Read about this in the belfry bulletin does it exist or is it made up can't find anything about it
Starlight Cave
by Annie Wilton-Jones.
I must admit that, when Ian suggested trip to Starlight cave, I wasn't too keen. The weather had been bad for quite a while and road conditions were somewhat treacherous. The snow was still lying in places and the freezing rain was making little impression on it. A day in front of the fire with some home made wine and a murder mystery sounded infinitely more attractive than huddling in my duvet in a car with a faulty heater, struggling to the entrance and then grovelling around in the dark. As usual, of course, I gave in and helped to got everything ready, We'd been told where Starlight Cave was but weren't too sure how to get there, especially as some of the roads were likely to be impassable. A study of the map showed possible alternatives but, as I'm a lousy navigator, I didn't look forward to trying to direct Ian along these lesser known roads. Knowing that we would probably have to park at some distance from the entrance we made doubly sure that we knew the route that we would have to take so that we wouldn't have to use the map in the rain. I honestly didn't believe that any trip would really be worth all this effort.
The journey was as bad as I expected and I wasnt in the best of tempers as we neared our destination. We drove as close as possible before parking but even so we had some way to go. I didnt relish the half mile walk in the freezing rain but I kept telling myself that it would be worth it when we got there. Knowing that it was a fairly short cave we were a bit taken aback by the 50p a head entrance fee but, having braved the elements thus far, we didn't feel like wasting the effort because of a bit of profiteering by the owner. Reluctantly we paid up, knowing there was no way we could sneak in. No doubt everybody else feels the same way, thus ensuring that the owner can afford his Christmas drinks!
We had no trouble locating the entrance as it was large and exposed. The gate was open and a party was leaving. Not bad, said their leader. "Better than I expected." Thus encouraged we ventured in. It was immediately obvious how the cave got its name; the walls were a mass of scintillations, rivalling St. Cuthberts Balcony. I was surprised at the ease of progress it was like walking in Gough's, though everything was on a smaller scale than there. The formations were very impressive, particularly a pure white curtain of such a delicate appearance that it could have been a real net curtain hanging at our kitchen window. The crystal pool, inadequately taped, was a fine example of its kind, and the perfection was matched by the pink tinged columns.
So far we had seen no one since we had lost site of the entrance, but this isolation was not to continue. A noisy party could be heard nearby and, not wishing to get involved with an obviously inexperienced bunch of youths we decided to explore a promising looking side passage. Unfortunately this did not go, ending in a blank wall just out of sight of the main passage. Resisting the urge to relieve our frustration by putting a B.E.C. sticker on the offending slab, we retraced our steps and continued on our original direction. While the cave was undoubtedly pretty it was hardly sporting.
A bend in the passage concealed the next formation, which I promptly christened 'Garden Gnome' as it looked just like one of those things you see fishing in the garden pond.
Something that struck us forcibly was the state of preservation of all the formations in view of the cave's obvious entrance and easy nature. Presumably the strict control of access has a lot to do with it. The cave is only open for part of the year and then only for part of each day. As this open season is during the winter, bad weather must deter some of the less dedicated but, even so, apparently towards the end of the season large numbers turn up for a trip before it is too late and queues like those at the top of Swildon's '20' are not uncommon. Luckily, for our trip Ian had chosen a day when the weather was so awful that all a few other parties were around.
Anyway we left 'Garden Gnome' to his fishing and strolled on. When the going is so easy you get cocksure, don't you? There I was marching along 'the 'Passage of a Thousand Snowflakes' gazing in amazement at the wonderful, glittering walls and roof when -- crunch! My boot made contact with a projecting piece of the wall and I crashed headfirst into a daintily decorated alcove. To my shame I discovered that the decorations were not very dainty anymore. As there was nothing I could do about it I quickly kicked the bits out of sight and hurried on to catch Ian up. As usual he wasn't a bit bothered about me - just annoyed about the damage. For once I saw his point. How long had it taken to create what I had destroyed in less than a minute?
At last we had come to a bit of a climb which helped to relieve the monotony of the previously level cave. It was a simple climb and the passage leading away from it was of the same character as that leading to it. By now I was wondering what made this trip so popular as the formations alone didn't satisfy me and I knew that Ian was feeling the same way. If it hadn't been for the 50p entrance fee I think we might have called it a day. As it was we were determined to get our money's worth.
I was wishing that we had made this a photographic trip as the formations were worth recording. I felt sure that they could not last for much longer in their superb condition. I had already done my bit towards their destruction and I wouldn't be the last. Ian though had been certain that there would be nothing worth filming and, as he prefers to cave empty-handed whenever possible, he had left his box at home.
We explored every side passage and one or two avens but found that nothing went anywhere when suddenly we came into a fairly large cavern. From the appearance of the large white boss standing at the entrance to this cavern we deduced that we had reached Snowman's Grotto, the largest chamber in the cave and the end of the known system. As Ian was convinced that there must be a way on, we started exploring all the likely spots even though, as I pointed out, everybody else must have done the same.
It was Ian who found the most promising place, a small, round passage, leading downwards, choked with sand. I joined him on hearing his shout and reluctantly started to dig at the sand with my hands, as he was doing. "If it seems worth it we can come back later with some digging gear."
"I can feel something solid," I said to Ian.
"Oh, yes?" said a strange voice, and I turned to see an oldish chap in a red and white goon suit.
"Well, the lucky dip' is for the under-thirteens so you'd better get your hands out of it. And don't be too long with your Christmas present list as it's time for
Starlight Cave
by Annie Wilton-Jones.
