Win a Rab Nebula Jacket worth ?160!!

[Leclused]

This is the story of the elimination of Siphon 2/3 in ?Chantoir de Fagnoules ? Belgium?.

When I joined the club SC Avalon in 2005 they were just starting with the elimination of the S2/S3 in the Fagnoules. The cave was then a recent discovery of Avalon but they were stopped at a S2 downstream. This S2 was dived by M Pauwels en J Petit and the two divers discovered a large extension of the cave after they also dived a S3 that followed the S2 directly. This extension had large galleries, a river and even an 8m waterfall. They were eventually stopped by an S5 some 500m further in the cave.  So no need to tell that all club members were eager to see this part of the cave too. And in order to help the divers at the S5 we needed to be able to go through the S2/S3 without diving. 

So Paul made a masterplan to pump the S2/S3 empty by pumping the water further downstream beyond S2/s3. In a nutshell here is how we did it:

- 200m uptstream of the S2/S3 a small dam was build and the river was captured and channeled through a firehose  (320mm diameter).
- The divers pulled the 320mm firehose through the S2/S3 and the river that was running through the firehose was dumped in the S4
- At the S2/S3 a smaller firehose was used to pump the water that was still standing in the S2/S3 upstream and then into the firehose of 320mm at an Y-junction with a valve.

Installing and finetuning this setup took us already 3 months to complete. But now we were able to pass the sump dry and visit the cave post siphon. Months went by and the sump was pumped several times. The part beyond was explored and surveyed and we were able to help the divers at the S5. This S5 was dived and again the divers were stopped by an S6 and later by an S7. The S7 was not diveable but there was a small dry passage passing the S7. This passage required some heavy desobstruction techniques which the divers couldn?t do.

In the meanwhile we were already started with the elimination of the S2/S3 siphon by pulling of the roof of the S2/S3. This was a huge work. The S2 was 13m long and went to -3m. During  2.5 years countless trips (almost every 2 weeks) were undertaken and step by step we pulled of the roof using heavy drills with a drill bit of 1m long to drill the holes. Every time we went down the power engine used liters of fuel outside the cave  to provide us of enough power to drill and pump. 

Usage of a heavy powerdrill to drill 1m long holes.

But then the day 21/7/2006 came and we arrived at the S2 where we felt an airflow over the water. The siphon was no more and Paul and myself went through the S2/S3 without diving. A big relief for us and we were happy to have completed this tremendous task.

But this was not the end of course. We repeated the same method to eliminate the S5 and S6 so that we could tackle the small passage at the S7 to see what was beyond the S7. But that is another part of the Fagnoules Saga.  Beyond the S7 we discovered again several hundred meters of cave leading to an S9. The cave was connected with another nearby discovery ?Chantoir de Buc? of us and currently the cave is almost 3km long. A trip in the system Fagnoules-Buc  is nowdays a wet and sporting trip. Exploration is still going on but is going slow nowdays, other discoveries in Belgium are keeping us busy.

The river post S2/S3 in high water conditions.

The complete Saga (so far and in dutch) can be read here :http://www.scavalon.be/avalonnl/discov/chantoir_des_fagnoules.htm

I wrote this report to encourage other cavers to write trip reports / project descriptions. I know writing is not always easy, but if you start doing it you will see it is really fun to do. I'm not a British caver so if this report is not counting for the competition then it's not a problem for me and if there are any grammar faults in it. Sorry for that 

Text : Dagobert L?Ecluse (Sc Avalon)
Photos : Paul de Bie (Sc Avalon)

 

[steviet_scg]

Well, I could tell the tale from a few years back when a friend and I did the classic Bar Pot to Main Chamber trip on a blistering cold day. Ingleborough was white over right down to Clapham and we emerged after a nice trip to blizzards and a white out. But, being sensible we'd stashed dry balaclavas, mitts and warm jackets (a Rab Belay jacket in my case) inside the entrance. We walked down in relative comfort. But, I won't - because that's a story of doing things right and hence boring (and why winning a warm non-down jacket is worth it)

So, I'll tell a story of a time - not when I got things wrong as such - but when I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

It was 1987 - winter. I'd just started caving and had done a couple of trips - caves around Attermire, Long Kin East Cave (to the Bridge) and Upper Long Churn. Then I was invited to go on a club trip and so off I toddled. I knew nothing about the trip or the arrangements. We drove up to the Dales and met up with some other people. It was then that the person who had invited me  said that he was going walking and I should go with these other people. I hopped into their car - they were early 20s and seemed super confident and experienced. I was edging out of my comfort zone. They told me that we had to go and meet up with the person that was leading the trip.

