Known by None
Member
Instead of the usual dread and mute terror I experience before each and every trip I participate in, I actually found myself looking forward to this one for weeks in advance, which was quite amusing in hindsight as this trip turned out to be the one that nearly finished me off, one near death experience is bad enough, but three is beyond a joke. So I write this report from a safe, dry office, no more than a foot above the ground and wonder if I shouldn't get some life insurance.
Doubtless I will mention this more than a few times, but just to kick things off I would like to make it known right now that this was easily the best weekend away I have had so far in my new life as a caver and mine explorer, also apart from the odd potential morbidity issue (which only added to the experience if you ask me) it was an absolute blast.
I shall attempt to do it justice.
Day one (it was a Friday)
Croesor Rhosydd With a Cripple
Attending; Cookie, Les and myself
Here we go then, I've had this trip sold to me a hundred times, epic zip wires, dodgy abseils and let's not forget the fantastic industrial architecture. This was going to be a subterranean rave of epic proportions, and so it was one early Friday afternoon that we set up our kit and prepared for a rather long and arduous trek to the entrance. Being well prepared I opted to carry all of my gear in a cheap generic carrier bag made out of some strange synthetic material that was destined to hold out until I was exactly half way to my destination and then fail catastrophically. My two compatriots opted for Gucci caving bags and cruelly made fun of me as I staggered around praying that the handles didn't break and hoping that there was some truth behind the expression "bag for life".
Feeling rather pleased at ourselves for overtaking some dogwalkers, we stormed up the track until we eventually reached the Rhosydd adit, it was here that we got changed and stashed our gear ready to collect on the way back, as we headed cross country towards the Croeser adit a treacherous patch of moss saw me face down and in no small amount of pain.
Luckily no-one witnessed it as we were still laughing at Les who had fallen over just before me.
I stood up and realised I had done something pretty painful to my left hamstring and after about fifteen minutes of trying to walk it in I realised I was out of time (we had arrived at the entrance) and if anything it was getting worse not better.
Most people usually get injured during a during a trip and not before, but I played it all down and we made our way through the gate and into the adit itself.
As we made our way out of the daylight and into the gloom I truly felt relieved to be underground again, the hot sun and cloudless sky is nothing to the cool darkness that stretched out before us, and we were soon making good progress as we climbed up the passageway. On our way past we stopped briefly to look into a water filled side chamber and I recall suppressing a shiver as we threw a rock in and watched it plummet in a seemingly endless spiral down into the black waters, little did I know it then, but sometime later I would be experiencing the water from the rock's perspective.
We climbed our way up the slope shaft until a little bit of climbing brought us to a pitch head that descended into a huge pillar robbed cavern that had been affectionately dubbed "the chamber of horrors". A rope was already rigged and some impressive rope protection had been put in place on some of the worst rub points, at an earlier point in the day we had established that a loaded rope on a piece of sharp slate could probably be cut through in a couple of seconds, this is the kind of knowledge that stays with you, and almost certainly will haunt my dreams.
Les descended first for a sum total of 3 metres before he discovered a point on the rope that had almost desheathed due to rub, it was at this point that he dropped the bombshell that he would be tieing it off and we would have to do a knot pass. Fine... how do you do a knot pass then?.
I'm all for an education, but not eighty feet up in a chamber where any form of vocal tuition is best discouraged due to the high potential for falling slate, if I wasn't worried before, I was seriously worried now.
Les finished his descent and it was decided that I should go next with Cookie up top to talk me through it and Les down below to do the same, I got on he rope and gingerly descended the two metres or so needed to hit the knot, and after a little bit of faffing trying to open my Stop I was pleased to pass the knot with no problems. Truly the sign of a now accomplished SRTer. So imagine my surprise then, when coming off my Croll and resting on my Stop I find myself confronted with the rather horrific revelation that I have managed to thread it upside down, I quickly explain what I have done and there is a very worrying few moments of silence before someone suggests that I get back in my Croll ASAP, fortunately I am on the case and as soon as I am back and safe I re-thread it correctly and do the knot pass for the second time.
On the way down I notice more horrific rub points, feed the rope through a little fasterr and pretend I am eight years old again on my favourite ride at Chessingtons.
Once at the bottom Les debriefs me on how aluminium poisoning from wearing all that metal can cause you to do stupid things, once this is confirmed and I don't feel like such a plank, we take turns to take the piss out of Cookie who is faffing quite hard on the Knot pass, whilst all around us small pieces of slate fall like rain.
