Trip to Swildon?s Hole, 18th November 2017
TL
R: Sumps 3, 2, 1 (in about that order) with more ducks than you would expect (with bonus of sump 3 two extra times for Tom, in his 5th ever cave)
Posted by Radost Waszkiewicz on behalf of Tom Crossley
Morning of The Trip. Awoke to exclamation of: ?I?ve already told you to f#ck off!? at 8am (fellow caver reacting to being offered a cup of tea). This time was widely agreed as an unacceptable hour for caving endeavours, considering the 2.00am sock wrestling tournament shortly before.
Summary of participants and preparation: two cavers in wetsuits (one of home-made vintage and the other a 2mm shortie) and two cavers completely unprepared for contact with water.
Trip commenced at 10.00am following instigation of ?Alpine Start? by Ruairidh. Membership comprised of 4: Ruairidh, Radost, Jon and myself (Tom). The plan was to do the Swildons short round; an ambitious novice trip with sporting streamways given the recent torrential weather, but nonetheless with potential for boredom and frustration if navigation is suboptimal.
We eagerly jogged down towards sump 1 via The Wet Route and a very jammy Italian hitch that made the belay down the ladder/waterfall additionally exciting. Waiting for us at sump 1 was an inviting-looking mound of froth - as inviting as if the sump were a rabid animal waiting to consume mad cavers. We promptly retreated to find the mud sump. We checked our survey and headed back up the streamway.
After numerous false starts, wrong turnings, and dead ends, we found a passage that we assumed to be the way out of the streamway at the most nondescript part of the passage known to man and towards the mud sump. After a short free climb and a small passage, we emerged back into the streamway. Foiled again. Another encouraging-looking climb took us up above the streamway into an unrigged traverse suspended about 15m above the floor. This looked very hopeful, except for the total lack of any surfaces not composed of ultra-smooth calcite at a ~90? angle.
Sometime later, just when we were about to give up and dive sump 1, we found the entrance to St Paul?s series. Along this was a muddy climb that appeared to match something that could be a mud sump, and was certainly the road more travelled, so was explored. It went upwards and choked out truly miserably. Given the amount of traffic it had seen however, we were not the only ones to have ended up in this sticky situation, which was consoling. Eventually, we found the entrance to the series leading to the mud sump and followed it through. We stopped to do our contribution to bailing and marvelled for a bit at the complex network of plumbing in place to keep the sump dry.
After the mud sump, we got ourselves almost entirely lost in Paradise Regained. Radost?s summary of the situation varied gradually from ?We?re not lost?. Yet? to ?I have no idea where we are.? Much later we sat down to consider how miserable it had gotten and why we ever even bothered to leave the warmth and comfort of the tackle store, before we began to try to find a way back. Then Radost decided that he could hear a stream somewhere in the distance (unsurprising given we were in a cave that had a higher H2O composition than some icebergs) - he deduced that this might be the fabled Blue Pencil Passage and set off down some grotty hole in the passage into which a stream trickled.
The grotty hole led to an awkward squeeze that went on interminably through tight jagged corners, and had just the perfect amount of water in it to make fingers and limbs numb. We pushed it long enough to admit that as entertaining a squeeze as it was, it was not worth pursuing just for the sake of it. Then, just as realisation was dawning that I would perhaps never feel sunlight on my skin or hear birdsong again, a highly relieved Radost shouted up to me that he had found the main streamway and that I should go feet first through the next section. I did my best to relay this to Jon behind me, but a communication breakdown occurred after that which resulted in Ruairidh, in the rear, emerging head first like a surprised newborn in a wetsuit into the streamway above the chain two metres from the floor. This method is NOT recommended by the authoritative advice in Mendip Underground, and from on-the-spot appraisal of the process by Ruairidh, I think for good reason (he supplied a commentary composed almost entirely of expletives and prayers to the ancient, antisocial and unhelpful god of caves, Swil-Odin).
We wandered up the passage as far as the entrance to sump 3 and reviewed our situation: we had two pairs of goggles between us, and two of us in wetsuits, two in standard oversuits and a pile of fossilized bones for company by the side of the stream that we preferred not to join.
Ruairidh and I admitted that we would be willing, if skeptical, to try diving the sump. We decided that we would each go a small way, but not entirely in, and then back again so that we had a feel for it without having to commit. At this point we also set up a foolproof signal system using tugs on the rope to allow communication through the sump.
Ruairidh spends a lot of time variously getting psyched up and chickening out, before I offer to seriously attempt it. The entrance is quite committing, being another miserable little hole, only this time at the very bottom of the chest-height pool and totally filled with non-breathable asphyxia-inducing water.
