would risk it all, even their lives, in order to feel.... well, I don't really know what they are trying to feel, but that is exactly why I am writing this, so that I, along with you, can find out. Let's go.
The human race have thrived for hundreds of thousands of years with one sole purpose: to procreate and survive as a species. It doesn't matter what your beliefs are, what your race, or nationality, or ethnicity are. The sole purpose of our existence is to ensure the survival of the human race.
One of the most effective ways of doing this is to stay away from danger or high risk situations. There are a vast number of creative ways that nature has of killing us, not to mention the methods we ourselves have invented, but the point is, we need to live our lives and keep this number as low as possible, ideally ZERO.
Everything humans did and every instinct we developed was for survival.
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, have developed with survival instincts and wits from the early hominids to our ancient ancestors to our own cave dwelling fire harnessing ancestors, they all have compounding survival knowledge that can only be passed down through DNA (I think).
We have only been modernized and "safe" in our manmade homes for a few thousand years, maybe a few tens of thousands of years to be lenient, but compare that to the embedded survival instincts through hundreds of millenias, you cannot erase that in a few thousand years.
The main selling point is that even with our modern technology and minds, we should still prefer safety, away from danger, away from high risk situations, preferrably not dying from an avoidble death.
Most normal human beings understand this instinctively. You don't have to die once in order to know that something could kill you. A wonderful thing called common sense, one of the features that we inherited from the millions of lives sacrificed by our poor ancestors just so that we can live and breathe today.
When asked why they do this, the usual response is:
"We just wanna live our lives to the fullest"
And that is exactly what you can do when you are not in danger.
But let's assume that by some miracle that there is a slim chance that I, will want to do those thrill seeking activities.
I will now put myself in the shoes of those who have been there.
Let's do this.
Caving. Why on earth would a sane human being do this, you might ask? Well then, I will put myself in their shoes and I will answer that as honestly as I can.
If I had so much freedom and safety in my life that the only remaining way to scratch that itch is to.. risk my life? Then this is definitely one of the top activity of choice.
In a forest surrounded by nature with no other signs of life besides my own and some brave souls who are as adventurous as me, there is a small entrance just enough to squeeze our bodies through, just enough that my lungs can still think it can breathe but not really do it. Me and the poor(brave) souls would enter said opening squeezing and contorting our bodies to fit through a narrow hole barely enough for an adult to go through.
This hole would lead to a tight passage that would require you to twist your body in an unimaginable angle along with precise breathing in order to fit your torso through it, or else you're stuck there forever.
Few pushes later, I have successfully climbed down the narrow passage and into a much wider chamber.
We would call this "Base Camp".
It is dark, damp, and slippery but it had enough ground to set up camp.
One of the guys was throwing some rocks, when suddenly, it went into a hole.
We listened for a few seconds. It took a long time to hit the bottom, and by our calculations, the drop is at least 200 feet.
We came prepared. We have enough rope.
With darkness enveloping us, just our headlamps glowing the walls of this cave, we then proceed to attach the gear on our waists, and ensured that the other ends of the two lines we have is safely anchored on god knows where because these are all slippery rocks from the millions of years of minding its own business.
Two ropes, two lifelines. That is all what would keep us alive for the following minutes.
One by one we proceed to enter the hole, using our line to "safely" go down into it, guided by our strength, and courage, and sheer willpower, so that we may be able to find a new place that no one has ever been to before.
While rappelling down slowly, we start to feel the surrounding air is becoming stale and getting colder, the warm clothing we had with our gloves on is just barely doing its job as the surrounding temperature is so stagnantly cold it feels as if no living civilized being should even be down here.
Our hands are starting to freeze but is still manageable to grab firmly on the rappelling gear.
One by one we begin our descent. The rope creaks as we ease ourselves over the edge, carefully easing down and managing our breaths to conserve energy. At a steady pace, it will take roughly a minute, maybe two, to reach the bottom — but in this cave, time feels stretched. Every second drags on as darkness swallows the line below.
The air grows colder and heavier with each meter. My gloves barely protect my fingers, which are already stiff and tingling from the cold. My legs shake, not just from exertion, but from the constant awareness that a single slip could send me to my maker. Around us, the walls disappear into shadows, lit only by the faint glow of our headlamps. Each movement is deliberate, controlled, exhausting, yet necessary.
