Andy Sparrow
Active member
What was your best club trip during 2004? What did you like about it?
the best tripof 2004?
- Thread starter Andy Sparrow
- Start date
M
melanie
Guest
Did several great trips with the club this year. Hard to choose a favourite 'cos they were all different and enjoyable in their own way. Swildons round trip was a lot of fun especially the ducks but Blue Pencil was gard work. Slaughter was a grand day out with a great team of people and my first proper SRT. Most memorable trip for me was Eatwater and for my own personal reasons (ask me) it was my trip of the year. Oh yeah - Reads Cave in Devon was great 'cos I borrowed a Nova and actually saw what i was doing for the first time!! Little Neath was OK but had all the things I don't like - spiders, something dead, maggots, leeches and boulders, boulders, boulders... OFD I have to be in the mood for which I was for the recent trip. Cellulite tunnel is perfect.
cap n chris
Well-known member
Denney's Hole, Avelines and White Spot Cave were among my top slots for the year. No, really.
Actually I agree with Mel; when did we visit Miss Graces Lane Cave? - that was good. Fun was had on the Columns Open day at OFD; Baker's Pit in Devon, LNRC, Slaughter was a very good day too.
Goatchurch was a monster. Don't forget Goatchurch.
Actually I agree with Mel; when did we visit Miss Graces Lane Cave? - that was good. Fun was had on the Columns Open day at OFD; Baker's Pit in Devon, LNRC, Slaughter was a very good day too.
Goatchurch was a monster. Don't forget Goatchurch.
Andy Sparrow
Active member
BTW - if you want to know more about these trips there are reports and excellent photos on our website:
http://www.cheddar-caving-club.org.uk/
Just click on the Trip Reports button, or to see our most recent write-up and pictures go to:
www.cheddar-caving-club.org.uk/ofd/ofd.htm
http://www.cheddar-caving-club.org.uk/
Just click on the Trip Reports button, or to see our most recent write-up and pictures go to:
www.cheddar-caving-club.org.uk/ofd/ofd.htm
cap n chris
Well-known member
Found this little report what never got written up elsewhere to my knowledge......
Great Oones Hole & Long Hole
Wednesday 25th August 2004
Cavers: Matt B, Chris C, Andy S, Andy P, Chris B, Tree Weevil
'Twas brillig and the slithy tothes did gyre and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogroves and the.... enough of this nonsense! OK, let's start again. Once upon a time, in a place far, far away were a bunch of hairy cavers. Their intrepid leader was given the name 'Heynobend' but this quickly changed to Chris after minor protests. Chris was a man of means - property, status, young concubines and a beard. Despite being popular he was also occasionally, nay....frequently, rude to people. His employment, within the tourist industry, was therefore somewhat puzzling. This article is now going to veer away drastically from the realms of libel and try to honestly portray this particular club trip.
We met at the showcaves luxury cabin at 7pm on the dot and got changed for the coming onslaught. We wended our weary way up through the woods and 'Andy the S' ahoyed his new-found chum 'Tree Weevil' - a young chap with a goaty beard who lives in a world of complete fantasy based loosely around Lord of the Rings. I can't remember his real name but basically Andy met him on a training course during the day and invited him to join in with this evening's trip on the grounds that the young lad was bored rotten and was staying at the MCG Hut on his own (a very brave and focussed person indeed). Spotting his hairy elfin mate, 'Andy the S' jogged back down the hill to grasp this unwitting victim and bring him up into the woods for an evening of Deliverance-style frolics with older grown men. Squeal, piggy, squeal! We decided to have a head start on Andy the S and Beardy-boy and quickly head up into the forest…..
Once up the vertiginous side of Cheddar Gorge, grasping at twigs and grass frondlings to assist the awesome scramble, we discovered the seductive allure of Great Oones Hole and gathered our breaths before entering this darkness of all things dark... We continued our way into the chasmic voluminousness and stood in awe at the various elements within. We needed to variously crawl, stagger, stoop, slide, climb, squeeze and waddle our way past mildly laughable obstacles until we reached the bitter end of the cave.
After no short time, Andy the S and Tree-boy catch up with us and we have an opportunity to look at the various 'leads' which obviously don't go very far but are interesting anyway - if you like that sort of thing.
Having had a nice rest and an imaginary cup of tea, chatting variously about beards, shandy and piglets we head round and climb back out towards daylight and the delights of the forest; after some jungle warfare manoeuvres we managed to hack our way through the scrub and successfully locate the second highlight of this evening's grand tour - Long Hole. The evening was beginning to draw in but for our heroic sixsome this was no deterrent...