OK so that's done then, we are all down safely and although the knot pass might ruin other people's days on future trips, it could also save their lives. I certainly learnt something from it, as we walked to the next pitch I notice that I am compensating hard to keep the pressure off my left leg.
The next pitch is a vertical oddity, a very nice piece of rigging with a huge amount of rope protectors, Les went first again and this one was much better with me following fairly soon after and Cookie coming down last. No problem at all and fairly soon I had caught up with Les just as he launched himself along the zip wire and hurtling across a deep section of water to a ledge on the far side.
I contemplated the logic of this for a short while and wondered if this was the kind of madness I wanted to get involved with, apparently it was as no sooner had I attached my pulley and clipped in a cowstail and I was launching myself over the watery depths and hurtling towards Les. I stopped a little short and pulled myself across for the rest of it.
Cookie went last and managed to propell himself a shamefull couple of metres before coming to a halt, Les would have laughed but was busy blowing up the dinghy for the next part, the bridge that wasn't there...
One at a time we lowered ourselves into a dinghy we had previously foraged and pulled ourselves across the chamber, the sunken bridge gleamed away in the depths and seemed to be tantalisingly close, I remember wondering just how deep it really was as I gingerly lowered myself into the dinghy and started pulling on the string to reach the other shore.
A short walk from the shore and we had reached the infamous bridges.
These fantastic structures stretched into the darkness, rotten and rusted frames of what once must have taken huge loads of stone and vast numbers of men, now they seemed as if they were just one more crossing away from collapsing altogether and coming to rest at the bottom of the sunken chamber some 100 feet below. The first one was walkable, albeit clipped into the safety line provided and I had immense fun crossing it only to be faced with a second one that was nothing more than a couple of iron bindings hanging from the roof. This second one was a zipwire all the way, there was no safety rope on this one and so I pulled like mad and hoped that the person who rigged this wire wasn't having an offday. I remember marvelling at all the tiny shards of aluminium that were cascading from my pulley as I feverishly pulled myself across, very pretty and a little concerning all in one!
The final bridge was part walking, part wobbling and a bit of zip wiring too, apparently whoever rigged the zipwire hated small people and so after creeping over the wobbling bendy iron girders I stretched up and clipped in my pulley and pulled myself the eight metres or so across to safety and surprisingly.. The Wealden.
A group from the WCMS including Dep were engaged in the process of pulling a dinghy across a lake some twenty feet below on a seemingly ingenious circular rig with one person pulling at one end, aided by someone else pulling on the other in a giant loop with the dinghy attached.
This system looked foolproof and after the usual banter and joviality that occurs when two groups meet in such an outlandish place, the WCMS finished their crossings and were clear and we were soon hauling Les across the lake, once he was across it was my turn and I abseiled into the dinghy, noticing on the way down no less than 15 other dinghies all in a bay to the right of my, like some bizarre armada, very surreal.
I got into the boat with no problems and after a bit of a tangle with the string my compatriots began pulling me across, it was fantastic what a thrill, like some bizarre mine pirate I raced across the lake with no effort required on my part, that is until I hit the wall.
Things went badly from there onwards and what happened next resulted in what was to be the second and final instance that day where everyone remained silent to see what was going to happen next. Everyone except me that is, who after having fallen off the boat like a total twat was now desperately trying my best to keep hold of it and not get tangled up in the string whilst also trying to stay above the water and get buoyant.
Buoyancy is a real problem when you are dressed in a good 2 kilos of metal and wearing wellies and an oversuit, therefore it was possibly quite a relief to everyone when I made the rather brief call to pull like %*& in the subdued and resigned manner or someone who might well be alive, but knows that he is now committed to a lifetime of pisstakes and sure enough any brief few seconds of silence from Les were quickly forgotten as he proceeded to piss himself non stop for longer than I can tell.
He even prussiked to the top of the pitch at the end and collapsed again in absolute manic hysterics, Cookie soon caught us up and was equally as hysterical, and so the whole thing turned into a complete farce, with my soaking wet self hobbling on down the passage followed by two cackling idiots whilst the Wealden looked on in mute awe at what must have been the funniest trio they ever had the misfortune of meeting in a mine.
Later, upon talking to other people who had done the trip, it was revealed that the lake I had fallen in was 180 feet deep, and also some helpful soul explained that corpses float after six days, cheers.