I must admit that, when Ian suggested trip to Starlight cave, I wasn't too keen. The weather had been bad for quite a while and road conditions were somewhat treacherous. The snow was still lying in places and the freezing rain was making little impression on it. A day in front of the fire with some home made wine and a murder mystery sounded infinitely more attractive than huddling in my duvet in a car with a faulty heater, struggling to the entrance and then grovelling around in the dark. As usual, of course, I gave in and helped to got everything ready, We'd been told where Starlight Cave was but weren't too sure how to get there, especially as some of the roads were likely to be impassable. A study of the map showed possible alternatives but, as I'm a lousy navigator, I didn't look forward to trying to direct Ian along these lesser known roads. Knowing that we would probably have to park at some distance from the entrance we made doubly sure that we knew the route that we would have to take so that we wouldn't have to use the map in the rain. I honestly didn't believe that any trip would really be worth all this effort.
The journey was as bad as I expected and I wasnt in the best of tempers as we neared our destination. We drove as close as possible before parking but even so we had some way to go. I didnt relish the half mile walk in the freezing rain but I kept telling myself that it would be worth it when we got there. Knowing that it was a fairly short cave we were a bit taken aback by the 50p a head entrance fee but, having braved the elements thus far, we didn't feel like wasting the effort because of a bit of profiteering by the owner. Reluctantly we paid up, knowing there was no way we could sneak in. No doubt everybody else feels the same way, thus ensuring that the owner can afford his Christmas drinks!
We had no trouble locating the entrance as it was large and exposed. The gate was open and a party was leaving. Not bad, said their leader. "Better than I expected." Thus encouraged we ventured in. It was immediately obvious how the cave got its name; the walls were a mass of scintillations, rivalling St. Cuthberts Balcony. I was surprised at the ease of progress it was like walking in Gough's, though everything was on a smaller scale than there. The formations were very impressive, particularly a pure white curtain of such a delicate appearance that it could have been a real net curtain hanging at our kitchen window. The crystal pool, inadequately taped, was a fine example of its kind, and the perfection was matched by the pink tinged columns.
So far we had seen no one since we had lost site of the entrance, but this isolation was not to continue. A noisy party could be heard nearby and, not wishing to get involved with an obviously inexperienced bunch of youths we decided to explore a promising looking side passage. Unfortunately this did not go, ending in a blank wall just out of sight of the main passage. Resisting the urge to relieve our frustration by putting a B.E.C. sticker on the offending slab, we retraced our steps and continued on our original direction. While the cave was undoubtedly pretty it was hardly sporting.
A bend in the passage concealed the next formation, which I promptly christened 'Garden Gnome' as it looked just like one of those things you see fishing in the garden pond.
Something that struck us forcibly was the state of preservation of all the formations in view of the cave's obvious entrance and easy nature. Presumably the strict control of access has a lot to do with it. The cave is only open for part of the year and then only for part of each day. As this open season is during the winter, bad weather must deter some of the less dedicated but, even so, apparently towards the end of the season large numbers turn up for a trip before it is too late and queues like those at the top of Swildon's '20' are not uncommon. Luckily, for our trip Ian had chosen a day when the weather was so awful that all a few other parties were around.
Anyway we left 'Garden Gnome' to his fishing and strolled on. When the going is so easy you get cocksure, don't you? There I was marching along 'the 'Passage of a Thousand Snowflakes' gazing in amazement at the wonderful, glittering walls and roof when -- crunch! My boot made contact with a projecting piece of the wall and I crashed headfirst into a daintily decorated alcove. To my shame I discovered that the decorations were not very dainty anymore. As there was nothing I could do about it I quickly kicked the bits out of sight and hurried on to catch Ian up. As usual he wasn't a bit bothered about me - just annoyed about the damage. For once I saw his point. How long had it taken to create what I had destroyed in less than a minute?
At last we had come to a bit of a climb which helped to relieve the monotony of the previously level cave. It was a simple climb and the passage leading away from it was of the same character as that leading to it. By now I was wondering what made this trip so popular as the formations alone didn't satisfy me and I knew that Ian was feeling the same way. If it hadn't been for the 50p entrance fee I think we might have called it a day. As it was we were determined to get our money's worth.
I was wishing that we had made this a photographic trip as the formations were worth recording. I felt sure that they could not last for much longer in their superb condition. I had already done my bit towards their destruction and I wouldn't be the last. Ian though had been certain that there would be nothing worth filming and, as he prefers to cave empty-handed whenever possible, he had left his box at home.
We explored every side passage and one or two avens but found that nothing went anywhere when suddenly we came into a fairly large cavern. From the appearance of the large white boss standing at the entrance to this cavern we deduced that we had reached Snowman's Grotto, the largest chamber in the cave and the end of the known system. As Ian was convinced that there must be a way on, we started exploring all the likely spots even though, as I pointed out, everybody else must have done the same.
It was Ian who found the most promising place, a small, round passage, leading downwards, choked with sand. I joined him on hearing his shout and reluctantly started to dig at the sand with my hands, as he was doing. "If it seems worth it we can come back later with some digging gear."
"I can feel something solid," I said to Ian.
"Oh, yes?" said a strange voice, and I turned to see an oldish chap in a red and white goon suit.
"Well, the lucky dip' is for the under-thirteens so you'd better get your hands out of it. And don't be too long with your Christmas present list as it's time for
