Leo Bradley, entry for SUSS
The Rime of the Ancient Caverner
One Morning, while the night before,
Lay restless in my head,
There came a-ringing on my phone,
That filled my heart with dread.
I slowly clambered, bleary-eyed
From comfort of my cot,
As i’d agreed, with much regret,
To go down Rowter Pot.
My bag was choked with caving kit,
And one spare pair of drawers,
My stomach grumbled angrily,
Awaiting Pevrill Stores.
With Rob and Helen in the car,
We totalled solely three,
And set off westwards, caving-bound,
Towards the TSG.
Our mission was as such, you see,
To dye trace Rowter’s sump,
For this we wouldn’t be paid in coins,
But pints, afroth, from pump.
We feasted with much merriment,
On bacon, egg and bread,
Then off we drove, with bellies full,
Out town, past Winnat’s Head.
We paid the farm its rightful coin;
Its daily dose of dime,
Then struggled into oversuits,
All caked in mud and grime.
At last, we journeyed through the field,
T’was moist with morning dew,
With nought b’tween us save the dye,
A vibrant, greenish hue.
In no more than a quarter-hour,
Spent underneath the dale,
We stood in silence at the mouth,
Of Rowter’s Ice Cream Trail.
The squeezes, they came thick and fast,
With stone on chest and back,
And often was the bellow heard;
“F**K THIS TACKLESACK”
At last we broke, to much elate,
Into the cavern’s womb,
While Helen ventured forth to rig,
We bided in the gloom.
With much more than hour to kill
Before twas time to pour,
We hunted up an aven climb,
For passage to explore.
The stones were loose, the slopes were steep,
The footholds cracked and gave,
And rocks did fall into the dark,
Towards a silent grave.
And thusly we did reach the peaks,
Of flowstone, pure and white,
Formations which had seldom felt,
The touch of man-made light.
Alas, the time did tick away,
And once more we went down,
Towards the cavern's final sump,
In which the dye would drown.
Adam Walmsley volunteered
To wreck his Oversuit,
By squeezing through a muddy choke,
To find the water’s route.
He found a pool within the rift
In which to pour the dye,
"For sure!" We thought, "Must be the spot!"
Though no flow could we spy.
The dye was poured, the job was done,
And with it came slight hope,
Despite the task that still remained;
Derigging all the rope.
It took some pain and much lament,
But yet we did arrive,
Upon the surface, safe and sound,
At near 2:45.
We met with those from t’other side,
And tears were in their eyes,
As they had seen not one small drop
Of our most potent dye.
The truth is out, laid clean and bare,
But this is what I gleam;
That we’d spent nearly half a day
Turning a puddle green.