We were on Rhosydd now, some fantastic turn tables and bits of architecture were a real treat as we had by now overdosed on fun and were ready to take a relaxing bimble out of the mine via the long slope shaft downwards. I really enjoyed this part and Cookie hung back with me as I hobbled downwards and eventually out.
A quick bit of calculation revealed that we had done the trip in about 2 hours and 15 minutes which isn't bad going, I had been thinking it was at least a 6 hour epic and so it was a welcome surprise to see daylight again so soon.
It is without a doubt one of the most fun trips I had done, although it dawned on me later how serious it could have been if I hadn't of grabbed that boat in time, I'd like to think that I could have swum it, it certainly makes me feel better to do so.
Would I go again? tomorrow if I could.
Day Two;
Cwmorthin
Cookie, Les, Myself, Vanoord
I wondered if sacrificing today would give my leg a chance to heal up, I woke up unable to move it and it was such a struggle to even put on a sock that I knew an oversuit would be out of the question.
Yet this was another trip that was almost unmissable, a rare chance to do a full tour of Cwmorthin with someone who knew almost every detail of it and thus I hobbled my way up the track to meet up with the elusive mine explorer known as Vanoord.
As we were all members of Darkplaces, we were all fairly acquainted with each other and so it was great to put a face to a name, not only that but Les had asked him if he would kindly give us the grand tour and luckily for us he agreed.
I was going to say no, in fact I am sure I did, and yet I found myself limping towards the entrance of Cwmorthin in my jeans and jumper and before I knew it, I was in.
No sooner were we in and we were heading down dark windy tunnels into large slate filled chambers that had clearly undergone some roof to floor transitions.
This trip had been hailed as an easy relaxed tour around the most interesting parts of the mine and I was really enjoying myself.
It was such a strange place, the black slate made the tunnels seem smaller and the chambers seem larger, not that any of the chambers needed to look any larger than they were. Some of them were truly daunting, like a scene from The Lord of Rings, I could almost hear the drums in the deep, some of the chambers were so vast that my light seemingly had no effect on them, great hollow cathedrals of darkness that had been shaped by generations of miners in a life of hardship that few can even comprehend in these modern times.
I loved it, I loved the rotten wood and the rusting cables, the smell of oil and the murky expanses of water this really felt like the ghost of industry and I could almost feel how it might have once been.
My reveries were interupted when we bumped into SimonRL (another frequenter of Darkplaces who also runs Aditnow.co.uk) and a small group of people who were taking photos using very archaic forms of photography, film cameras. Not just film, but the kind of ones that you see in Victorian moves with a plate of flash powder and a black cowl over the photographer and camera. I confess to not seeing any of the latter, but they did look like accordions with lenses.
We moved on and up a very big slate slope and into an incredibly odd part of the mine, all around were dummies dressed (poorly) in various clothes and I started to notice how tidy this part was in relation to the rest of the mine.
It was revealed that this was once a show mine and so it was that we partook in a tour that hadn't seen a tourist in maybe more than twenty years. It was somewhat surreal with plaques and descriptions still in place, safety rails and emergency protocols were all around us as were the dummies.
It was the kind of background that wouldn't have looked out of place in a Doctor who episode, I for one didn't trust the dummies and one in particular will haunt my dreams.
On our way back we headed down to the furthest level we could get to without swimming and took a look at some of the bridges above us, as we headed back up I took some time to reflect on just how gigantic this place was, it really was a hollowed out mountain and all the places we had been shown were merely a fraction of the entirety of the place.
As we headed out and up a giant stairway that in parts had previously been nothing more than iron stakes jutting out of the wall to support wooden steps that had long since rotted, I noticed that a lot of them had new steps made out of slate upon them, a project that The Friends of Cwmorthin and other mine restoration enthusiasts had previously been working on.
It was good to see people playing a part in preserving this wonderful place and on our way out we actually met some of the people who were responsible for it, apparently they had come upon some metal from an old power station (not the glow in the dark type I was assured) and were bringing it inside to help with future restoration work.
We introduced ourselves and no sooner had Les met Jagman and the two of them were involved in a conversation about the evils and indeed benefits of insurance.
It was such a great trip that I felt like I should probably give something back, even if it only meant hauling a ton of steel girders into the adit, Cookie helped too, Les did nothing and once we had shifted all of the heavy stuff, we said our goodbyes and departed.
This trip was a journey into a world that until that time was completely alien to me, and I came out feeling like I had learnt something and I was deeply thankful that I may never have to work that hard, in such a grim and umbral place, somewhere that I'm told earned itself the rather macabre title of "the Slaughterhouse".