Very slowly, we inch down. The rope slides through our hands with a constant friction, a rhythmic reminder of the drop beneath us. The sound of dripping water echoes from somewhere below, and it feels impossibly far. For a moment, I wonder how long we’ve been dangling, though it’s only been a couple minutes — long enough for every muscle to tense and every instinct to scream caution.
And then, by the grace of God, or Gods, or any deities who are watching, we finally reached the bottom. It is very dark and very quiet, almost eerie like. You can really feel that you are deep underground, the walls of this chamber seems to be staring down at us at every inch of its corner.
We scan the chamber which is wide enough to fit a car or two, the floors are made of wet limestone and the stalagmites (the pointy things on the floor facing up) are as tall as us if not taller. The roof of the cave have pronounced grooves in it as if it was made of limestone clay thrown by giants onto it like a playdo.
We called this, Camp 2 or "Giant's Clay"
In camp 2, we took a break for half an hour, double checked our gear and our flashlights. There was a point where we were all checking our flashlights at once and we happen to turn it off all at the same time.
Complete Darkness.
I don't know if the guys with me have felt it but that few seconds of total darkness reminded me of the dangers, or the helplessness that any human could face if they dare do this and lose their light. The rope which was hangang just a few feet from us and the drop that we came from? Totally invisible. You would get lost finding it even if it's just a few steps away from you.
After scanning around, the team found another passage that could barely fit a human body. Of course we will go through that...
One of the most experienced in the group went head first. Yes. Head. First. The others followed and I did what the others have done.
While crawling down this canal, I noticed that some parts I can fully breathe while most parts requires me to wiggle my way through. Some of the tightest parts I even need to exhale as much as I can in order to make my torso as narrow as possible to fit through.
We've all discussed beforehand what to do incase someone gets tired, or stuck, or whatever unexpected circumstance any of us faces, and we would all stop and carefully assess the situation. But honestly at this point nobody could help you even if they wanted to. You can only keep crawling.
My arms from my wrist to my shoulders are starting to get numb from squeezing and crawling and pulling my body weight forward. My legs can barely help and only the tip of my feet can give enough thrust to inch my way forward. This is clearly not for the faint of heart.
A buddy shouted "break!" and we all understood that we have to stop and catch our breaths for whatever reason. No questions asked. While resting, I took a good look at my surroundings and all I see are walls that are merely inches away from my face, on all sides. My mind keeps falling back to its natural instict and I couldn't help but ask myself "why am I doing this? why am I here?" but I know that that is where most people start to break, so I did my best to hold it in and think of happy thoughts, positive thoughts.
A minute has passed and the buddy was ready to move. "Alright sorry about that lads I'm ready to roll!". We began to inch our way forward once again, this time I am sweating from the efforts that my body is putting out. I noticed that the droplets of my sweat is not dropping straight down from my face, it was dropping in an angle, almost seem like I am in an incline. And then the realization hit me. We are going deeper head first.
We kept crawling, deeper and deeper, and the sense of up and down started to blur. The walls that seemed close together just a few minutes ago now felt like they were shifting. I couldn’t tell if we were descending, ascending, or twisting sideways. Every turn felt like the cave itself was folding in on us.
The rope from Camp 2, which once marked where we came from, was completely out of sight. I realized that even if I tried to retrace my steps, I would be guessing. The passage twisted like a coil, and with every squeeze and crawl, I lost track of how far we had gone. Time and distance became meaningless. My only guide was the faint glow from the person in front of me and the shallow breaths I forced myself to take.
At some point, I stopped and let my hands slide along the walls, just to feel a sense of orientation. Nothing. Just cold stone and shadow. The cave seemed endless, a labyrinth that didn’t care whether we made it out or not. And yet, every inch forward was the only option — retreat wasn’t possible, not here, not now.
It was in these moments, crawling headfirst, that I understood why so many thrill seekers get addicted. The disorientation, the uncertainty, the very real sense that the cave could swallow you whole — it’s terrifying, exhausting, and somehow, intoxicating.
We kept going like this for what felt like a few hours, when I checked my watch, it had been 30 minutes since we entered this passage, and I don't know how far we've been. We kept crawling some more and squeezed ourselves some more.
"Big Space! Wooohooo!" shouted by the frontmost person in the group.
He finally managed to reach a big space and there we can take a break once again. As I crawled towards it, many thoughts ran through my head, of course I wouldn't deny those horror movie tropes of a monster chasing us in the tunnel have popped in my head a few times but I know the reality is more dangerous than any of that so I just kept going.