After a false start using a club Pixa headlight on minimum battery, Ruairidh offers his helmet and headlight, with a vastly superior Fenix. This and a very aged club member?s special prescription diving goggles that we nicked do the job, and then several gulps of air and I set off into the unknown. Diving through the darkness hand over hand on the rope, I realise that we have spent the majority of the trip totally lost, so what are the chances that we haven?t somehow ended up at the 20+m infamous sump 12? Oh well, there?s a first time for everything...
Dive. Hand over hand. Down. Along. Along. Along.
Up. Out. Breathe Out. Breathe In. Scream.
I made it to the other side, and not the figurative reference to an afterlife, but the very real far side of sump 3. In the state of adrenaline fueled euphoria I pull 3 times on the rope to signal I?m alive. I was in a chamber with no visible way out, and had not been told what to expect on the other side. Subsequently, I found a small muddy ledge and sat on it, accompanied only by a similarly despondent frog, to wait.
And I waited? And waited? And waited some more?
After what felt like fifteen minutes, I was starting to wonder how much oxygen was left in the air bell, and how I could get out of it. I had a look around, searching for some passage up down or sideways that could put me onto dry land. Eventually, I found the way on through - a short duck that had almost sumped dividing the chamber into two airbells, which led into yet more deep water for the entrance to sump 2.
Going through the second sump entirely alone wasn?t really a sensible option.
I had to go back through sump 3 and hope that I didn?t meet anyone coming the other way as I did so.
Again, I wade deep into the water, my hands on the rope.
One final breath and I go under.
Again I?m on my back and in front of me is the rope. I pull myself along. More confident this time. At least this time I know that there?s something on the other side.
I surfaced out of the depths. ?Why didn?t you come through after me?!?
It turned out that they had not expected me to go through at all, but rather to have another look. They had been sat waiting for me for quite some time, and Ruairidh was just about to have a go at diving through to try and recover his Fenix.
More discussion ensued and it was decided that we would indeed brave the sumps while Radost and Jon went back via Blue Pencil and the mud sump.
Dive. Down. Swim. Along. Tum-ti-tum... This isn?t soo bad. Jesus H. Christ it is f#cking cold. Ruairidh has taken back his helmet and lights; I am now entirely reliant on touch, and given that everything is as numb as Tony Blair?s conscience, this strategy is not proving fantastic...
Along and up. Break the surface. Breathe out. Breathe in.
After a brief further wait for Ruairidh following behind me, and found myself no longer alone in the airbell. We both quickly notice the effect of the low oxygen levels, and decide to get the hell out as fast as possible. Furthermore, the swimming goggles I was wearing (supplied by Radost) did more to restrict vision than aid it - both above and below water. They were bringing on a cracking headache as they dug into my eyes.
We go into the next airbell and I lead the way through sump 2, with Ruairidh much closer this time. At one point the ceiling begins to rise upwards a bit, making my oxygen-deprived heart leap at the thought of breathing again, but this is just a cruel trick played by the sump, and it falls again with another few metres of before the real end begins.
When we get out, we are both shivering profusely and hardly able to speak; wordlessly we proceed to bugger off out this cave as fast as possible. The passage is still ver submerged in water though, so progress is still miserable, with sections of crawling through water as the traditional ducks are helpfully extended and combined by high water levels. The sight of sump 1 makes Ruairidh very happy. We pass through it barely noticing its presence, until emerging as Fairy-washing-up-liquid-advert babies on the other side from the foam.
After sump 1, we pick up the pace even more, and wordlessly agree that the time has come to exit this burning building before the whole place comes down, a la Batman and Robin. Unlike Batman and Robin, we don?t get a montage of running down collapsing stairs to the batmobile, but another bunch of endless waterfalls to climb and extra-wet passages.
A bunch of cavers were coming down on the ladder that we?d rigged, but as there were about 800 of them and 2 of us, we got priority and continued off at a good rate of knots (this later turned out to be a bit of a mistake as this club was using our ladder and was totally incompetent about remembering things - although Radost and others asked them to bring it back when done, they left it rigged and I had to get it the next day. We should have just coiled it up as we climbed and gone off with it when we had the chance).
We continued up and along at a good speed, under the impression that we would prefer to die from exhaustion rather than hypothermia, given the choice. The last few climbs are a bit confusing as we really are quite tired by now, and no longer entirely certain quite which direction is up. We eventually see daylight again though, and finally actually get the out of the cave.
Back at the Wessex hut, after six hours underground, we staggered into the changing room and I went straight for a shower after coming out of the wetsuit, and then had a cup of tea. Ruairidh didn?t even have a shower.
When we get back to the world of voices and humans and tell of our epic exploits in the world beneath the Mendip fields, we get in response ?oh, bloody hell, you?ve put a scratch in my nice prescription diving mask!? from ancient club member Wookey, so we retreat to the Hunter?s Lodge instead to contemplate the meaning of the universe in peace.