Note;Only one photo was taken on the whole trip and it involved me in a humiliating pose with a dummy, I trust it will never see the light of day (let's hope not!).
Part two to follow.
Doubtless I will mention this more than a few times, but just to kick things off I would like to make it known right now that this was easily the best weekend away I have had so far in my new life as a caver and mine explorer, also apart from the odd potential morbidity issue (which only added to the experience if you ask me) it was an absolute blast.
I shall attempt to do it justice.
Day one (it was a Friday)
Croesor Rhosydd With a Cripple
Attending; Cookie, Les and myself
Here we go then, I've had this trip sold to me a hundred times, epic zip wires, dodgy abseils and let's not forget the fantastic industrial architecture. This was going to be a subterranean rave of epic proportions, and so it was one early Friday afternoon that we set up our kit and prepared for a rather long and arduous trek to the entrance. Being well prepared I opted to carry all of my gear in a cheap generic carrier bag made out of some strange synthetic material that was destined to hold out until I was exactly half way to my destination and then fail catastrophically. My two compatriots opted for Gucci caving bags and cruelly made fun of me as I staggered around praying that the handles didn't break and hoping that there was some truth behind the expression "bag for life".
Feeling rather pleased at ourselves for overtaking some dogwalkers, we stormed up the track until we eventually reached the Rhosydd adit, it was here that we got changed and stashed our gear ready to collect on the way back, as we headed cross country towards the Croeser adit a treacherous patch of moss saw me face down and in no small amount of pain.
Luckily no-one witnessed it as we were still laughing at Les who had fallen over just before me.
I stood up and realised I had done something pretty painful to my left hamstring and after about fifteen minutes of trying to walk it in I realised I was out of time (we had arrived at the entrance) and if anything it was getting worse not better.
Most people usually get injured during a during a trip and not before, but I played it all down and we made our way through the gate and into the adit itself.
As we made our way out of the daylight and into the gloom I truly felt relieved to be underground again, the hot sun and cloudless sky is nothing to the cool darkness that stretched out before us, and we were soon making good progress as we climbed up the passageway. On our way past we stopped briefly to look into a water filled side chamber and I recall suppressing a shiver as we threw a rock in and watched it plummet in a seemingly endless spiral down into the black waters, little did I know it then, but sometime later I would be experiencing the water from the rock's perspective.
We climbed our way up the slope shaft until a little bit of climbing brought us to a pitch head that descended into a huge pillar robbed cavern that had been affectionately dubbed "the chamber of horrors". A rope was already rigged and some impressive rope protection had been put in place on some of the worst rub points, at an earlier point in the day we had established that a loaded rope on a piece of sharp slate could probably be cut through in a couple of seconds, this is the kind of knowledge that stays with you, and almost certainly will haunt my dreams.
Les descended first for a sum total of 3 metres before he discovered a point on the rope that had almost desheathed due to rub, it was at this point that he dropped the bombshell that he would be tieing it off and we would have to do a knot pass. Fine... how do you do a knot pass then?.
I'm all for an education, but not eighty feet up in a chamber where any form of vocal tuition is best discouraged due to the high potential for falling slate, if I wasn't worried before, I was seriously worried now.
Les finished his descent and it was decided that I should go next with Cookie up top to talk me through it and Les down below to do the same, I got on he rope and gingerly descended the two metres or so needed to hit the knot, and after a little bit of faffing trying to open my Stop I was pleased to pass the knot with no problems. Truly the sign of a now accomplished SRTer. So imagine my surprise then, when coming off my Croll and resting on my Stop I find myself confronted with the rather horrific revelation that I have managed to thread it upside down, I quickly explain what I have done and there is a very worrying few moments of silence before someone suggests that I get back in my Croll ASAP, fortunately I am on the case and as soon as I am back and safe I re-thread it correctly and do the knot pass for the second time.
On the way down I notice more horrific rub points, feed the rope through a little fasterr and pretend I am eight years old again on my favourite ride at Chessingtons.
Once at the bottom Les debriefs me on how aluminium poisoning from wearing all that metal can cause you to do stupid things, once this is confirmed and I don't feel like such a plank, we take turns to take the piss out of Cookie who is faffing quite hard on the Knot pass, whilst all around us small pieces of slate fall like rain.
OK so that's done then, we are all down safely and although the knot pass might ruin other people's days on future trips, it could also save their lives. I certainly learnt something from it, as we walked to the next pitch I notice that I am compensating hard to keep the pressure off my left leg.