All began so well. We clambered into the cave entrance, past the piles of goaty pebble-poohs and gasped as we saw moths, butterflies, gnats and other insecty-thingies dozing while stuck to the cave walls; we even had some flying bats for company - there had been a lesser horseshoe bat in Great Oones Hole but the ones in Long Hole were GREATER horseshoes and they have a wingspan approaching 4 metres and are not to be treated glibly. Some sinister glances occurred amid the group.
We continued into the cave and admired the various handwriting styles of graffiti, some dating back beyond 1970. The cold indifference of the limestone created an atmosphere which while not unwelcome was neither not unhostile otherly. Eventually we reached the final chamber which isn't actually the final chamber but it is for many people because to go further requires climbing techniques - using hands and feet in a combined way to scale up through a hole between boulders. The climb brings us up into a longer chamber which has some very fine moonmilk on the walls - unfortunately some of it has been damaged by idiot fingers. As per usual, I managed to make the climb look exceptionally difficult. No-one else did. C'est la vie. We had a mooch around and dribbled occasionally at some of the sights to behold. After thirty seconds everyone got bored.
The climb back down was aided by a rope and sweat and the hilarity of watching me make a carve-up of it again. It's far easier climbing up than down if you're a short arse. We then head out to darkness and a strange 'Evil Dead' scramble back through the night woods. All in all we were up in the remoteness of Cheddar Forest for a couple of hours. Very pleasant and local. 'Local caves for local people'; you'll never leave.
Great Oones Hole & Long Hole
Wednesday 25th August 2004
Cavers: Matt B, Chris C, Andy S, Andy P, Chris B, Tree Weevil
'Twas brillig and the slithy tothes did gyre and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogroves and the.... enough of this nonsense! OK, let's start again. Once upon a time, in a place far, far away were a bunch of hairy cavers. Their intrepid leader was given the name 'Heynobend' but this quickly changed to Chris after minor protests. Chris was a man of means - property, status, young concubines and a beard. Despite being popular he was also occasionally, nay....frequently, rude to people. His employment, within the tourist industry, was therefore somewhat puzzling. This article is now going to veer away drastically from the realms of libel and try to honestly portray this particular club trip.
We met at the showcaves luxury cabin at 7pm on the dot and got changed for the coming onslaught. We wended our weary way up through the woods and 'Andy the S' ahoyed his new-found chum 'Tree Weevil' - a young chap with a goaty beard who lives in a world of complete fantasy based loosely around Lord of the Rings. I can't remember his real name but basically Andy met him on a training course during the day and invited him to join in with this evening's trip on the grounds that the young lad was bored rotten and was staying at the MCG Hut on his own (a very brave and focussed person indeed). Spotting his hairy elfin mate, 'Andy the S' jogged back down the hill to grasp this unwitting victim and bring him up into the woods for an evening of Deliverance-style frolics with older grown men. Squeal, piggy, squeal! We decided to have a head start on Andy the S and Beardy-boy and quickly head up into the forest…..
Once up the vertiginous side of Cheddar Gorge, grasping at twigs and grass frondlings to assist the awesome scramble, we discovered the seductive allure of Great Oones Hole and gathered our breaths before entering this darkness of all things dark... We continued our way into the chasmic voluminousness and stood in awe at the various elements within. We needed to variously crawl, stagger, stoop, slide, climb, squeeze and waddle our way past mildly laughable obstacles until we reached the bitter end of the cave.
After no short time, Andy the S and Tree-boy catch up with us and we have an opportunity to look at the various 'leads' which obviously don't go very far but are interesting anyway - if you like that sort of thing.
Having had a nice rest and an imaginary cup of tea, chatting variously about beards, shandy and piglets we head round and climb back out towards daylight and the delights of the forest; after some jungle warfare manoeuvres we managed to hack our way through the scrub and successfully locate the second highlight of this evening's grand tour - Long Hole. The evening was beginning to draw in but for our heroic sixsome this was no deterrent...
All began so well. We clambered into the cave entrance, past the piles of goaty pebble-poohs and gasped as we saw moths, butterflies, gnats and other insecty-thingies dozing while stuck to the cave walls; we even had some flying bats for company - there had been a lesser horseshoe bat in Great Oones Hole but the ones in Long Hole were GREATER horseshoes and they have a wingspan approaching 4 metres and are not to be treated glibly. Some sinister glances occurred amid the group.
