Son compartido

It is utterly diff erent in a cave. Within seconds you lose sight of your starting point. The sinuous passages twist and turn. Always you are confi ned by walls, fl oor, and ceiling. The farthest vistas are seldom more than one hundred feet—along a passage, down a pit, up at a ceiling. You are always in a place; you never look out from a point. The route is never in view except as you can imagine it in your mind. Nothing unrolls. There is no progress; there is only a progression of places that c