Looking at the map, I asked Quincy if he'd be up for exploring Carlsbad Caverns.
He was. So, we did.
We risked life and limb to get these pictures!
Of course, I took approx. 928 pictures of our adventure, only .03 percent of which were actually worth a damn.
This is my "awed by rocks" face.
Despite my prolific photography, nothing I shot could capture how immense and stunning the caverns were.
I highly recommend it, y'all.
The Whales's Mouth! Oooh!
Being a Kentucky girl, I couldn't help but compare Carlsbad Caverns to Mammoth Cave. You can peruse the caverns all by yourself along wide and convenient pathways that are bordered by handrails and artfully lit crevices. And, once you've spent your hour making your way to the very bottom, there is an elevator - yes, an elevator - that will return you to the surface in one minute.
None of these conveniences exist at Mammoth Cave, where you are lead by a guide and, for the most part, responsible for illuminating your own view. And, of course, there are no elevators.
column creepin'
Which is to say that Carlsbad is way more accessible than dear ol' Mammoth Cave.
But I kind of like that our Kentucky cave is still dark and secretive and requires the guidance of a park ranger.
But, that's just me.
rocks that roll
We like adventures/each other.
After a day of crawling in a cave and the previous night spent at a Flying J, Quincy and I were pooped.
We drove the last couple of hours to Roswell, where we got a cheap hotel, ate mediocre Thai food and sipped terrible beers before snoozing out at 10:30.
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