TL
R: Sumps 3, 2, 1 (in about that order) with more ducks than you would expect (with bonus of sump 3 two extra times for Tom, in his 5th ever cave)Posted by Radost Waszkiewicz on behalf of Tom Crossley
Morning of The Trip. Awoke to exclamation of: ?I?ve already told you to f#ck off!? at 8am (fellow caver reacting to being offered a cup of tea). This time was widely agreed as an unacceptable hour for caving endeavours, considering the 2.00am sock wrestling tournament shortly before.
Summary of participants and preparation: two cavers in wetsuits (one of home-made vintage and the other a 2mm shortie) and two cavers completely unprepared for contact with water.
Trip commenced at 10.00am following instigation of ?Alpine Start? by Ruairidh. Membership comprised of 4: Ruairidh, Radost, Jon and myself (Tom). The plan was to do the Swildons short round; an ambitious novice trip with sporting streamways given the recent torrential weather, but nonetheless with potential for boredom and frustration if navigation is suboptimal.
We eagerly jogged down towards sump 1 via The Wet Route and a very jammy Italian hitch that made the belay down the ladder/waterfall additionally exciting. Waiting for us at sump 1 was an inviting-looking mound of froth - as inviting as if the sump were a rabid animal waiting to consume mad cavers. We promptly retreated to find the mud sump. We checked our survey and headed back up the streamway.
After numerous false starts, wrong turnings, and dead ends, we found a passage that we assumed to be the way out of the streamway at the most nondescript part of the passage known to man and towards the mud sump. After a short free climb and a small passage, we emerged back into the streamway. Foiled again. Another encouraging-looking climb took us up above the streamway into an unrigged traverse suspended about 15m above the floor. This looked very hopeful, except for the total lack of any surfaces not composed of ultra-smooth calcite at a ~90? angle.
Sometime later, just when we were about to give up and dive sump 1, we found the entrance to St Paul?s series. Along this was a muddy climb that appeared to match something that could be a mud sump, and was certainly the road more travelled, so was explored. It went upwards and choked out truly miserably. Given the amount of traffic it had seen however, we were not the only ones to have ended up in this sticky situation, which was consoling. Eventually, we found the entrance to the series leading to the mud sump and followed it through. We stopped to do our contribution to bailing and marvelled for a bit at the complex network of plumbing in place to keep the sump dry.
After the mud sump, we got ourselves almost entirely lost in Paradise Regained. Radost?s summary of the situation varied gradually from ?We?re not lost?. Yet? to ?I have no idea where we are.? Much later we sat down to consider how miserable it had gotten and why we ever even bothered to leave the warmth and comfort of the tackle store, before we began to try to find a way back. Then Radost decided that he could hear a stream somewhere in the distance (unsurprising given we were in a cave that had a higher H2O composition than some icebergs) - he deduced that this might be the fabled Blue Pencil Passage and set off down some grotty hole in the passage into which a stream trickled.
The grotty hole led to an awkward squeeze that went on interminably through tight jagged corners, and had just the perfect amount of water in it to make fingers and limbs numb. We pushed it long enough to admit that as entertaining a squeeze as it was, it was not worth pursuing just for the sake of it. Then, just as realisation was dawning that I would perhaps never feel sunlight on my skin or hear birdsong again, a highly relieved Radost shouted up to me that he had found the main streamway and that I should go feet first through the next section. I did my best to relay this to Jon behind me, but a communication breakdown occurred after that which resulted in Ruairidh, in the rear, emerging head first like a surprised newborn in a wetsuit into the streamway above the chain two metres from the floor. This method is NOT recommended by the authoritative advice in Mendip Underground, and from on-the-spot appraisal of the process by Ruairidh, I think for good reason (he supplied a commentary composed almost entirely of expletives and prayers to the ancient, antisocial and unhelpful god of caves, Swil-Odin).
We wandered up the passage as far as the entrance to sump 3 and reviewed our situation: we had two pairs of goggles between us, and two of us in wetsuits, two in standard oversuits and a pile of fossilized bones for company by the side of the stream that we preferred not to join.
Ruairidh and I admitted that we would be willing, if skeptical, to try diving the sump. We decided that we would each go a small way, but not entirely in, and then back again so that we had a feel for it without having to commit. At this point we also set up a foolproof signal system using tugs on the rope to allow communication through the sump.
Ruairidh spends a lot of time variously getting psyched up and chickening out, before I offer to seriously attempt it. The entrance is quite committing, being another miserable little hole, only this time at the very bottom of the chest-height pool and totally filled with non-breathable asphyxia-inducing water.