We arrived at a Northern Dales village; it might have been Muker. We were invited into a small, homely cottage where we had tea and biscuits (nice) and were grilled on why we wanted to go caving by a Sergeant Major type (not nice). He rounded on me when I called Caving a sport - but seemed happy enough for me to come along on the trip.

We drove some more and then turned down a farm track. We were told to get into our caving gear. For me, that meant putting on a pair of Army and Navy stores long johns, some tracksuit bottoms, a woolly jumper (although it was probably acrylic now that I think about it), a couple of pairs of long socks and my new boiler suit. I'd acquired an old miners helmet and borrowed a Petzl Zoom. I was soon ready and walked around the car to see everyone else putting on wetsuits. The young lads were wearing wetsuit hoods and gloves. Hell, I was nervous now and the edge of my comfort zone was receding over the horizon.

A couple of minutes later we were at the entrance. It was here that I learnt we were at Smelt Mill Beck Cave.

Having been in Smelt Mill Beck a few more times since I can say that the water levels were very high that day. The entrance series left me gasping for breath - not just because of the coldness of the water - but because the two ducks had very little air space and I seemed to have negative buoyancy. I came through the second duck coughing and spluttering.

To be honest I remember very little about the rest of the trip. I remember long passages where I was trying to traverse above the stream to keep out of the water; I remember the end where there is a tiny sump - the leader of the trip went through - the rest of us declined (although I wanted to - I thought if the wetsuited duo weren't going to do it is probably wasn't wise for me). I remember the journey out, shivering and my legs starting to misbehave, my light started to flicker before becoming nothing more than a faint glow and my helmet became loose and wobbled around. I was seriously cold, uncoordinated and could hardly see where I was going. I had that horrible dual feeling of wanting to see the entrance but not wanting to go through the ducks again. As ever they weren't so bad on the way out and we came out to a weak but very welcome sun.

As I squelched back down to the car the Sergeant Major leader guy said to me, 'well, that's taught you a lesson hasn't it' - I nodded (whilst thinking 'too f****** right') and he continued, 'yes, never borrow someone else's light!'. How about 'buy a wetsuit' I thought.

I changed into dry but not warm clothes and was driven back to a campsite. I pitched my small tent and crawled into my moon bag. I'd bought one with my paper round money as it sounded warm - something about some silver material reflecting heat back into the bag - I longed for heat and comfort. I got neither. I tried to light a gas lamp but was still shaking and ended up dropping it and breaking the glass. I gave up, curled into a foetal position and shivered my way through a frosty night.

A few weeks later I hitched to the Robin Hood at Heckmondwike and bought a second hand clipper wetsuit - caving was never going to be the same again (thankfully!)

 

[cavemanmike]

Derbyshire trip

A tale of an uneventful convoy of land rovers, strange cuisine, tumbling Boyd, ghostly encounters, and some caving.

