Spelunking for Inspiration
My older brother grew up crawling around in pitchblack caves, but it never appealed to me as a kid. Besides the dangerous dungeons of my video games, I didn’t really like the claustrophobic idea of cramming my body into underground tunnels. In an interview with The Legend of Zelda creator, Shigeru Miyamoto, he stated that he was inspired to create the game after wandering the countryside and discovering a cave. Looking into the stark darkness, it filled him with possibilities of adventure. Those possibilities are something I’ve always sought after. Every time I trekked along a forest, swam in a lake, or moved along a mountain pass, my mind wandered and came to interesting ideas.
For me, caving could be an outlet if I was brave enough to try it. It took years of working up the courage, but I called my brother and asked him if he’d take me to an easy cave. We arrived at a cave system called the Sinks of Gandy. With a name like something from a fantasy map, a creek ran entirely through it. Light cascaded down over the wide mouth of the entrance as the water moved slowly along chunks of stones.
An icy feeling slid over me as I peered at the mouth. Like a whale had opened up wide, I was about to just willingly waltz in and be eaten. Moving along the underground tunnels while crisscrossing across the cold waters made for a magical experience. I found fungi and weird growth all around, and there were creatures that called the cave their home. I turned off my headlamp, and I couldn’t see my hand right in front of my face. To be in cold and unending darkness gave me appreciation for warmth and light. By the time I escaped the caves, I felt truly relieved to feel light hit my face. I breathed fresh air. I felt alive in ways I didn’t expect. It made all that hardscrabble crawling and crouching all the more worth it.
The next cave we explored didn’t have a creek or wide enough tunnels. I had to suck in my gut and squeeze through narrow passages. Being in the cold, swallowing darkness while crawling on my belly through a narrow tunnel filled me with dread. Feeling lost while underground as water dripped around me became both terrifying and exhilarating. The abyssal serenity of being in a place with no wind or light became dreadfully meditative. I both loved and hated being underground, but more possibilities of adventure filled me. While exploring these exhausting spaces, stories formed in my head of hardship and trial. Unnamed characters without backstory or personality bruised themselves against the wet stone. They cut their hands on sharp rocks. They scaled up walls with the dreadful fear of a drop beneath them.
I have always loved a good whimsical tale of light and revelry. Yet, those tales work best when given the counterpoint of horror. When a sinewy and scarred creature with blood dripping claws stalks a shadowy corridor close to our protagonists, all the whimsy and fun of the beforetimes are given more weight. As readers, we wish for those beautiful moments to return, but we are left following characters staggering in the dark, fighting to survive. We get to feel that tension build as the mood turns icy, and the thrill of it is what propels the narrative forward.
When our heroes slay the beasts and crawl and clamber back out in the light while covered in mud and blood, we rejoice. When they have a quiet moment near the campfire with most of the danger gone, we get to live that relief with them. That time by the campfire, recalling the obstacles averted and distance traveled became a reality from my experiences caving but also from the point of view of my characters. I knew what that relief felt like. I knew what the claustrophobic dread did to me, and I could bring that to my characters.
I went spelunking. I gained inspiration.