Exploring the Interior at Cayman's Crystal Caves
Despite the understandably pervasive visuals of pristine beaches, the Cayman Islands have a far more varied landscape than the flood of #vitaminsea social posts may suggest (excusing the pun). I have every intention of maximizing my ocean time before I leave Cayman for a year of noticeably less sand in London, but I’ve also been eager to diversify my pre-boarding bucket list.
I decided to start with the Crystal Caves – a series of limestone caverns in the dense tropical bush of Old Man Bay, North Side. Of the three islands, Grand Cayman is not the first one might associate with caving – the Brac’s dens are more commonly known and most Caymanians will have grown up on tales of the 1932 Storm (it remains the deadliest hurricane in the country’s history; natural fortresses, the Bluff’s caves became shelters for the Brac populace). And yet, in this area of North Side alone there are 105 documented caves, only 3 of which have been excavated for public entry.
During a brief stop at the Tree House welcome patio, our guide Rudy gives us a history lesson. In the early 1990s, the Sorensen family (developers of the popular Harrison’s Caves in Barbados) launched a full exploration of the islands, eventually selecting the impressive Crystal Caves for development. Over the following decades, they managed to purchase the surrounding land parcels from local families and begin the process. A team of 16 men worked for 5 years to make the site suitable before it officially opened to the public in 2016.
He takes us to the Open Ceiling Cave first - estimated at 10-15 million years old, the formations inside a little younger at 5-8 million years. A mouth in the canopy beams in light – Rudy points out stalactites and stalagmites that resemble an elephant, the mouth of a moray eel, the Madonna and Child. He encourages us to divulge what our imaginations reveal in the limestone – the whole thing’s a Rorschach inkblot. Maybe I’ve been reading too much Joseph Campbell, but I can’t help but think I’ve stepped over the proverbial threshold, the active door into another world, or, self-actualization.
If you knelt in the Open Ceiling Cave, you’d see a series of tributary tunnels running below it – Rudy assures us that they’ve been thoroughly searched - no treasure was found. Strangely enough, the islands’ reputation as a one-time pirate haunt hadn’t occurred to me until then but the sole other attraction of this kind on Grand Cayman is called the Pirate Caves.
After a short walk through the bush, we descend into Roots Cave. I loved Roots Cave – your eye wanders, there’s a lot to look at here. The ceiling in particular is arresting – it calls the Sagrada Família to mind. Though I regret never making it to Gaudí’s cathedral when in Barcelona, Casa Batlló demonstrated his eye for the elements of nature that elicit veneration, or awe. This cave is like a cathedral, littered with stalagmite idols that might, at any time, cry tears of blood. Even the ferns we pass through on the way out seem hallowed – the sun at just the right height to gleam off of them like an opening of the heavens.
Finally, the Lake Cave. It’s not, but it feels labyrinthine, and there’s a low arc of the ceiling in some places that induces a thirst for wine – I await the sound of Fortunato’s bells, hoping he and Montresor might spring a corner to offer me an aged Amontillado – no such fortune (again, the puns). But, there isthe sound of water - like the little fountains you find in spas or gardens, that kind of melodic dripping of water onto rock. Rudy makes mark of droplets hanging from the stalactites – “If one of those droplets falls on you, that’s 7 years’ good luck.” I paused underneath one for an inordinate amount of time.
The Lake Cave takes its name from its bright blue subterranean lake (I’ve been waiting to use that word), and it is beautiful – this is where you take the photos – but the last portico is where the true treasure rests. It’s little known, but there is only one mammal endemic to the Cayman Islands – bats. I feel as if I’m intruding – they’re largely asleep save for a few insomniacs fluttering from hold to hold like that line from The Goldfinch, “What are you doing here?”