We continued into the cave and admired the various handwriting styles of graffiti, some dating back beyond 1970. The cold indifference of the limestone created an atmosphere which while not unwelcome was neither not unhostile otherly. Eventually we reached the final chamber which isn't actually the final chamber but it is for many people because to go further requires climbing techniques - using hands and feet in a combined way to scale up through a hole between boulders. The climb brings us up into a longer chamber which has some very fine moonmilk on the walls - unfortunately some of it has been damaged by idiot fingers. As per usual, I managed to make the climb look exceptionally difficult. No-one else did. C'est la vie. We had a mooch around and dribbled occasionally at some of the sights to behold. After thirty seconds everyone got bored.
The climb back down was aided by a rope and sweat and the hilarity of watching me make a carve-up of it again. It's far easier climbing up than down if you're a short arse. We then head out to darkness and a strange 'Evil Dead' scramble back through the night woods. All in all we were up in the remoteness of Cheddar Forest for a couple of hours. Very pleasant and local. 'Local caves for local people'; you'll never leave.
chriscastle46
Member
You fat bastard, how dare you say I'm rude to people. Also, I don't have young concubines, just concubine.
My favorite trip of 2004 was to Gough's Cave.
My favorite trip of 2004 was to Gough's Cave.
cap n chris
Well-known member
Muchos apologias.
Still.... PHWOAR!!, Eh?
Still.... PHWOAR!!, Eh?
A
andymorgan
Guest
Chris, Greater Horseshoes have a wingspan approaching 4 metres? Must be the radon mutating them into monsters!!
My best trip was OFD in December.
My best trip was OFD in December.
cap n chris
Well-known member
Probably because I wasn't there. It was, wasn't it?
Andy Sparrow
Active member
Welcome on board Mr Morgan.... and now proceed to the other topic and tell us what you think of the journal!
cap n chris
Well-known member
Thanks Andy for organising Saturday's fine trip to Slaughter Stream Cave. Some of the photos look OK. I'll be writing it up soon but still have loads to do today beforehand.
cap n chris
Well-known member
C H E D D A R C A V I N G C L U B
Slaughter Stream Cave: Kuwait Passage
Saturday 22nd January 2005
It took some planning but could have done with quite a bit more. The chief problem arose with the journey. More of that later. So, our traditional meet at Lilypool Cafe occurred at the random time of 8:30am. These early mornings on Saturdays can be accompanied by some bleariness of the eye and may be provably related to consumption of alcoholic beverages on the previous evening. So it was. A leisurely breakfast began while the proposals for the day's underground adventure were valliantly expostulated by the Man they call Sparrow; i.e. we would visit Kuwait Passage and see how far we could get in five hours. A brief explanation of what to expect was laid bare also.
Breakfast soon got consumed. A mobile phone number was exchanged and the two walkie-talkies shared out. Three vehicles. First mistake. At least we said we'd meet again at Aust Services by the Old Severn Bridge for a poo-break - a wise decision. Castle wasn't driving - an even wiser decision (we had already saved half an hour on our journey time as a result of this brilliant tactic). Off we set. Castle and Passant then spent most of the journey talking about Reindeers, "You what?",... Ray Mears. Other topics of conversation included girls, women and girls. We soon realised this was a "girl free trip". More of that later. Also, I mentioned in passing that Mr. Blount had rung me the previous evening to find out what time we would be returning from the Forest as he had an important evening appointment to make and needed to be home by 6:00pm. I had not unreasonably believed that we would easily be returning from our trip by 4:30pm. [ Meet at 8:30am, breakfast and leave by 9:00am, get to Forest at 10:00am, be in cave by 10:30am, do trip and be out by 3:30pm, be home at 4:30pmish]. Mr. Small Bird went over the boil at this observation, stating quite categorically that there was no way in hell that we would be returning before 9:30pm and that Mr. Blount's plans and ours, when combined, were unachievable. The relaxed air of joviality in the car was very noticeable for its complete absence.
All the cars regrouped at Aust for a mass sewer filling event. Back in the car park the plan was - we'd go in a three car convoy and drive up towards Monmouthshire, beyond the boundary of planet earth as I know it, to collect the key from Andy Clark and then drive across vast swathes of nothingness towards the cave. No sooner had we got to the toll booths and the plan collapsed. Having previously prepared for the journey (i.e. correct change in car for paying the toll) we drove straight through without much delay while the remaining two cars in our convoy went to booths other than the "throw your money in the hopper" ones. I can only guess that they were writing out cheques or paying by plastic. Anyway, the motorway requires one to drive at a minimum speed so I couldn't just stop and wait for them. Despite dawdling along as slow as I dared, they remained out of sight in the rear view mirror.
