adam
Member
The Buttered Badgers and YUCPC teamed up for a little caving piece to bolt the Rowter Hole extensions. A concerted recruitment effort had managed to fetch a team of 6, who had travelled from such far-flung locations as London, Clitheroe, Oxford and York. After a hearty Pevril Stores breakfast we reconverged at Rowter Farm where the remains of someone?s summer tent festooned the bare branches of a windswept sycamore.
Our initial enthusiasm was soon tempered as we watched the contents of Mark?s boot being disgorged onto the floor at our feet ? an inconceivably large pile of gubbins, all of which had to be carted to the furthest reaches of the cave. Some cunning distraction and diversion techniques meant I avoided the worst of the loads, which was debatably either a monstrous yellow peli case containing a drill, or a tacklesack stuffed to the brim with batteries, bolts and resin. We walked through the pungent farmyard and across the fields to the mineshaft, disappearing down it one by one. At the bottom of this 70 m shaft, Will remembered that he?d left the pencils in Mark?s car. He had one job. Just one!
I volunteered to go back out to retrieve the pencils, so Chris told me where to find Mark?s key and where in the car to look. Back up the shaft, across the muddy fields and through the smelly farmyard, but due to the Sims-Richardson duality I was unable to complete my task. However my return to the cars wasn?t entirely pointless as I found my own car door open and the window down. I also found a few pens and a Danish pastry ? straight in my basket!
I enjoyed my solo trip through Rowter immensely. It really is a fantastic cave. I had never done Rowter before the Badgers made their discoveries, but I guess there wasn?t much to it. Now though, it?s a big, deep, varied and engaging trip which I would highly recommend to anyone. The naming of the various passages and chambers, though amusing, still confuses me somewhat. I think it was around Two Left Wellies where I stopped to empty the tank, where the stream flows into Rowter Sump. I stood atop a large boulder for dramatic effect and had just initiated a flow, when the boulder (which was far too big to move) started rolling rapidly down the slope. I managed to avoid getting myself flattened under the runaway rock, but did not avoid some unfortunate spillage in the ensuing acrobatics. The 1 tonne block now resides precariously in the middle of the tube leading down to the sump. Apologies to all whom it subsequently inconveniences.
I recomposed myself and headed off through the Ice Cream Trail (absolutely top-notch caving) and caught up with the team at the Wizard?s Sleeve. Will was just inserting himself into the Crystal Orechasm and, being prone to melodrama, was emitting an excess of effort noises and expletives. It was fun to watch. Next came the umbrella ? perhaps the most whimsically rigged piece of cave in the country. The first time I attempted this around two years ago I abbed straight to the bottom of the loop then sat there like a lemon wondering what to do next. This time, knowing the technique, I smashed it. Five of us headed straight up to the Throne Room, while Andy went down to start derigging the ropes in preparation for some carnage.
Mark R and Chris were already drilling away above the throne when I arrived. Mark S busied himself with the bolting hammer seeking out potentially solid placements in the fractured and calcited rock. Will and I served as lackeys for the bolters - reaching, fetching, carrying and performing various menial tasks as required. My particular flavour of meniality was to draw up a topo and note down the bolt numbers as they were placed. This I carried out with care and precision, using my own biro and a sheet of non-waterproof A4 provided to me. Unfortunately it later transpired that some of my diligent work did not survive the journey to the surface.
While all this was going on, Andy had derigged up to the Party Sausage and now began the enviable task of trundling larries of loose stones down the scree slopes of Hourglass Aven. This made a most gratifying (and somewhat unnerving) sound, which filled the chamber for several minutes on end. The loosened rubble was sent hurtling down the scree slopes, through the hourglass neck and then a near freefall for 50 m to the bottom of the chamber. I was perched at the top of the slope eating stollen and looked around the corner during a brief pause in the cacophony, surprised to see them still only a few metres down. The next half hour was near constant trundling, augmented periodically by one or two hammer drills boring relentlessly into the rock. Earplugs would have been nice. The emptied catch nets were replaced, and should now have much less work to do.
On reaching the ledge below the narrowing, a couple of events occurred which left me feeling unusual. The less said about the first of these, the better. Suffice it to say that most cavers probably have at least one moment in their careers which prompts them to give themselves a good talking to. This was such a moment. The second event which happened soon after, was a large and completely unprovoked rockfall from below the Crystal Orechasm. This wasn?t just some small stuff settling down after all the trundling from above, it was some big old stones moving of their own volition, not too long after some of us had been down in the danger zone at the bottom.
We continued bolting up to the Wizard?s Sleeve before calling it a day. The total tally was something like 33 bolts installed, with a further 5 holes drilled and ready. We left a safety card, just in case anyone else fancied an overnight trip to the far reaches of Rowter before the resin had set. The journey out was a lively affair as spirits and temperatures increased after the tedium of bolting. My tired head finally emerged above ground at about 10 p.m. into lashing rain and fierce wind. Thankfully the rain didn?t last long and we had a reasonably pleasant walk back to the farm.