Finally I reached the big space, and ohh it was huge. The air is much fresher than the one inside the crawlspace that you can barely call a tunnel. This is much bigger. So much bigger. I think you can fit 2 or 3 basketball courts in this space. It had huge stalactites (The pointy things in the roof) and some stalagmites that are as huge if not larger than the ones we saw before in Camp 2.
This space is so contrasting to the narrow passage and it really wakes up your senses to the vastness of it. Our flashlights could barely see the walls in the far distance.
Nearby where we've landed, there is a stream and we got our test kits to check the water safety level, and it is clean and fresh. We tried drinking it and ohh that is so refreshing and so cold.
We took a break here, made camp, and called it the "Grand Gallery".
After an hour of break, we made and ate lunch, did give ourselves some alone rest time, and then proceeded to inspect the caves while admiring it's awe inspiring beauty. Now I think I understand what the spelunkers are talking about.
We are probably the very first people in this planet who have seen these cave walls. They are merely walls and yet, the fascination of discovering something that nobody has ever seen before just plays a melodic tune in our brains that we cannot yet comprehend fully. It's just dopamine or adrenaline pumping or maybe both through our veins seeing the vastness of our discovery, and we get to name these places.
After observing and checking and mapping out the Grand Gallery, we've found out that there are 5 more tunnels that could fit us through. We checked our gear once again and our food supply and checked on everybody's health. We were all okay.
At this point, we have decided that we should choose the widest of the passages to explore and map out for now because we were already exhausted from the tight crawl from before.
We placed rope tied to a huge stalagmite near where we came from to remind us of the way out. We then proceeded to go into the widest passage deep in the far side of the Grand Gallery across where we came from.
This tunnel is huge, almost like a motorbike could fit through. It was a bit comforting knowing we wouldn't have to crawl again but nobody really knows for how long.
As we go along, every single one was mapping out the cave in our minds, and where it is convenient, we write it down on paper. We were fortunate that the passage is still tall and wide enough for us to walk through only with some parts you need to duck to get through. Almost an hour of walking and gently climbing down some steep but not very high portions, we ended up in a chamber with multiple other passges.
We decided to call this Chamber the "Small Gallery", as a tribute to the previous one, and mainly because we were tired from walking to even think of a new name.
The small gallery isn't really "small" per se, compared to the Grand Gallery, it is smaller, but it is still big enough to fit a bus and a half.
This chamber has 5 other passages on all sides of it, one of which is the most accessible to us.
The chambers are very visible to where we are standing from, and since we've come a long way, we decided to just take another hour of break to keep our wits and energy up.
Sounds of trickling water can be heard from some of the passages of the Small Gallery, and every drip echoes strangely against the stone walls, making it feel like the cave itself is alive, breathing with us. The air here is cooler, more humid, and carries a faint mineral scent that mixes with the sweat on our clothes. Every step we take sends small pebbles skittering across the floor, their tiny sounds magnified in the emptiness around us.
After resting, we decided to explore the most accessible passage first. It slopes downward slightly, disappearing into darkness as our headlamps barely illuminate the first few meters. We move cautiously, hands brushing against damp limestone walls, trying to memorize every twist and turn. The further we go, the more the passage narrows, though not enough to crawl. It feels like the cave is testing us, challenging our patience and focus.
At one point, the floor drops into a shallow pit, maybe three meters deep. We anchor our ropes briefly just to be safe and lower ourselves carefully. The echo of our movements here is hypnotic, each step and scrape amplified as if the cave is whispering secrets from its depths. The others follow closely, trusting the same instincts we all rely on: slow, deliberate, and vigilant.
Deeper inside, the walls start showing strange formations — jagged ridges and crystalline outcrops that sparkle faintly under our lights. It's mesmerizing, almost otherworldly, like stepping into a forgotten cathedral carved by nature over millennia. I find myself pausing often, not just to catch my breath, but to take it all in. This is the kind of beauty that can make you forget the exhaustion, even the danger, for a brief moment.
As we progress, the passage begins twisting unpredictably. I can no longer see the others without keeping a constant eye on the faint light behind me. Every turn feels like it could either open into a grand chamber or trap us in an even narrower crawlspace. The anticipation is both thrilling and nerve-wracking — this is the abyss calling us, and we answer.