No worries, thought I. When we get off the M-way at the first, Chepstow, junction there's a huge layby which we can wait in. Horror! - what if the other cars drive straight on at the junction? - that wouldn't happen.... we relaxed.... Castle was in the back with Ken, after all. Unfortunately we suddenly realised that the entire length of layby heading towards Chepstow was off limits due to major roadworks (it had all been dug up) and there was a contraflow system in place. We had no choice but to continue... for a very long way (some miles) as there were no laybys or other features where we could pull up. The walkie-talkies were out of range and Mat Amner's mobile phone was on the answering machine. I hadn't managed to programme in the mobile for the other vehicle in our convoy so we were all out of comms with each other. Doh!
After many miles we found a huge layby and pulled in. Again we tried phoning Mat Amner and finally got through. "It's OK, we're on a roundabout". Great. "Which roundabout?", asked Mr. S.P. Arrow. "They didn't say and I didn't ask", replied me, in timorous tone. This was turning into a full colour 3D episode of Laurel and Hardy only I was feeling like Laurel, despite having a better physical resemblence to Hardy. Soon the cars came over the horizon. Thank goodness.
After being regaled with some of the magnificent feats of Mr. Diminutive Avian we made good progress towards the abode of the caving key. We also hammered out some more detailed plans for future trips to the Forest, in order to avoid these misunderstandings and breaking-up of convoys. Come to think of it, there hasn't been a single trip to the Forest which has gone to plan so far. In future, the procedure list will need to be very specific... open door, sit in seat, put on safety belt etc.. It's the only way to avoid these fraught episodes. At the very least we'll need to be damn sure we get everyone's mobile phone numbers written down and divided between the different vehicles.
We collected the key, avoided driving off the road on the zig-zaggy hill and soon pulled up on the grassy bank nearby the field by the cave. The weather was not exactly hot and sunny. Changing was pretty quick and we decided to take the car keys into the cave in a BDH so that if anyone left before others did we could each gain access to the relevant vehicles without having to wait in the pouring rain/hot sun (delete as applicable).
So, after what seemed like days, we finally got to the cave and were ready to descend. It was 11:10am. We had a time limit. Mr. Mat Blount had to be home by 6:00pm at the latest otherwise his "knackers would be on a platter". Andy the S didn't think this was possible. We would see.
On our previous visit to SSC, our group managed to get to Cross Stream Junction in 35 minutes. If today's group was to achieve the same goal in the same time it would mean we would reassemble at CSJ at 11:45am. In the end we got there at 11:55am. Ken Passant, Chris Castle and I were the first down the large pitch and got a photo of Mat Blount doing his first "big" abseil.
CC, KP and me got to CSJ and started to mess around like children. Ken decided to point at certain parts of Castle and giggle. Mat Blount crawled through to join us within a few minutes; strangely he was still kitted up in the harness I lent him... so that was removed and left to one side as it wouldn't be needed again.
The whole team were soon assembled and I managed to get a good team shot.
Today's plan was to spend two hours heading down Kuwait Passage and then see what the plan was from there. So, off we go downstream with the newbies taking the lead and forging ahead, route-finding as they went. Some of the team seemed greatly concerned to keep their wellies dry and out of the poohy water as much as possible but those of us who had been here before realised this was a doomed and pointless idea so we just waded through the sewerage from the off. We soon pass the refreshing showerbath and quickly locate the right turn up Dry Slade towards Coal Seam Junction (which many of the team completely failed to notice!). For anyone unfamiliar with SSC, it is well worth noting that the chief fascination of this cave is the varied and diverse passage morphology, ranging from a bizarrely scalloped streamway, phreatic sandy floored tubes, vadose canyon passage, a flat roofed streamway, joint controlled passageways, perfect potholes or "moulins" in both wet and dry passageways, boulder collapses, traverses.... you name it. Another point worth making is that once you've managed to negotiate the entrance sequence of obstacles, no further equipment is required other than what you're wearing.
So it was that we continue towards the Sculpture Trail - a highly memorable long streamway noteworthy for its protruding sharp scalloped walls and floor, with occasional deep pools, sharp hidden snagging jagged limestone "traps" under the water and the occasional loose handhold which destablises you by surprise.
The Sculpture Trail soon widens and the stream becomes more shallow with under-foot gravels and flat limestone pavements at the sides; the walls widen out and the roof lowers, almost Yorkshire-like, such that we are now walking down a classic vadose cut-down keyhole shaped passage, almost T-shaped with the ledges on either side being three or four feet above the stream level. Soon the water deepens in a series of cascades with plunge pools and to avoid the sewerage most of the team take to the ledges and crawl along, hands and knees, past the deeper pools.
