Deep in the Heart of the Cave State
Chapter 47: Bass Pro Shop Olympics & the Mystery Upgrade
Friday was supposed to be simple: Nelson had endless fire drills at work, so my only mission was to grab gas and isopro canisters before hitting the road. Easy, right? Wrong. The “gas and gear” run landed me at the original Bass Pro Shop in Springfield — which is basically Disneyland for hunters and fishermen. Forget the quick errand I had planned; this place had aquariums, waterfalls, taxidermy everywhere, and entire wings dedicated to camo clothing I’ll never wear. I came out with my canisters, yes, but also the sense that I had just completed the Bass Pro Olympics.
From there, we drove to Candy Cane RV Park (though Nelson kept confidently calling it Sugar Cane, as if we were headed for rum cocktails instead of gravel pads). Upon arrival, we were greeted by a guy named Kevin who cheerfully announced we’d been “upgraded.” Nelson and I looked at each other like, “Do… we know you?” Was he the owner? A friendly squatter? Just a man with authority issues? Turns out Kevin is the camp host, working for Shirley, the actual owner, who later appeared with Price, her lovable golden retriever shaped more like a bread loaf than a dog. Whoever Kevin was, his “upgrade” turned out fine. We settled in, cooked beef noodle soup, and went to bed wondering what exactly we’d been upgraded to.
Chapter 48: AC Meltdowns & Cave State Adventures
Saturday started with a calm, slow breakfast — the kind where you sip coffee and imagine you’re about to have a stress-free day. Then our AC threw a tantrum. Every time we flipped it on, the power tripped. Flip. Trip. Flip. Trip. By the tenth try we were sweating and staring at each other like, “We bought a lemon of a van.”
We abandoned the AC drama for Onondaga Cave, part of Missouri’s 6,000+ caves that earned it the title The Cave State. And wow, Onondaga lived up to the hype. Imagine underground cathedrals, rivers gliding silently past, and formations with dramatic names like “King’s Canopy.” My favorite was the rare “lily pads,” delicate stone saucers stacked like a natural art installation. I clutched every railing like a cautious grandma, but still managed to shuffle along in awe.
The backstory of the cave was just as wild as the scenery. For decades, shady “owners” fought over it — one guy even built a rival path into the cave just to steal tourists, and they’d throw rocks at each other’s visitors. Later, tourism mogul Lester Dill took over. He was part genius, part conman: he built a literal bar inside a cave, and he shamelessly lied that Jesse James once hid in nearby Meramec Caverns (spoiler: he didn’t). Still, Dill saved Onondaga from being drowned by a dam project, so in the end… thank you Lester, for your messy but useful legacy.
Chapter 49: Flashlights, Salamanders & Three Moves Later
After sandwiches in the van, we headed back underground for Cathedral Cave — smaller, darker, and without installed lights. The guide handed us flashlights and off we went, looking like a ragtag FBI unit from the ’80s. Nelson immediately held his light like a TV cop, scanning for suspects. At the cave entrance, tiny salamanders darted across the path, and inside we admired soda straws so thin and fragile they looked like stone spaghetti hanging from the ceiling.
At the “Cathedral Room,” everyone tried group selfies that turned out blurry and tragic. But somehow, thanks to the collective effort of strangers a knowledgeable guide who had clearly done this before, we ended up with one rare photo of us that wasn’t embarrassing. Miracle.
Back at camp, Kevin struck again. Since our AC/electricity kept failing, he moved us once… then twice… and finally a third time before things worked. Turns out our little 30-amp setup was sensitive enough to expose old wiring issues that the giant 50-amp rigs never noticed. Basically, our van unintentionally became the campground’s electrical inspector. With power restored, we celebrated with beef stir fry, rice, and Taiwanese snacks. The lesson? Sometimes the problem is not 'us'.
Chapter 50: Meramec Wildlife & Butter-Fried Trout
Sunday we devoted to fishing at Meramec Spring Park. Picture anglers lined up gracefully, casting in sync like pros… then picture Nelson borrowing my rod under the excuse of “just testing.” I became the rodless cheerleader while he looked suspiciously comfortable holding my gear.
But the real entertainment came from the wildlife. Two water snakes slithered past, and one literally hissed at Nelson, which made me laugh harder than was supportive. Then I spotted what I thought were massive fish, only to realize they were otters zipping through the water like furry torpedoes. As if that wasn’t enough, a raccoon wandered by, clearly unfazed by us amateur anglers.
Eventually we caught trout, and I cooked them right there: salt, pepper, flour, garlic, butter. Simple and perfect. Nelson took one bite and immediately declared it the best thing we’d eaten all week — proof that butter and fresh fish beat any “fine dining foam” experience. We kept fishing until the park siren blared at 8 p.m., signaling closing time. Driving back in the dark, we found Kevin waiting, slightly worried we’d either skipped out on rent or been swallowed by nature. Nope, just squeezing every last minute of trout time.
Chapter 51: Zeus the Gar & Post-Summer Victory Lap
Monday marked a milestone: September 1st. We survived the brutal summer, and the weather had finally cooled. Long sleeves at night! Open windows without sweating! It felt like winning a marathon we hadn’t trained for.
On the drive back to Bentonville, we detoured to the Springfield Bass Pro Shop again — but this time as tourists instead of errand-runners. We wandered through exhibits of live animals, including baby alligators. Then came the star: Zeus the Alligator Gar. She’s 15 years old, absolutely enormous, and looks like she belongs in a dinosaur museum. Nelson swore she was fake at first, because who believes a fish can look that prehistoric? But no, Zeus was alive and well, floating in silent judgment.
By evening, we were back in Bentonville, stealth camping without incident. After caves, trout, AC meltdowns, and gar sightings, it felt like we’d turned a corner. Fall was coming, the worst of the heat was over, and we were smugly happy to end the weekend without melting into puddles.
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