Five Kinds of Perspiration
Working Hard at Crystal Cave
by Martin Haye
Published: Winter, 2005

As a computer programmer, I spend my days staring at a glowing sheet of plastic. The 2004 Crystal Cave Restoration project gave me a chance to meet people and break my back with them, while perspiring in five interesting ways.

The first kind of sweat was figurative: "sweating bullets." My Toyota Camry isn’t cut out for the Crystal Cave road in winter. The ridge of snow in the middle of the road crunched and scraped the bottom of the car, setting up a constant racket that set my nerves on edge. Finally, the road descended below the snowline to a nice dry parking lot.

It was cold. I bundled up and set off down the trail looking for the action. At the base of two stairways sat parked a line of blue steel wheelbarrows, each full of rock and bricks. I joined a crew and learned the routine: two people grab the front axle, another grabs the rear handles, and on a count, all three pound up the steps. A few seconds rest, then it’s back down and do it again.

Soon I’d discarded jacket and scarf. I’ve heard of "dripping with sweat," but never thought I’d experience it myself. On those stairs I learned the strange power of group testosterone. We seldom spoke, even as we traded roles to balance the workload. The silent camaraderie buoyed my spirits even as my muscles burned. Sweat poured from my body as it has never poured before.

During breaks the chill would quickly turn all that perspiration to an icy "cold sweat." Soon we’d be back at hauling just to warm up again.

Part of the day it rained, and I discovered that sweat mixed with rainwater is still just as wet. Might as well keep working.

At quittin’ time I helped drag the final loads up the hill, then flopped into a chair near a roaring fire. Dinner smells wafted, and soon a hearty feast lay before us. I ate enough and more to replace all the calories I had spent.

The next day, though my muscles started stiff and sore, I soon got back into the rhythm and joy of a simple job well done. By the third day, I learned the fragrant meaning of that other staple of novelists: "stale sweat." I said my goodbyes and took a long hot shower to wash it all away.