Very abruptly the stream takes a left turn into a sump and we crawl up a muddy slippery bank on the right hand side and scramble into a crawling section which quickly becomes sandy-floored and judging by the ceiling and floor deposits is an occasionally active phreatic flood-prone tunnel. This continues for what seems like a very long time until we are able to stand up and make occasional sideways walking progress until the passage narrows at a point where it is possible to take an ascending traverse up 30-40feet or slide sideways underneath and then crawl over a "limestone pavement" into an opening chamber set amid very dark coloured limestone. We regroup.
A glance at our watches suggests we've been caving for two hours. From here a simple turnaround and retreat would mean we've got a total underground trip of four hours, plus a small contingency time for slower progress; meaning we'd be underground for possibly four and a half hours. Given that we already have a potential time constraint on our hands it was proposed that the "Alpha Males" continued pushing to see what the cave was like ahead for perhaps fifteen minutes or so (meaning they'd be half an hour behind any cavers who turned back immediately). The group split thus: myself, Mats Amner and Blount decided to call it a day and head back while the remaining hardened cavers continued until they got fed up.
So it was that we had a largely uneventful return, stopping for a couple of photos, two changes of batteries and a pee break. "How dare you pollute this fine cave stream with your stinking micturations!", I shouted.
By the time our little group of three had reached Cross Stream Junction, Ken Passant had caught us up and soon after we had crawled back through to the bottom of the large pitch (last one on the way in, first one on the way out). Ken and I prussiked up and Andy Sparrow assisted those climbing the ladders while the remaining ISSA hardened chappies did their SRT. We bagged up the gear and made our way up the remaining six ladders to the surface, getting into drizzly daylight in dribs and drabs. We had been underground for four hours and forty minutes in total. Just about spot on.
After the slippery trudge back up the hill to the cars we changed in the increasing drizzly/rain and washed our hands as best we could with bleachy water, antiseptic wipes, water and tissues/towel. The Two Mats had to get on their way in order to avoid the "plate of raw balls" problem whereas the rest of us could leisurely collect our thoughts, thumb a nose at the weather and pop off to a nearby hostelry to quaff some ale. Which we did.
...... The deserted car park, liberally scattered with rotting detritus and rusty cans foretold of caution. The creaking door opened into a musty, smoky, gaudily shabby open-plan room with electric light being the one appurtenance of modernism; three men were huddled together at the bar, seeming to rub their hands while sharing the warmth of a singular candle on a cold night but in reality were probably sharing their woes and inadequacies. We unknown interlopers noisily smashed their reverie and alarmed the grasping barman into a state of quickened heart beat and the pound signs shone obviously in his reflective moistened red eyes. To double up on the precaution of ingesting faeces from the trip, we all rushed like "the only gays in the village" into the gents before cascading back into the late 1970s, as befitted the furnishings of the room.
Hence, after exchanging money and glances we retired to a large table and all began downloading messages, texts and other suchlike on a plethora of mobile phones. Melanie Lloyd was centre stage, on an open mike "conference" call courtesy of Mr. Sparrow's newfangled gizmophone while Kenneth showed us his array of pornographic images stored, like valuable books, in a cherished way on his phone's photo archive. Several entirely unprintable jokes were told and then, out of the huddle of three, the burly local leered towards us and entertained us with solemn news. "I've recently had some bad news and some good news, gentlemen. The bad news is that my mother died a couple of months ago; it was sad". We nodded in silence and kept our heads down. "The good news is that I've recently done some research into my family tree and discovered that one of my uncles was at Rourkes Drift, the scene of the Zulu massacre"***. "Unfortunately he was killed.... He was staying on a campsite next door and popped over to tell them to keep the noise down".
The barman, entirely out of the blue, popped a plasticky basket of hot chips right in the middle of the table. No charge. Gratis. Nada. A gift. Amazing.
Not stopping to consider whether they were poisoned or otherwise spiked such that we would all shortly fall into a deep sleep only to find ourselves bound and gagged and taking it up the sh*tter by three frenzied, woeful and inadequate tellers of poor jokes, we devoured the chips greedily, eyeing each other suspiciously to check that no-one was over-stretching their rightful share of this welcome booty.
All done, it was time to set off. We returned the glasses to the bar, thanked the barman for the hospitality, "We'll be back" and off we went. It was dark outside and the rain was hard and the road surface was awash. Driving conditions were poor. Thankfully Andy S pointed out the zig-zaggy hill bit just as I stamped on the brakes and slid to a halt facing a ravine of horrifying proportions that was entirely invisible in the pitch dark & driving rain. Despite it all we got home at around 6:30pm. Andy the Sparrow had got his sums done perfectly and the timings were pretty much spot on, dammit. I would never have thought that a trip to a cave in FoD would require a ten hour time budget.