Somewhere ahead, the sound of water grows louder. We can hear a faint rushing, a stream running through the darkness. It’s the first sign that the cave has more to offer than tight tunnels and chambers. Our pulse quickens — curiosity pushing us forward even as fatigue tugs at our muscles. The abyss is no longer just a metaphor; it is tangible, alive, and beckoning us deeper into its heart.
A few more minutes of walking through this unpredictable road of a wonder, we came to another breathtaking space. This is the largest of the spaces we've been to. It is bigger than the Grand Gallery. Almost as if this one should be the one called Grand Gallery. We paused and collected ourselves, and admired the vastness of its space. I cannot even see the walls from deep into it.
Just a few meters away from us there is the edge of the rock that touches the water. There is what seems to be a vast body of water in a big part of the space. Nearby across the pond like feature is a majestically flowing waterfall. Its water glimmers from the glow of our lights, it's almost like we are watching a movie and are all elated from this breathtaking view.
We called this place "Titan's Hall'.
We collected ourselves and made camp here. In the awe inspiring beauty of this landscape which ends are only left to our imaginations as it is way past the limits of our lights. We have decided that this would be the end of our caving adventures for now. We have realized that the equipment and food supply we brought with us is only enough for a day or two, and exploring any further into this vast space would put us at risk of running low on batteries and sustenance.
We lingered in Titan's Hall longer than we should have, mesmerized by the waterfall and the glassy pond. Our headlamps danced on the walls, catching reflections off the water. Everything felt calm — almost too calm.
Then I noticed the edges creeping higher. At first, it was subtle, just a few centimeters. But within minutes, the stone beneath us grew wetter, slicker. A faint current tugged at my boots. The vast chamber suddenly felt like it was closing in.
“Hey… you see that?” I whispered. The others turned their lights toward the pond. Tiny ripples spread outward, as if the cave itself was breathing.
We didn’t panic — not yet — but instinctively searched for higher ground. The rope tied to the stalagmite was still in place, but it was clear: we couldn’t linger. Every second counted.
The turn had come. Titan’s Hall wasn’t just beautiful — it was alive, and it was reminding us how quickly wonder could turn to danger.
The water kept rising, faster now. We grabbed our gear and headed back toward the tunnel, checking little else besides the teammates ahead and behind. Then the waterfall roared, sending a wave through the pond that surged toward us, echoing through the cavern like a warning.
We ran, trying to retrace the passage we had marked only in memory. Fear pushed us forward, but panic stayed buried — we knew disorientation could kill us faster than the water itself.
The flood roared down the tunnel, chasing us, its echo growing closer with every step. No one spoke, but fear bound us together in silent understanding: keep moving, don’t stop. A flash flood was on our heels.
We had no time to think, only to run — trusting our instincts, running for our lives.
The tunnel narrowed ahead, forcing us into single file. Water slapped at our heels, cold and relentless. Every step forward felt slower than the surge behind us. My breath echoed in the stone corridor, mixing with the pounding roar that chased us.
“Left or right?” someone shouted as we reached a fork — two dark mouths in the rock, both marked faintly by our chalk. The markings blurred in the wet stone, and hesitation cost us precious seconds.
The current surged again, splashing high against our legs. The choice wasn’t ours anymore — the left passage had already become a river, churning black. We bolted right.
The ground tilted upward, just slightly, and the air grew tighter, stale with the press of centuries. My lamp caught the rough scrawl of an old rope anchor hammered into the wall — decades old, rust bleeding into the limestone. Others had been here once, long before us. Whether they made it out, I couldn’t say.
Behind us, the sound shifted — less roar, more rumble. Not just water. Rocks. The flood was tearing the cave apart.
We picked the right tunnel, splashing through water that climbed fast around our boots. The walls squeezed tighter the farther we went, sometimes forcing us to crouch, sometimes crawl. Every time my chest hit the rock, I could feel the vibration of the flood chasing from behind.
We were already moving as fast as the passage allowed. Our headlamps bounced everywhere, lighting up jagged stone and dripping ceilings. The noise of the water behind us never let up — it was on us, closer with every second.
Then the air shifted. Colder. I felt a thin draft brush my face. It meant one thing: somewhere ahead, there was an opening. For a second, hope cut through the panic.