After a false start using a club Pixa headlight on minimum battery, Ruairidh offers his helmet and headlight, with a vastly superior Fenix. This and a very aged club member?s special prescription diving goggles that we nicked do the job, and then several gulps of air and I set off into the unknown. Diving through the darkness hand over hand on the rope, I realise that we have spent the majority of the trip totally lost, so what are the chances that we haven?t somehow ended up at the 20+m infamous sump 12? Oh well, there?s a first time for everything...
Dive. Hand over hand. Down. Along. Along. Along.
Up. Out. Breathe Out. Breathe In. Scream.
I made it to the other side, and not the figurative reference to an afterlife, but the very real far side of sump 3. In the state of adrenaline fueled euphoria I pull 3 times on the rope to signal I?m alive. I was in a chamber with no visible way out, and had not been told what to expect on the other side. Subsequently, I found a small muddy ledge and sat on it, accompanied only by a similarly despondent frog, to wait.
And I waited? And waited? And waited some more?
After what felt like fifteen minutes, I was starting to wonder how much oxygen was left in the air bell, and how I could get out of it. I had a look around, searching for some passage up down or sideways that could put me onto dry land. Eventually, I found the way on through - a short duck that had almost sumped dividing the chamber into two airbells, which led into yet more deep water for the entrance to sump 2.
Going through the second sump entirely alone wasn?t really a sensible option.
I had to go back through sump 3 and hope that I didn?t meet anyone coming the other way as I did so.
Again, I wade deep into the water, my hands on the rope.
One final breath and I go under.
Again I?m on my back and in front of me is the rope. I pull myself along. More confident this time. At least this time I know that there?s something on the other side.
I surfaced out of the depths. ?Why didn?t you come through after me?!?
It turned out that they had not expected me to go through at all, but rather to have another look. They had been sat waiting for me for quite some time, and Ruairidh was just about to have a go at diving through to try and recover his Fenix.
More discussion ensued and it was decided that we would indeed brave the sumps while Radost and Jon went back via Blue Pencil and the mud sump.
Dive. Down. Swim. Along. Tum-ti-tum... This isn?t soo bad. Jesus H. Christ it is f#cking cold. Ruairidh has taken back his helmet and lights; I am now entirely reliant on touch, and given that everything is as numb as Tony Blair?s conscience, this strategy is not proving fantastic...
Along and up. Break the surface. Breathe out. Breathe in.
After a brief further wait for Ruairidh following behind me, and found myself no longer alone in the airbell. We both quickly notice the effect of the low oxygen levels, and decide to get the hell out as fast as possible. Furthermore, the swimming goggles I was wearing (supplied by Radost) did more to restrict vision than aid it - both above and below water. They were bringing on a cracking headache as they dug into my eyes.
We go into the next airbell and I lead the way through sump 2, with Ruairidh much closer this time. At one point the ceiling begins to rise upwards a bit, making my oxygen-deprived heart leap at the thought of breathing again, but this is just a cruel trick played by the sump, and it falls again with another few metres of before the real end begins.
When we get out, we are both shivering profusely and hardly able to speak; wordlessly we proceed to bugger off out this cave as fast as possible. The passage is still ver submerged in water though, so progress is still miserable, with sections of crawling through water as the traditional ducks are helpfully extended and combined by high water levels. The sight of sump 1 makes Ruairidh very happy. We pass through it barely noticing its presence, until emerging as Fairy-washing-up-liquid-advert babies on the other side from the foam.
After sump 1, we pick up the pace even more, and wordlessly agree that the time has come to exit this burning building before the whole place comes down, a la Batman and Robin. Unlike Batman and Robin, we don?t get a montage of running down collapsing stairs to the batmobile, but another bunch of endless waterfalls to climb and extra-wet passages.
A bunch of cavers were coming down on the ladder that we?d rigged, but as there were about 800 of them and 2 of us, we got priority and continued off at a good rate of knots (this later turned out to be a bit of a mistake as this club was using our ladder and was totally incompetent about remembering things - although Radost and others asked them to bring it back when done, they left it rigged and I had to get it the next day. We should have just coiled it up as we climbed and gone off with it when we had the chance).
We continued up and along at a good speed, under the impression that we would prefer to die from exhaustion rather than hypothermia, given the choice. The last few climbs are a bit confusing as we really are quite tired by now, and no longer entirely certain quite which direction is up. We eventually see daylight again though, and finally actually get the out of the cave.
Back at the Wessex hut, after six hours underground, we staggered into the changing room and I went straight for a shower after coming out of the wetsuit, and then had a cup of tea. Ruairidh didn?t even have a shower.
When we get back to the world of voices and humans and tell of our epic exploits in the world beneath the Mendip fields, we get in response ?oh, bloody hell, you?ve put a scratch in my nice prescription diving mask!? from ancient club member Wookey, so we retreat to the Hunter?s Lodge instead to contemplate the meaning of the universe in peace.