The next pitch is a vertical oddity, a very nice piece of rigging with a huge amount of rope protectors, Les went first again and this one was much better with me following fairly soon after and Cookie coming down last. No problem at all and fairly soon I had caught up with Les just as he launched himself along the zip wire and hurtling across a deep section of water to a ledge on the far side.
I contemplated the logic of this for a short while and wondered if this was the kind of madness I wanted to get involved with, apparently it was as no sooner had I attached my pulley and clipped in a cowstail and I was launching myself over the watery depths and hurtling towards Les. I stopped a little short and pulled myself across for the rest of it.
Cookie went last and managed to propell himself a shamefull couple of metres before coming to a halt, Les would have laughed but was busy blowing up the dinghy for the next part, the bridge that wasn't there...
One at a time we lowered ourselves into a dinghy we had previously foraged and pulled ourselves across the chamber, the sunken bridge gleamed away in the depths and seemed to be tantalisingly close, I remember wondering just how deep it really was as I gingerly lowered myself into the dinghy and started pulling on the string to reach the other shore.
A short walk from the shore and we had reached the infamous bridges.
These fantastic structures stretched into the darkness, rotten and rusted frames of what once must have taken huge loads of stone and vast numbers of men, now they seemed as if they were just one more crossing away from collapsing altogether and coming to rest at the bottom of the sunken chamber some 100 feet below. The first one was walkable, albeit clipped into the safety line provided and I had immense fun crossing it only to be faced with a second one that was nothing more than a couple of iron bindings hanging from the roof. This second one was a zipwire all the way, there was no safety rope on this one and so I pulled like mad and hoped that the person who rigged this wire wasn't having an offday. I remember marvelling at all the tiny shards of aluminium that were cascading from my pulley as I feverishly pulled myself across, very pretty and a little concerning all in one!
The final bridge was part walking, part wobbling and a bit of zip wiring too, apparently whoever rigged the zipwire hated small people and so after creeping over the wobbling bendy iron girders I stretched up and clipped in my pulley and pulled myself the eight metres or so across to safety and surprisingly.. The Wealden.
A group from the WCMS including Dep were engaged in the process of pulling a dinghy across a lake some twenty feet below on a seemingly ingenious circular rig with one person pulling at one end, aided by someone else pulling on the other in a giant loop with the dinghy attached.
This system looked foolproof and after the usual banter and joviality that occurs when two groups meet in such an outlandish place, the WCMS finished their crossings and were clear and we were soon hauling Les across the lake, once he was across it was my turn and I abseiled into the dinghy, noticing on the way down no less than 15 other dinghies all in a bay to the right of my, like some bizarre armada, very surreal.
I got into the boat with no problems and after a bit of a tangle with the string my compatriots began pulling me across, it was fantastic what a thrill, like some bizarre mine pirate I raced across the lake with no effort required on my part, that is until I hit the wall.
Things went badly from there onwards and what happened next resulted in what was to be the second and final instance that day where everyone remained silent to see what was going to happen next. Everyone except me that is, who after having fallen off the boat like a total twat was now desperately trying my best to keep hold of it and not get tangled up in the string whilst also trying to stay above the water and get buoyant.
Buoyancy is a real problem when you are dressed in a good 2 kilos of metal and wearing wellies and an oversuit, therefore it was possibly quite a relief to everyone when I made the rather brief call to pull like %*& in the subdued and resigned manner or someone who might well be alive, but knows that he is now committed to a lifetime of pisstakes and sure enough any brief few seconds of silence from Les were quickly forgotten as he proceeded to piss himself non stop for longer than I can tell.
He even prussiked to the top of the pitch at the end and collapsed again in absolute manic hysterics, Cookie soon caught us up and was equally as hysterical, and so the whole thing turned into a complete farce, with my soaking wet self hobbling on down the passage followed by two cackling idiots whilst the Wealden looked on in mute awe at what must have been the funniest trio they ever had the misfortune of meeting in a mine.
Later, upon talking to other people who had done the trip, it was revealed that the lake I had fallen in was 180 feet deep, and also some helpful soul explained that corpses float after six days, cheers.
We were on Rhosydd now, some fantastic turn tables and bits of architecture were a real treat as we had by now overdosed on fun and were ready to take a relaxing bimble out of the mine via the long slope shaft downwards. I really enjoyed this part and Cookie hung back with me as I hobbled downwards and eventually out.