We all needed a good feed, but there wasn?t an open chippy to be found. Luckily a late-opening Indian came to the rescue. I managed to find my way back to Mark?s house, where we ate lovely curry in front of a toasty log fire and soon became sleepy. I snuggled down in the guest bedroom with Will and dreamed of finding lost rivers.
Our initial enthusiasm was soon tempered as we watched the contents of Mark?s boot being disgorged onto the floor at our feet ? an inconceivably large pile of gubbins, all of which had to be carted to the furthest reaches of the cave. Some cunning distraction and diversion techniques meant I avoided the worst of the loads, which was debatably either a monstrous yellow peli case containing a drill, or a tacklesack stuffed to the brim with batteries, bolts and resin. We walked through the pungent farmyard and across the fields to the mineshaft, disappearing down it one by one. At the bottom of this 70 m shaft, Will remembered that he?d left the pencils in Mark?s car. He had one job. Just one!
I volunteered to go back out to retrieve the pencils, so Chris told me where to find Mark?s key and where in the car to look. Back up the shaft, across the muddy fields and through the smelly farmyard, but due to the Sims-Richardson duality I was unable to complete my task. However my return to the cars wasn?t entirely pointless as I found my own car door open and the window down. I also found a few pens and a Danish pastry ? straight in my basket!
I enjoyed my solo trip through Rowter immensely. It really is a fantastic cave. I had never done Rowter before the Badgers made their discoveries, but I guess there wasn?t much to it. Now though, it?s a big, deep, varied and engaging trip which I would highly recommend to anyone. The naming of the various passages and chambers, though amusing, still confuses me somewhat. I think it was around Two Left Wellies where I stopped to empty the tank, where the stream flows into Rowter Sump. I stood atop a large boulder for dramatic effect and had just initiated a flow, when the boulder (which was far too big to move) started rolling rapidly down the slope. I managed to avoid getting myself flattened under the runaway rock, but did not avoid some unfortunate spillage in the ensuing acrobatics. The 1 tonne block now resides precariously in the middle of the tube leading down to the sump. Apologies to all whom it subsequently inconveniences.
I recomposed myself and headed off through the Ice Cream Trail (absolutely top-notch caving) and caught up with the team at the Wizard?s Sleeve. Will was just inserting himself into the Crystal Orechasm and, being prone to melodrama, was emitting an excess of effort noises and expletives. It was fun to watch. Next came the umbrella ? perhaps the most whimsically rigged piece of cave in the country. The first time I attempted this around two years ago I abbed straight to the bottom of the loop then sat there like a lemon wondering what to do next. This time, knowing the technique, I smashed it. Five of us headed straight up to the Throne Room, while Andy went down to start derigging the ropes in preparation for some carnage.
Mark R and Chris were already drilling away above the throne when I arrived. Mark S busied himself with the bolting hammer seeking out potentially solid placements in the fractured and calcited rock. Will and I served as lackeys for the bolters - reaching, fetching, carrying and performing various menial tasks as required. My particular flavour of meniality was to draw up a topo and note down the bolt numbers as they were placed. This I carried out with care and precision, using my own biro and a sheet of non-waterproof A4 provided to me. Unfortunately it later transpired that some of my diligent work did not survive the journey to the surface.
While all this was going on, Andy had derigged up to the Party Sausage and now began the enviable task of trundling larries of loose stones down the scree slopes of Hourglass Aven. This made a most gratifying (and somewhat unnerving) sound, which filled the chamber for several minutes on end. The loosened rubble was sent hurtling down the scree slopes, through the hourglass neck and then a near freefall for 50 m to the bottom of the chamber. I was perched at the top of the slope eating stollen and looked around the corner during a brief pause in the cacophony, surprised to see them still only a few metres down. The next half hour was near constant trundling, augmented periodically by one or two hammer drills boring relentlessly into the rock. Earplugs would have been nice. The emptied catch nets were replaced, and should now have much less work to do.
On reaching the ledge below the narrowing, a couple of events occurred which left me feeling unusual. The less said about the first of these, the better. Suffice it to say that most cavers probably have at least one moment in their careers which prompts them to give themselves a good talking to. This was such a moment. The second event which happened soon after, was a large and completely unprovoked rockfall from below the Crystal Orechasm. This wasn?t just some small stuff settling down after all the trundling from above, it was some big old stones moving of their own volition, not too long after some of us had been down in the danger zone at the bottom.
We continued bolting up to the Wizard?s Sleeve before calling it a day. The total tally was something like 33 bolts installed, with a further 5 holes drilled and ready. We left a safety card, just in case anyone else fancied an overnight trip to the far reaches of Rowter before the resin had set. The journey out was a lively affair as spirits and temperatures increased after the tedium of bolting. My tired head finally emerged above ground at about 10 p.m. into lashing rain and fierce wind. Thankfully the rain didn?t last long and we had a reasonably pleasant walk back to the farm.
We all needed a good feed, but there wasn?t an open chippy to be found. Luckily a late-opening Indian came to the rescue. I managed to find my way back to Mark?s house, where we ate lovely curry in front of a toasty log fire and soon became sleepy. I snuggled down in the guest bedroom with Will and dreamed of finding lost rivers.