So, all's well that ends well. No-one got taken up the sh*tter; Mat B didn't lose his b*ll*cks; no-one drowned in stinking cloaca juices; we were right on the button with the trip, its objectives and timings.
But, hold fast! Not so hasty! The trip was an unmitigated disaster. There were no women. It was an all men event. We had no fluff to accompany us.
Please note: we need to alter the constitution such that no club trip ever occurs again where there isn't at least one lovely female in attendance to balance out the banter a bit and make it more like play rather than hard work. Also, it would be nice to have someone to send to the bar to get the ketchup next time.
Chris B.
*** "Zulus, Sir.... `fahsahnds of `em".
Slaughter Stream Cave: Kuwait Passage
Saturday 22nd January 2005
It took some planning but could have done with quite a bit more. The chief problem arose with the journey. More of that later. So, our traditional meet at Lilypool Cafe occurred at the random time of 8:30am. These early mornings on Saturdays can be accompanied by some bleariness of the eye and may be provably related to consumption of alcoholic beverages on the previous evening. So it was. A leisurely breakfast began while the proposals for the day's underground adventure were valliantly expostulated by the Man they call Sparrow; i.e. we would visit Kuwait Passage and see how far we could get in five hours. A brief explanation of what to expect was laid bare also.
Breakfast soon got consumed. A mobile phone number was exchanged and the two walkie-talkies shared out. Three vehicles. First mistake. At least we said we'd meet again at Aust Services by the Old Severn Bridge for a poo-break - a wise decision. Castle wasn't driving - an even wiser decision (we had already saved half an hour on our journey time as a result of this brilliant tactic). Off we set. Castle and Passant then spent most of the journey talking about Reindeers, "You what?",... Ray Mears. Other topics of conversation included girls, women and girls. We soon realised this was a "girl free trip". More of that later. Also, I mentioned in passing that Mr. Blount had rung me the previous evening to find out what time we would be returning from the Forest as he had an important evening appointment to make and needed to be home by 6:00pm. I had not unreasonably believed that we would easily be returning from our trip by 4:30pm. [ Meet at 8:30am, breakfast and leave by 9:00am, get to Forest at 10:00am, be in cave by 10:30am, do trip and be out by 3:30pm, be home at 4:30pmish]. Mr. Small Bird went over the boil at this observation, stating quite categorically that there was no way in hell that we would be returning before 9:30pm and that Mr. Blount's plans and ours, when combined, were unachievable. The relaxed air of joviality in the car was very noticeable for its complete absence.
All the cars regrouped at Aust for a mass sewer filling event. Back in the car park the plan was - we'd go in a three car convoy and drive up towards Monmouthshire, beyond the boundary of planet earth as I know it, to collect the key from Andy Clark and then drive across vast swathes of nothingness towards the cave. No sooner had we got to the toll booths and the plan collapsed. Having previously prepared for the journey (i.e. correct change in car for paying the toll) we drove straight through without much delay while the remaining two cars in our convoy went to booths other than the "throw your money in the hopper" ones. I can only guess that they were writing out cheques or paying by plastic. Anyway, the motorway requires one to drive at a minimum speed so I couldn't just stop and wait for them. Despite dawdling along as slow as I dared, they remained out of sight in the rear view mirror.
No worries, thought I. When we get off the M-way at the first, Chepstow, junction there's a huge layby which we can wait in. Horror! - what if the other cars drive straight on at the junction? - that wouldn't happen.... we relaxed.... Castle was in the back with Ken, after all. Unfortunately we suddenly realised that the entire length of layby heading towards Chepstow was off limits due to major roadworks (it had all been dug up) and there was a contraflow system in place. We had no choice but to continue... for a very long way (some miles) as there were no laybys or other features where we could pull up. The walkie-talkies were out of range and Mat Amner's mobile phone was on the answering machine. I hadn't managed to programme in the mobile for the other vehicle in our convoy so we were all out of comms with each other. Doh!
After many miles we found a huge layby and pulled in. Again we tried phoning Mat Amner and finally got through. "It's OK, we're on a roundabout". Great. "Which roundabout?", asked Mr. S.P. Arrow. "They didn't say and I didn't ask", replied me, in timorous tone. This was turning into a full colour 3D episode of Laurel and Hardy only I was feeling like Laurel, despite having a better physical resemblence to Hardy. Soon the cars came over the horizon. Thank goodness.