A quick bit of calculation revealed that we had done the trip in about 2 hours and 15 minutes which isn't bad going, I had been thinking it was at least a 6 hour epic and so it was a welcome surprise to see daylight again so soon.
It is without a doubt one of the most fun trips I had done, although it dawned on me later how serious it could have been if I hadn't of grabbed that boat in time, I'd like to think that I could have swum it, it certainly makes me feel better to do so.
Would I go again? tomorrow if I could.
Day Two;
Cwmorthin
Cookie, Les, Myself, Vanoord
I wondered if sacrificing today would give my leg a chance to heal up, I woke up unable to move it and it was such a struggle to even put on a sock that I knew an oversuit would be out of the question.
Yet this was another trip that was almost unmissable, a rare chance to do a full tour of Cwmorthin with someone who knew almost every detail of it and thus I hobbled my way up the track to meet up with the elusive mine explorer known as Vanoord.
As we were all members of Darkplaces, we were all fairly acquainted with each other and so it was great to put a face to a name, not only that but Les had asked him if he would kindly give us the grand tour and luckily for us he agreed.
I was going to say no, in fact I am sure I did, and yet I found myself limping towards the entrance of Cwmorthin in my jeans and jumper and before I knew it, I was in.
No sooner were we in and we were heading down dark windy tunnels into large slate filled chambers that had clearly undergone some roof to floor transitions.
This trip had been hailed as an easy relaxed tour around the most interesting parts of the mine and I was really enjoying myself.
It was such a strange place, the black slate made the tunnels seem smaller and the chambers seem larger, not that any of the chambers needed to look any larger than they were. Some of them were truly daunting, like a scene from The Lord of Rings, I could almost hear the drums in the deep, some of the chambers were so vast that my light seemingly had no effect on them, great hollow cathedrals of darkness that had been shaped by generations of miners in a life of hardship that few can even comprehend in these modern times.
I loved it, I loved the rotten wood and the rusting cables, the smell of oil and the murky expanses of water this really felt like the ghost of industry and I could almost feel how it might have once been.
My reveries were interupted when we bumped into SimonRL (another frequenter of Darkplaces who also runs Aditnow.co.uk) and a small group of people who were taking photos using very archaic forms of photography, film cameras. Not just film, but the kind of ones that you see in Victorian moves with a plate of flash powder and a black cowl over the photographer and camera. I confess to not seeing any of the latter, but they did look like accordions with lenses.
We moved on and up a very big slate slope and into an incredibly odd part of the mine, all around were dummies dressed (poorly) in various clothes and I started to notice how tidy this part was in relation to the rest of the mine.
It was revealed that this was once a show mine and so it was that we partook in a tour that hadn't seen a tourist in maybe more than twenty years. It was somewhat surreal with plaques and descriptions still in place, safety rails and emergency protocols were all around us as were the dummies.
It was the kind of background that wouldn't have looked out of place in a Doctor who episode, I for one didn't trust the dummies and one in particular will haunt my dreams.
On our way back we headed down to the furthest level we could get to without swimming and took a look at some of the bridges above us, as we headed back up I took some time to reflect on just how gigantic this place was, it really was a hollowed out mountain and all the places we had been shown were merely a fraction of the entirety of the place.
As we headed out and up a giant stairway that in parts had previously been nothing more than iron stakes jutting out of the wall to support wooden steps that had long since rotted, I noticed that a lot of them had new steps made out of slate upon them, a project that The Friends of Cwmorthin and other mine restoration enthusiasts had previously been working on.
It was good to see people playing a part in preserving this wonderful place and on our way out we actually met some of the people who were responsible for it, apparently they had come upon some metal from an old power station (not the glow in the dark type I was assured) and were bringing it inside to help with future restoration work.
We introduced ourselves and no sooner had Les met Jagman and the two of them were involved in a conversation about the evils and indeed benefits of insurance.
It was such a great trip that I felt like I should probably give something back, even if it only meant hauling a ton of steel girders into the adit, Cookie helped too, Les did nothing and once we had shifted all of the heavy stuff, we said our goodbyes and departed.
This trip was a journey into a world that until that time was completely alien to me, and I came out feeling like I had learnt something and I was deeply thankful that I may never have to work that hard, in such a grim and umbral place, somewhere that I'm told earned itself the rather macabre title of "the Slaughterhouse".
Note;Only one photo was taken on the whole trip and it involved me in a humiliating pose with a dummy, I trust it will never see the light of day (let's hope not!).
Part two to follow.
I haz broken ma knee
