Us older folk move slowly along the trails, though the younger ones breeze by, though still quiet, friendly. The trails are paved now with iron rails, which Jesse says is changed since he visited there 35 years ago. Even with the strategic lighting along the path, highlighting various formations, the caverns are dark. In little niches I expect and almost see statues of the saints. In the Big Room the ceilings soar. Stalactites hang like chandeliers. One one grotto is called the Chinese Theater, with columns that seem come to life. The ceiling vaults into a cross shape. Underneath are carved stone benches, on which phantoms are singing praises to God.
The guardians of this shrine are Park Rangers, and they are vigilant. A woman ranger tells us last week two young men came down below and started breaking the formations. It seems to me like desecration, and I suspect it is that way for the guardians as well.