After being regaled with some of the magnificent feats of Mr. Diminutive Avian we made good progress towards the abode of the caving key. We also hammered out some more detailed plans for future trips to the Forest, in order to avoid these misunderstandings and breaking-up of convoys. Come to think of it, there hasn't been a single trip to the Forest which has gone to plan so far. In future, the procedure list will need to be very specific... open door, sit in seat, put on safety belt etc.. It's the only way to avoid these fraught episodes. At the very least we'll need to be damn sure we get everyone's mobile phone numbers written down and divided between the different vehicles.
We collected the key, avoided driving off the road on the zig-zaggy hill and soon pulled up on the grassy bank nearby the field by the cave. The weather was not exactly hot and sunny. Changing was pretty quick and we decided to take the car keys into the cave in a BDH so that if anyone left before others did we could each gain access to the relevant vehicles without having to wait in the pouring rain/hot sun (delete as applicable).
So, after what seemed like days, we finally got to the cave and were ready to descend. It was 11:10am. We had a time limit. Mr. Mat Blount had to be home by 6:00pm at the latest otherwise his "knackers would be on a platter". Andy the S didn't think this was possible. We would see.
On our previous visit to SSC, our group managed to get to Cross Stream Junction in 35 minutes. If today's group was to achieve the same goal in the same time it would mean we would reassemble at CSJ at 11:45am. In the end we got there at 11:55am. Ken Passant, Chris Castle and I were the first down the large pitch and got a photo of Mat Blount doing his first "big" abseil.
CC, KP and me got to CSJ and started to mess around like children. Ken decided to point at certain parts of Castle and giggle. Mat Blount crawled through to join us within a few minutes; strangely he was still kitted up in the harness I lent him... so that was removed and left to one side as it wouldn't be needed again.
The whole team were soon assembled and I managed to get a good team shot.
Today's plan was to spend two hours heading down Kuwait Passage and then see what the plan was from there. So, off we go downstream with the newbies taking the lead and forging ahead, route-finding as they went. Some of the team seemed greatly concerned to keep their wellies dry and out of the poohy water as much as possible but those of us who had been here before realised this was a doomed and pointless idea so we just waded through the sewerage from the off. We soon pass the refreshing showerbath and quickly locate the right turn up Dry Slade towards Coal Seam Junction (which many of the team completely failed to notice!). For anyone unfamiliar with SSC, it is well worth noting that the chief fascination of this cave is the varied and diverse passage morphology, ranging from a bizarrely scalloped streamway, phreatic sandy floored tubes, vadose canyon passage, a flat roofed streamway, joint controlled passageways, perfect potholes or "moulins" in both wet and dry passageways, boulder collapses, traverses.... you name it. Another point worth making is that once you've managed to negotiate the entrance sequence of obstacles, no further equipment is required other than what you're wearing.
So it was that we continue towards the Sculpture Trail - a highly memorable long streamway noteworthy for its protruding sharp scalloped walls and floor, with occasional deep pools, sharp hidden snagging jagged limestone "traps" under the water and the occasional loose handhold which destablises you by surprise.
The Sculpture Trail soon widens and the stream becomes more shallow with under-foot gravels and flat limestone pavements at the sides; the walls widen out and the roof lowers, almost Yorkshire-like, such that we are now walking down a classic vadose cut-down keyhole shaped passage, almost T-shaped with the ledges on either side being three or four feet above the stream level. Soon the water deepens in a series of cascades with plunge pools and to avoid the sewerage most of the team take to the ledges and crawl along, hands and knees, past the deeper pools.
Very abruptly the stream takes a left turn into a sump and we crawl up a muddy slippery bank on the right hand side and scramble into a crawling section which quickly becomes sandy-floored and judging by the ceiling and floor deposits is an occasionally active phreatic flood-prone tunnel. This continues for what seems like a very long time until we are able to stand up and make occasional sideways walking progress until the passage narrows at a point where it is possible to take an ascending traverse up 30-40feet or slide sideways underneath and then crawl over a "limestone pavement" into an opening chamber set amid very dark coloured limestone. We regroup.
A glance at our watches suggests we've been caving for two hours. From here a simple turnaround and retreat would mean we've got a total underground trip of four hours, plus a small contingency time for slower progress; meaning we'd be underground for possibly four and a half hours. Given that we already have a potential time constraint on our hands it was proposed that the "Alpha Males" continued pushing to see what the cave was like ahead for perhaps fifteen minutes or so (meaning they'd be half an hour behind any cavers who turned back immediately). The group split thus: myself, Mats Amner and Blount decided to call it a day and head back while the remaining hardened cavers continued until they got fed up.
