RE: [Texascavers] Houston borehole
Great story, yet again, Sleaze! Enjoyed it immensely and I can't help but wonder if you've read a lot of Hunter S. Thompson, as I have. Keep postin'! Mark From: bmorgan...@aol.com [mailto:bmorgan...@aol.com] Sent: Wednesday, November 14, 2007 2:11 PM To: texascavers@texascavers.com Subject: [Texascavers] Houston borehole Once upon a time I made the mistake of visiting Houston. I think it might have been 1989. I wrote a story about it called A business trip to Texas. Here is an excerpt: Houston is a microcosm of all our urban sins, a Los Angeles about to happen saved from critical mass only by the oil slump. I sat in my motel room in despair until I remembered Wild Bill Rupley, an old caving friend that I met in Belize. A comprehensive tour of all the punk rock clubs and sleazy bars in town brought my spirits back. The next evening we were at a loss until I mentioned the great gray green greasy Buffalo Bayou which flows through the oldest and most decrepit part of downtown Houston. Wildlife is where you find it, so we outfitted ourselves with headlamps and canoe and set out to explore Houston the hard way. The idea was to explore the maze of sewage tunnels beneath the city, and to shine the eyes of trolls, rats, bag ladies, and other wildlife. Beneath the bridges. The bayou was up due to recent flooding so we had a fine fast ride through the suburbs. Our first discovery was big borehole, a vine-draped tunnel entrance at least ten feet in diameter leading back into the bowls of tho city. Not having taken the proper equipment (rubber galoshes) we were finally stopped by a deep pool of poop that flooded the passage. We could hear a waterfall beyond, the passage beckoned, but prudence dictated that this was a dry weather cave. The beer supply was running low, but we managed to re-provision at an all night 7-11, then continued on down the bayou. Beneath the bridges the ruins of ancient civilizations could be seen everywhere, but the inhabitants had fled to join the Anasazi. Only one vagrant was seen, but he submerged into the debris upon our approach and escaped before we could photograph him to determine the species. Once we reached the tidal portion of the bayou, the wildlife changed. Regular black rats were replaced by numerous semi aquatic wharf rats. Were those the cute little fur bearing nutrias that I had envisioned raising as a child? Mommy, will you buy me a swamp so I can make big money raising nutrias? We wondered about predators, supposing that the rats were at the top of the food chain, when whuump sploosh one of them disappeared beneath the greasy surface. Shortly thereafter the mystery was solved when we ran headlong into an alligator gar that attempted to turn the canoe over and eat us. It was at least seven feet long. Bill, who was in the bow, was visably shaken. Now that Piranhas, Alligators, rats, and Mambas have all had their moment of glory on the silver screen, I would recommend Gars for the next scifihorrorflick extravaganza. Just when you thought it was safe to canoe down the bayou ... By the time we reached the last and greatest arched bridge our minds had become as murky as the turbid waters of the bayou. I chanced to knock the paddle against the side of the canoe and thereby discovered that we were in a gigantic echo chamber, the frequency of which depended on where we were relative to the apex of the arch of the bridge. The senseless hoots and gibbers that followed were compounded by the weird acoustical aberrations of the echo chamber. The police left us alone, supposing that we were only an errant band of gibbering gibbons, siamangs out for a fling. Sleazeweazel See what's new at AOL.com http://www.aol.com?NCID=AOLCMP0030001170 and Make AOL Your Homepage http://www.aol.com/mksplash.adp?NCID=AOLCMP0030001169 .
Re: [Texascavers] Houston borehole
I've canoed the Buffalo Bayou route that Sleaze describes many times, and I can report on another abundant predator in and about the Bayou. I'm a Floridian by birth, and there's not a place in the lower 48 (even Texas) that is better turf for a diversity of snakes than the Sunshine State. But despite countless days in the swamps there, I've never seen a higher concentration of moccasins than I did on one trip down the Bayou through Tanglewood and River Oaks (two of the most exclusive sections of Houston). They were festooning every log and limb. And Sleaze, you should back off on Houston. (Yes, I know the rest of the list other than us GHG folks probably feel the same way.) But Houston has come a long way toward remedying its some of worst sins in the last 15 years, and its cultural advantages are hard to beat. But nothing will ever change the fact that we gotta drive a long way to cave country. Roger Moore Houston In a message dated 11/15/07 07:31:56 Central Standard Time, mark.al...@l-3com.com writes: Great story, yet again, Sleaze!
[Texascavers] Houston borehole
Once upon a time I made the mistake of visiting Houston. I think it might have been 1989. I wrote a story about it called A business trip to Texas. Here is an excerpt: Houston is a microcosm of all our urban sins, a Los Angeles about to happen saved from critical mass only by the oil slump. I sat in my motel room in despair until I remembered Wild Bill Rupley, an old caving friend that I met in Belize. A comprehensive tour of all the punk rock clubs and sleazy bars in town brought my spirits back. The next evening we were at a loss until I mentioned the great gray green greasy Buffalo Bayou which flows through the oldest and most decrepit part of downtown Houston. Wildlife is where you find it, so we outfitted ourselves with headlamps and canoe and set out to explore Houston the hard way. The idea was to explore the maze of sewage tunnels beneath the city, and to shine the eyes of trolls, rats, bag ladies, and other wildlife. Beneath the bridges. The bayou was up due to recent flooding so we had a fine fast ride through the suburbs. Our first discovery was big borehole, a vine-draped tunnel entrance at least ten feet in diameter leading back into the bowls of tho city. Not having taken the proper equipment (rubber galoshes) we were finally stopped by a deep pool of poop that flooded the passage. We could hear a waterfall beyond, the passage beckoned, but prudence dictated that this was a dry weather cave. The beer supply was running low, but we managed to re-provision at an all night 7-11, then continued on down the bayou. Beneath the bridges the ruins of ancient civilizations could be seen everywhere, but the inhabitants had fled to join the Anasazi. Only one vagrant was seen, but he submerged into the debris upon our approach and escaped before we could photograph him to determine the species. Once we reached the tidal portion of the bayou, the wildlife changed. Regular black rats were replaced by numerous semi aquatic wharf rats. Were those the cute little fur bearing nutrias that I had envisioned raising as a child? “Mommy, will you buy me a swamp so I can make big money raising nutrias?” We wondered about predators, supposing that the rats were at the top of the food chain, when whuump sploosh one of them disappeared beneath the greasy surface. Shortly thereafter the mystery was solved when we ran headlong into an alligator gar that attempted to turn the canoe over and eat us. It was at least seven feet long. Bill, who was in the bow, was visably shaken. Now that Piranhas, Alligators, rats, and Mambas have all had their moment of glory on the silver screen, I would recommend Gars for the next scifihorrorflick extravaganza. “Just when you thought it was safe to canoe down the bayou ... “ By the time we reached the last and greatest arched bridge our minds had become as murky as the turbid waters of the bayou. I chanced to knock the paddle against the side of the canoe and thereby discovered that we were in a gigantic echo chamber, the frequency of which depended on where we were relative to the apex of the arch of the bridge. The senseless hoots and gibbers that followed were compounded by the weird acoustical aberrations of the echo chamber. The police left us alone, supposing that we were only an errant band of gibbering gibbons, siamangs out for a fling. Sleazeweazel ** See what's new at http://www.aol.com
