pwhole
Well-known member
On a two-man TSG trip down JH yesterday, in rather high winds, an unfortunate incident occurred that may be of interest to PeteK - as I got in the shaft and pulled the lid down, I realised that my light wasn't working, so I pushed the lid back open and stood on the scaff bars to try and sort it out. Not wanting to risk dropping my helmet down the shaft, I got my head out of the hole and took off the helmet - at this point I needed both hands, and as soon as I let go of the lid, it was blown rather savagely down onto my now-unprotected head (a Buff doesn't count as protection, but I'm bloody glad I had it on). The stiffener bar on the underside neatly chiselled a slot into the side of my head, with the obvious messy results, just about held together by my Buff.
As Wayne was only 15m down at this point, he got to enjoy the full audio splendour of a massive clang followed by a banshee scream, and assuming I must be about to collapse unconscious and dangle from my cowstails (both, I should add, and screwed-up!) asked what on earth was wrong. As my head is mostly made of mahogany, with just a small battery in the centre, I wasn't going to cede consciousness that easily and just started shouting expletives instead, especially now I'd realised my favourite merino buff was rather sticky - luckily a black model. We decided at this point that continuing the trip probably wasn't in my best interests, and trudged back to the car in the still-howling gale, Wayne clearly waiting for me to start speaking Indonesian, fizzling and crackling and then falling over dead. Miraculously, none of these things happened. I was also aware we had a 'doctor in the house' back at the chapel (if she wasn't still caving), so the objective was clear - home, Jeeves, and don't spare the horses.
Once back at the chapel, everyone had a gasp, and then a giggle once they realised I was probably going to live, and Doctor Cat ably made some on-the-spot repairs and later some retouching - for which I'm very grateful, as the Xmas dinner in the pub was looming, and the 'Frankenstein look' was not appealing to anyone. Last year's Xmas diner, I ripped a mole off my back going through the squeeze into Heaven, so I'm keeping up tradition at least.
Anyway, several lessons to be learned here (for me) - always check your bloody light works before you get in the shaft, and don't take your helmet off if it doesn't! To be honest, even with a helmet on it would have knocked me sideways, and a more flimsy person could have been in real trouble. But more importantly, as this has happened several times before that I've seen (thankfully with no-one in the way), is there any way we could look at installing some sort of fixing that would prevent this happening? Apparently there did used to be some sort of lock, but obviously it would need to be reachable by someone closing the lid as they go down. It's nearly always a strong westerly up there, so it's a likely risk. I'm still checking myself for fizzing and crackling (or speaking in tongues, for that matter), but I think I'm OK, when I know I should be a lot worse. And thanks again to Cat for sorting me out.
As Wayne was only 15m down at this point, he got to enjoy the full audio splendour of a massive clang followed by a banshee scream, and assuming I must be about to collapse unconscious and dangle from my cowstails (both, I should add, and screwed-up!) asked what on earth was wrong. As my head is mostly made of mahogany, with just a small battery in the centre, I wasn't going to cede consciousness that easily and just started shouting expletives instead, especially now I'd realised my favourite merino buff was rather sticky - luckily a black model. We decided at this point that continuing the trip probably wasn't in my best interests, and trudged back to the car in the still-howling gale, Wayne clearly waiting for me to start speaking Indonesian, fizzling and crackling and then falling over dead. Miraculously, none of these things happened. I was also aware we had a 'doctor in the house' back at the chapel (if she wasn't still caving), so the objective was clear - home, Jeeves, and don't spare the horses.
Once back at the chapel, everyone had a gasp, and then a giggle once they realised I was probably going to live, and Doctor Cat ably made some on-the-spot repairs and later some retouching - for which I'm very grateful, as the Xmas dinner in the pub was looming, and the 'Frankenstein look' was not appealing to anyone. Last year's Xmas diner, I ripped a mole off my back going through the squeeze into Heaven, so I'm keeping up tradition at least.
Anyway, several lessons to be learned here (for me) - always check your bloody light works before you get in the shaft, and don't take your helmet off if it doesn't! To be honest, even with a helmet on it would have knocked me sideways, and a more flimsy person could have been in real trouble. But more importantly, as this has happened several times before that I've seen (thankfully with no-one in the way), is there any way we could look at installing some sort of fixing that would prevent this happening? Apparently there did used to be some sort of lock, but obviously it would need to be reachable by someone closing the lid as they go down. It's nearly always a strong westerly up there, so it's a likely risk. I'm still checking myself for fizzing and crackling (or speaking in tongues, for that matter), but I think I'm OK, when I know I should be a lot worse. And thanks again to Cat for sorting me out.
