This article first appeared in the Daily Telegraph
I peered carefully over the cliff edge. Heaps of broken rock, survived by a few tortured, twisted trees, slid down to meet a gaping hole, the shadowy belly of a cave that appeared to suck in all the surrounding light.
“The lake is actually bright blue down there,”said my guide, Giorge, “blue because of the limestone. When you’re at the bottom, you’ll see.” It certainly didn’t look blue, 80 meters up on the edge of the sinkhole, but, as a keen river swimmer back home, a few days earlier I had been tempted by the idea of swimming in one of Kefalonia’s underground lakes.
In order to dip a toe, I had to first reach the lake. This involved abseiling down the cliff then swinging into nothing, before unclipping and scrambling down to the bottom of St Theodore’s cave.
Kefalonia is a rugged island but, with 150 miles of wonderfully varied beaches, its caves are rarely the main attraction. Of course, there are easier ways to see them. One of the most popular, with queues almost a given, is the short boat ride into Melissani Cave. The sunshine that floods through the cave’s collapsed roof makes the lake’s turquoise water glitter as you glide across it, as if mermaids are throwing an underwater party for Melissani, a lovelorn nymph, beneath.
As a young man, Giorge heard that St Theodore’s cave had been visited by Italian and German cavers in the 70s. He made a point of asking locals about it until he eventually found the cave further inland and explored it for himself, having determined the best way down.
“You will have a static rope and a dynamic rope,” he told me as I slid my legs into a harness, carabinas clinking about my hips as if I was in a Western.
I inched back to the cliff edge and admitted feeling nervous. “All you need to do is keep your feet apart and keep friction on the rope, at 90 degrees to the wall,” he said. To descend, I had to press a lever that released my rope and – quite simply – step backwards. All around, birds were calling out in the forest but below us, the black hole kept schtum.
Giorge tried explaining how Kefalonia’s underwater cave system worked to calm my nerves. “Brackish water starts from the western Argostoli sea and goes through the cracks, travelling under the mountains for 30km,” he said, as I teetered, unsure. “This mixes with rainwater in winter, then it exits to the east of the island. If you swim in Sami, in the east, you will find the sea colder because of this water.”
I decided he knew what he was talking about. I lent back on the rope and it held firm. Exhaling, I tiptoed backwards for a few metres, only feeling my heart thump again when I swung too far to one side and had to gallop back and steady myself. After pushing off with my feet to bounce over some sharp overhangs, the cave widened and I was left spinning slowly in relief.
I eased myself down the rope, taking in the layout of the ground below. After unclipping in the way that Giorge had shown me, I began picking my way down a hill of scree, towards a mythical blue lake that I could no longer see.
The cave looked even spookier up close. Cobwebs that had not been disturbed in decades were layered thickly across stones coated in a slimy, green moss. The air became chilled as the cave emptied of light and grew more unnaturally still with every step. I was surprised by how alone I felt. And then I saw bones. A femur here, a skull over there. Stray dogs or goats maybe, but this cave definitely didn’t need signs of death to make it creepy. “Are you OK?” Giorge yelled from somewhere far away. “Yes”.
The cave floor was falling away steeply now though, and the loose stones were problematic. I had to put my hands out to steady myself and tried to not think about the dank, sticky goo I ended up finger-deep in.
Just as I was questioning whether I had taken the wrong path – which was surely impossible – a serene pool of blue appeared beyond an incline. I half-slid down the remaining stones in my haste to get in and wash my hands.
Though it was an alluring azure colour, the lake was actually icy cold. It was an exhilarating swim. The light danced on stones that I could see clearly on the lake bottom. I kicked quietly through the brilliant blues, beneath stalactites that poked from the cave mouth like jagged little teeth. I may have seen something wiggling below but, as it was cold anyway, I dried off and began my scramble back up to the light.
By the time I reached the ropes it felt good to hear Giorge close by, even if he was still out of sight on the cliff top. He swung back down to help me clip in then, to escape the cave, I merely had to dangle on the rope while Giorge and his friend hauled me out. It was slow going but every tug brought me closer to feeling the sun on my face and hearing the birds again. We unclipped for a final time on firm ground, as the sun set in the hills. “Oh that wiggling was probably eels,” Giorge laughed as I climbed out of my harness. “Black ones, about 30m cms long. I didn’t want to put you off having a swim.” I think I approved. In the next village, church bells rang, my salvation after a somewhat disarming adventure into the underworld.
How to do it
An abseiling trip into St Theodore’s Cave with Outdoor Kefalonia (OutdoorKefalonia.com) costs £68 for two to three hours, including all equipment and a guide. EasyJet flies to Argostoli in Kefalonia from £70 return.
Worth a try? The verdict
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Get your hands dirty
No experience is necessary but wear appropriate clothing and footwear and bring swimwear and a light towel. You will be provided with a clip-on bag.
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A different perspective
The cave swim will appeal to wild swimmers and adventurers who want to properly explore the island. The feeling of isolation while underground is memorable.
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By sea or up mountain
This half-day activity can be combined with another half-day coasteering session or a 4×4 drive up into Kefalonia’s mountains with the same company.