But then the tunnel ended at a pool. Not wide, maybe fifteen feet, but black and still. Our lights didn’t show a bottom. The roar of the flood was already filling the chamber behind us.
We had no time. Either the pool went somewhere… or it didn’t.
At the far edge of the chamber, one of the beams caught a jagged crack in the wall — narrow, half-submerged, but passable. Water churned through it like a drain. It wasn’t a path we’d noticed before, and for good reason: it looked like a death trap.
There was no time to argue. One by one, we lunged into the gap, packs scraping the rocks along with our helmets. The current wanted to drag us backward, but forward was the only choice.
The tunnel was tight, the ceiling low, the water forcing us under in bursts. Every meter was a fight not to choke, not to lose grip on the slippery walls. Behind us, the roar kept building — the chamber filling, the flood chasing.
Then, a rush of cold air hit my face. The crack widened just enough for us to pull ourselves into another passage — higher, drier. We spilled onto the rocks, gasping, coughing, water streaming off our gear.
We weren’t safe. The ground still trembled, the echoes of the flood still booming behind us. But for the first time since Titan’s Hall, we weren’t drowning. We were alive, clinging to the cave’s mercy by inches.
We were all so tired and numb and full of adrenaline and our muscles and legs are starting to weaken from all the paths we've taken. Now with our faint dying lights we are in this small chamber which we don't recognize, there are 2 more tunnels 1 is heading sideways and very dry, the other heading upwards but has signs of moisture all over its walls.
At our wits end we had to choose one, after about half a minute of deliberation and exhausted communication, we have decided to choose the upward tunnel. Instinct told us it was closer to the surface, even if the dripping walls warned of more water ahead, upward was all that mattered.
Somewhere above, the faintest breath of moving air brushed my face. It was enough to push us forward, battered and half-broken as we were.
At last the tunnel opened and we spilled out into the Small Gallery. Relief hit us for a second — we knew this place, we knew the way back. We weren’t lost anymore. But the urgency never left. The air was thin, our lights were failing, and somewhere behind us the cave still breathed like a living thing. We couldn’t stay here. We had only bought ourselves time, and the clock was still ticking.
We ran back into the passage heading to the Grand Gallery with every step we heard the gushing of the water flowing louder and louder and catching up to us. About what I can surmise as halfway through the passage, the roar of the water feels like it has already filled the small gallery in which where we were just moments ago.
A few more hurried minutes, climbing up the short drops we'd been through before, and running through the corridor, we finally reached the Grand Gallery.
It already had knee-deep water.
We rushed to the stalagmite with the rope we tied as a reminder of our way out. One by one, with hurried precision, we got into the tight narrow tunnel and crawled back up without uttering a single word.
While inside the small passage we heard a thunderous gush of water somewhere in the big space not far behind us. The Grand Gallery was filling up.
Without second thoughts and with precise movements we crawled back, ignoring claustrophobic triggers and our tired bodies screaming for a break.
Moments later, the first in the group reached Camp 2 Giant's Clay. He helped the teammate out of the hole and one by one we hurried to attach our gear to our waists and prepared to rappel back up into base camp.
At Base Camp we’d fixed two lines down the 200-foot drop — two ropes meant two of us could climb at once, shaving hours off the haul and giving us a real shot at getting out before nightfall.
No time for talk — the first two clipped in and started up. We waited only seconds before the next pair followed. Below, the water kept rising — we could hear it sloshing in the gallery. The climb was slow, bodies shaking from exhaustion, but there was no stopping. One by one, we hauled ourselves up the 200 feet, hands raw, legs burning.
I was the last one to ascend, about fifteen feet upwards, I looked down and saw.... nothing... Camp 2 is now filled with water. I hurriedly worked my way upwards climbing as fast as I could until I finally reached base camp.
Without minding anything else, we have proceeded to climb up into the tight dwindling passage heading outside. We made it out alive. Catching our breaths but alive.
After having this near-death experience in the cave, I came away with one truth: no matter how marvelous, awe-inspiring, or breathtaking these places may appear, they remain unforgiving. Every tunnel and chamber carries beauty, but also the weight of risk. You can plan, prepare, and carry all the right gear, but once you are inside, you are at the mercy of stone, water, and silence. If nature decides otherwise, escape is never guaranteed.
What stayed with me most was not the vastness of the hall or the depth of the pit, but the reminder that survival is often just a fragile thread of luck. Down there, the walls feel eternal. We are not.