Oh, the troubles I go through to take photographs! To get to the glow worm cave, one must first traverse the sea on a modern catamaran, complete with chips and chocolate (for a reasonable price, of course). The upper deck is really the only viable platform from which to take photographs, so up I went. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the wind up there was unlike anything I've ever experienced. The already fierce winds, combined with the motion of the high speed boat, created a practical vortex of fury. To give you some idea, I'll list two facts:

1) Lots of people were up there, and after only a couple of minutes, myself and one old man (who, for some reason, was surreptitiously video-taping me) were the only ones remaining.

2) My 25lb backpack, with a rubberized back, was sliding across the grippy deck as I attempted to change lenses.

I stuck it out there, though, as the cloud formations were stunning in the setting sun, and taking pictures through tinted windows just wouldn't cut it.

The entrance to the cave is so low you essentially have to crawl to squeeze through, and once you're inside, the sound of rushing water assaults your senses. Brilliantly clear water crashes through gaps in limestone so ferociously that you can easily imagine how the cave took form. Near one waterfall in particular, the sound was so deafening it made me long for some ear plugs.

After a short walk, 13 of us piled into a boat, and we shoved off into darkness. The glow worms are bright against the matte black--as bright as stars. Their lights even flicker. At first, I thought of the night sky, but then it occurred to me that the lights look much more like photographs of Earth during nighttime taken from space. Gliding through the dark with only the sound of rushing water made me feel almost spiritually connected to the Earth…until I remembered I'm staring up the bottom ends of maggots.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. It was a bit touristy, but the dark ride through the glow worm gave was genuinely magical.