Where The Sky Lives Underground

I’d always heard about the glowworms,

those eerie, brilliant little creatures

that create light to fool it’s prey thinking the ceiling is the night sky

As I made my way through Australia in my rented van,

I kept my eyes open looking for any signs

Then one day,

Driving down a winding road,I saw a sign: “Glow Worm Cave.”I doubled backed, pulled into the parking lot.

And joined the next tour. 

And boy, was this a mix of emotions. 

The group was small—maybe ten people.As we walked toward the cave, the guide told us it was manmade. The glowworms had been introduced here.She said glowworms aren’t native to Australia, only New Zealand. My research shows different… I thought.

We entered the cave, really just a small underground pass through with a door and glowing red exit signs.Very theme park-esque.

But still…The glowworms were spectacular.

Hundreds of tiny blue lights flickered across the ceiling like stars.

I was completely enchanted for about two minutes.

Then we were ushered through the 30-foot “cave” and back out the other side.

Very underwhelming

But the worms? They stuck with me. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be something more authentic out here

Over the next month, I asked every Aussie I could:“Do glowworms live here?”

Most had no clue what I was talking about. A few said, “You’ll have to go to New Zealand for that.”

Until I met her.

I was shopping in Byron Bay when I struck up a conversation with a girl working in a retail shop.

She was writing down local recommendations waterfalls, hikes, hidden spots—when I asked about the worms.

She paused.“Actually… yeah. There’s a place.But it’s not easy to get to.”

She saw the look in my eyes and started writing instructions like a secret treasure map.

The Directions 

• Drive to a remote campsite.

• No phone signal, so plan ahead.

• Continue past the campsite until the road forks.

• At the Y, park.

• Look for a steep, overgrown path leading uphill.

• At the top: abandoned train tracks.

• Follow the tracks for 2.5 kilometers.

• You’ll find an old tunnel—400 meters long.

• Arrive at night.

• Walk halfway in.

• Sit in complete darkness for 15 minutes.

• Don’t use a flashlight.

• Then… you’ll see them.

• 
  

She looked up.“Most locals don’t know this place exists.If you can’t find it… maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

I asked if she wanted to join.She laughed.“No chance. I’d be terrified.But I’ll chase waterfalls with you another time.”

She wasn’t wrong. This sounded sketchy as hell. 

Something I really didn’t want to do solo. 

Still, I asked around. Hostels. Bars. Travelers.“Wanna drive into the woods with a stranger and sit in a pitch-black tunnel at night?”Not surprisingly, I got zero takers.

So I knew If I was going to do this, I’d have to go alone.

Around 8:00 PM, I set out. Just enough light to drive and start the hike, but by the time I reached the tunnel, it would be fully dark.

The campsite was easy enough to find. The trail? Not so much. It was almost invisible, completely overgrown.

I couldn’t make out a single spot where someone had been. I sent my drone up to scout the area and spotted the abandoned tracks.

So I climbed up, found the tracks, and started walking the 2.5 kilometers, honestly not sure in which direction but it was 50/50 chance of going the right way

I didn’t know exactly how far that was but it took 45 minutes.

Alone.

In the Australian wilderness.

At night.

Where everything wants to kill you.

I passed bamboo forests, towering trees, and abandoned construction sites.It was surreal and unsettling.

I constantly had to convince myself that this was a good idea

Finally, I reached it. An abandoned railway tunnel covered in graffiti.

I could just barely make out a faint dot of light at the far end.I had no idea how long 400 meters actually was but it was longer than I thought.

As I stepped inside, dozens of bats swooped overhead. The tunnel was dead silent, except for the flap of wings and my own footsteps.

I walked for 15 minutes, eyes straining to see any glow.A few dim dots here and there.I started thinking this was a bust. A wild goose chase.

Eventually, I stopped. Stood still. Closed my eyes. Waited.

Probably not the full 15 minutes, bats and random tunnel sounds tend to speed up your sense of time.

But when I opened them again…

I saw the sky beneath the earth

The tunnel had transformed. Thousands of brilliant blue lights shimmered all around me. Above me. Beside me. Behind me.

It was like standing inside the Milky Way. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you were under the most breathtaking starry sky you’d ever seen.

The glowworms were everywhere.Competing with each other brighter when hungrier, casting their lures to draw in unsuspecting prey.

I paced through the tunnel in total awe. Observing. Appreciating. Completely alone.

I was scared to make this trip. From the moment I stepped out of the van, the fear only grew but so did the hope.

And in the end, this moment shattered every expectation I had.

I tried to take photos, but nothing captured what I saw. Nothing even came close.

And that’s exactly why I travel.

Photos are flat.

Memories are electric.

And nothing compares to that raw, vulnerable feeling of sitting in pitch-black silence, in a forgotten tunnel, in a foreign country, miles from the nearest city and hours from anyone who knows your name.

Nothing about this was a good idea.But damnIt was one of a kind.