Not far above them, I sat in a large gallery, listening for their drills. The gallery was pristine; it had been discovered only days before, and I was one of the first ever to enter it. But where I sat, surrounded by towering stalagmites and colossal mushrooms of stone, the cavern was alive with other sounds. At my elbow, water tinkled into limpid basins, while overhead, thousands of swiftlets—tiny black birds that spend much of their lives in the pitch-black chambers—twittered and clicked and echolocated toward nests made of saliva, moss, and mud.
我坐在他們上方不遠處的大型洞廊里,聆聽他們鉆壁的聲音。這個廊道很原始,幾天前才剛被發(fā)現(xiàn),而我是首批進入這里的人。不過,當(dāng)我坐在那兒——周圍石筍高聳、巨型蕈狀巖林立,卻能聽到洞穴里充滿了各種聲音。在我肘旁有水潺潺流入清澈的水洼,頭頂則是成千上萬只金絲燕,這種黑色小鳥大半輩子生活在漆黑洞室里,它們啁啾尖叫,利用回聲定位飛向以唾液、苔蘚和泥土做成的巢。
If Frank and Cookie were making history somewhere below my feet, I wasn't going to hear it. But that was fine. More than any other sport, caving is about secrets and the things we endure to find them out. Sometimes all you can do is wait to see what the darkness reveals. So I lay back, turned out my light, and listened as the swifts swooped low, coming so close I could feel wingbeats on my cheeks.
如果弗蘭克和庫奇在我腳下這個地方創(chuàng)造了歷史,我不會去聽。但這無所謂。與其他運動不同,洞穴探險是有關(guān)秘密和其他需要探索的事物的運動項目。有時,你只能等待,并發(fā)現(xiàn)黑暗所展示的東西。所以我躺下,關(guān)掉燈光,聽著雨燕俯沖的聲音,它們離我很近,近到我的臉頰上能感受到它們在振翅。