So it was that we had a largely uneventful return, stopping for a couple of photos, two changes of batteries and a pee break. "How dare you pollute this fine cave stream with your stinking micturations!", I shouted.
By the time our little group of three had reached Cross Stream Junction, Ken Passant had caught us up and soon after we had crawled back through to the bottom of the large pitch (last one on the way in, first one on the way out). Ken and I prussiked up and Andy Sparrow assisted those climbing the ladders while the remaining ISSA hardened chappies did their SRT. We bagged up the gear and made our way up the remaining six ladders to the surface, getting into drizzly daylight in dribs and drabs. We had been underground for four hours and forty minutes in total. Just about spot on.
After the slippery trudge back up the hill to the cars we changed in the increasing drizzly/rain and washed our hands as best we could with bleachy water, antiseptic wipes, water and tissues/towel. The Two Mats had to get on their way in order to avoid the "plate of raw balls" problem whereas the rest of us could leisurely collect our thoughts, thumb a nose at the weather and pop off to a nearby hostelry to quaff some ale. Which we did.
...... The deserted car park, liberally scattered with rotting detritus and rusty cans foretold of caution. The creaking door opened into a musty, smoky, gaudily shabby open-plan room with electric light being the one appurtenance of modernism; three men were huddled together at the bar, seeming to rub their hands while sharing the warmth of a singular candle on a cold night but in reality were probably sharing their woes and inadequacies. We unknown interlopers noisily smashed their reverie and alarmed the grasping barman into a state of quickened heart beat and the pound signs shone obviously in his reflective moistened red eyes. To double up on the precaution of ingesting faeces from the trip, we all rushed like "the only gays in the village" into the gents before cascading back into the late 1970s, as befitted the furnishings of the room.
Hence, after exchanging money and glances we retired to a large table and all began downloading messages, texts and other suchlike on a plethora of mobile phones. Melanie Lloyd was centre stage, on an open mike "conference" call courtesy of Mr. Sparrow's newfangled gizmophone while Kenneth showed us his array of pornographic images stored, like valuable books, in a cherished way on his phone's photo archive. Several entirely unprintable jokes were told and then, out of the huddle of three, the burly local leered towards us and entertained us with solemn news. "I've recently had some bad news and some good news, gentlemen. The bad news is that my mother died a couple of months ago; it was sad". We nodded in silence and kept our heads down. "The good news is that I've recently done some research into my family tree and discovered that one of my uncles was at Rourkes Drift, the scene of the Zulu massacre"***. "Unfortunately he was killed.... He was staying on a campsite next door and popped over to tell them to keep the noise down".
The barman, entirely out of the blue, popped a plasticky basket of hot chips right in the middle of the table. No charge. Gratis. Nada. A gift. Amazing.
Not stopping to consider whether they were poisoned or otherwise spiked such that we would all shortly fall into a deep sleep only to find ourselves bound and gagged and taking it up the sh*tter by three frenzied, woeful and inadequate tellers of poor jokes, we devoured the chips greedily, eyeing each other suspiciously to check that no-one was over-stretching their rightful share of this welcome booty.
All done, it was time to set off. We returned the glasses to the bar, thanked the barman for the hospitality, "We'll be back" and off we went. It was dark outside and the rain was hard and the road surface was awash. Driving conditions were poor. Thankfully Andy S pointed out the zig-zaggy hill bit just as I stamped on the brakes and slid to a halt facing a ravine of horrifying proportions that was entirely invisible in the pitch dark & driving rain. Despite it all we got home at around 6:30pm. Andy the Sparrow had got his sums done perfectly and the timings were pretty much spot on, dammit. I would never have thought that a trip to a cave in FoD would require a ten hour time budget.
So, all's well that ends well. No-one got taken up the sh*tter; Mat B didn't lose his b*ll*cks; no-one drowned in stinking cloaca juices; we were right on the button with the trip, its objectives and timings.
But, hold fast! Not so hasty! The trip was an unmitigated disaster. There were no women. It was an all men event. We had no fluff to accompany us.
Please note: we need to alter the constitution such that no club trip ever occurs again where there isn't at least one lovely female in attendance to balance out the banter a bit and make it more like play rather than hard work. Also, it would be nice to have someone to send to the bar to get the ketchup next time.
Chris B.
*** "Zulus, Sir.... `fahsahnds of `em".
cap n chris
Well-known member
Oops! - I've posted this trip report under the heading "Best trip of 2004" when in fact it was done back in January 2005. Numpty! ... never mind, eh?
cap n chris
Well-known member
Thanks, Brendan; I was under the impression that most cavers couldn't read or write. Perhaps you're not really a PROPER caver?... :wink:
