A series of haphazardly placed water-locked tires located near the flooded mouth of the tunnel sway sporadically as I meticulously try to balance my weight evenly across the slick rubber sidewalls. Testing the depth of the water, I am surprised when the leg of my tripod sinks well over a foot into the mud below. I realize that if I were to fall here I'd be nearly up to my knees in thick tunnel sludge that would be sure to suck the ankle high boots right off of my feet upon trying to wiggle myself free. At this point even the tire I'm balancing upon is slowly being sucked down into the quicksand-like muck, forcing me to make an uncoordinated leap toward an island of gravel cresting just above the water line about five feet in front of me.
By mere luck I manage to pull off a hard yet stable landing upon both my feet across the gravel island. However, I immediately realize my assumption about the stability of the seemingly dry patch of land was completely misjudged, as both my rubber rain-boots cut like butter through the waterlogged gravel. Instantly my boots fill with ice cold tunnel water and I can feel the smooth mud intimately exploring the crevices between my toes. Upon trying to yank my foot free, my left boots farts out a large air bubble making room for even more silt to slide in further cementing me in place. My only way out from becoming a permanent fixture of the Oxford Tunnel was to slip my bare feet free from the rubber boots, restabilize myself best as possible, and attempt to rip my boots from the muddy death grip of tunnel.
And so I stood, bent over at my waist and with both my arms extended, I grabbed the floppy sides of my rubber rain boots and yanked as hard as I could trying to avoid potentially throwing myself off kilter and further into the murky depths of the water. Yet not even a budge. If it weren't for the road walk back to my car I would have sacrificed my footwear and continued on barefoot, trudging through the ankle deep water deeper into the depths of the Oxford Tunnel grateful that the darkness would consume my embarrassment and pasty white bare feet. But I could not give up for the walk back was along the gutter a busy State Highway which was loaded with broken glass and various sharp debris which would not agree with my unclad feet.
Reminded of The Sword in the Stone motif, I decided to try once more but more gingerly this time. Applying a slow yet steady upward force I could feel my boots finally begin the slide out from within the ever clamping grasp of the sticky mud. Little by little and with some amount of precise wiggle movements, my left boot emerged free from the mire followed quickly in succession by the right. Holding them both upside-down by the soles, I poured the muddied water back into the tunnel, the heavy sediment slapped the surface of the water and emitted a wretched gag inducing stench before settling into what looked like a stew of diarrhea swirling about the placid tunnel water. I suppose this was my King Arthur moment as I proudly held my two boots within a tight grasp like the great Excalibur sword. A lesson was indeed learned, for upon exploring any future flooded tunnels all footwear will extend up to my knees.
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