It has become unusual for us at UCET to start a trip report without a road accident or breakdown but here it is.
We all met up at Mikes house where Iestyn and Tim both brought their long wheelbase Land rovers, we sorted all the gear out and put most of it in the back of Iestyn?s together with Marseil, Budge, Sweety, Myself and of course Iestyn the driver.
The rest of the retrobates were isolated in Tim?s vehicle for the comfort and safety of all concerned, so Boydy, Jay, Lee, Ken, Tony, Mike, and Tim travelled in Tim?s Landy.
So we arrived at the bunkhouse which as you will know is converted from an old chapel on the bend in the main street in Castleton, we unpacked the Landy?s, chose our bunks and went to the pub, and therein lay I fear, the seeds of our discomfort.
In the pub, I think it was the Peak tavern, we met, first Les and Wendy then Richard and later all manner of cavers including Tom, Andy, Lauren, Purdy, Ross and others who?s names were obliterated by the demon alcohol.
We were enjoying ourselves so much that we, or at least some of us forgot to eat, until at some ungodly hour, the pub was no longer serving food, we each dealt with this small impediment in our own ways, some simply lost a little weight, others, including myself partook of the ample selection of crisps and nuts available at the bar, Rob, feeling he was due a more substantial meal took himself off up the road where it was rumoured pizza could be had.
While we continued our unbridled merriment Rob had found the pizza pedlar and purchased one too large to be eaten on the walk back to the pub so he cunningly hid half of it under a bench in the school playground.
We all continued to discuss caving techniques and plan where we would be using them next day, events blurred a little after this so I could not say for sure if we left the pub voluntarily, or were put out on the street, however during the short walk back to the bunkhouse, Rob made a little detour in order to retrieve his half pizza and we all retired to the bunkhouse kitchen where more beer was consumed.
It is not unusual that the second half of a pizza seems less appealing than the first, so I did not pay much attention to Rob?s complaints that the flavour had deteriorated so much in the few short hours since he had last tasted it, however it was noted that he turned an interesting shade of green, when he noticed the family of slugs who had taken up residence on his pizza.
By 2am I was in my sleeping bag and soon fast asleep, only to be woken what seemed like a few minutes later by an almighty crash when Boydy had fallen off the top bunk, by the time I had fought my way out of my sleeping bag, Boydy, who had been sprawled on the bunkroom floor like a large piece of road kill, simply picked himself up and went to the toilet, my phone which I had got out, quick as a flash to ring for an ambulance, said 4am so I went back to bed.
By the time I got to the kitchen at 8am Boydy was already cooking the breakfast.
Personally I was not feeling up to hanging from ropes on this occasion so after the breakfast which Boydy cooked for everyone, I opted to join a trip which Les was planning, to the far reaches of Peak cavern, while most of the others were going to JH colostomy passage and white river, I think, and so it was that Les, Marseil, Bekah, Jay, Rob, and myself set off past the pay booth into Peak, making our way through the show cave with lights out and not touching the handrails as instructed.
And soon we were heading down the devils stairway and off into the delights beyond the show cave, speaking for myself it was a very pleasant day wallowing in wet muddy passages and splashing about in water deep and shallow, we met up with other groups of cavers and our party was split in two for a while but we all found daylight showers and pub.
The srt team were doing a changeover so the first lot joined us in the pub for a hearty meal while the rest arrived much later.
Too much alcohol, too little sleep, although that didn?t stop Boydy making breakfast for every body again.
Sunday morning I was still not up for srt so I opted for Les?s trip to explore Bagshaws cavern, Rob still looking a little green decided on a surface walk, the rest went to some other hell hole.
Les, Lee, Ken and myself were allocated a Land Rover and set off to find Bagshaws cavern, the entrance being in a little shed on the side of a hill with parking space for a few cars.
Once inside there are an immediate set of steps, over a hundred apparently, though didn?t count them that seem to go on forever, at the bottom of the stairs is a pitch on the left to a lower series, we had brought a ladder for it but decided to leave it till later and explore the rest of the cave first.
With that, Les set off up another flight of stairs to the right, I decided to follow him soon after while Ken and Lee waited for us at the bottom.
By the time I got to the top of the stairs Les had gone, so I climbed up an interesting looking rift into a small chamber then as I followed a stooping passage I could hear Les splashing through deepish water, eventually I was surprised to meet him coming toward me in the stooping passage he told me he had been to the end and that the terminal chamber was worth seeing.
I asked him where the water was which I had heard him wading through, he said there is no water where he had been but that he had clearly heard me, wading through water, we decided there must be someone else in the system so we called out to them but got no answer.
After I had checked out the terminal chamber we climbed back down to join the others, we expected them to report that that someone else had entered the passage after us, or that they had decided to follow us but no one had so it?s official, there is a haunted passage in Bagshaws cavern.
After that we followed a muddy passage down to what I thought was a sump, it reminded me of sump 2 in OHA so I crawled back up to where the others were sat resting and got my flask out for a cup of coffee.
The others decided to check it out while I drank my coffee, only to report that I had missed a passage to the left which led to a very nice streamway that eventually sumped out.
On the way out we dropped the electron ladder down to the lower series where there were some nice decorated chambers leading to another sump.
Back at the bunkhouse we got changed, showered, packed up our gear and drank more alcohol while we waited for the others.
A very enjoyable weekend with many thanks to Derbyshire caving club for looking after us better than we deserve.
I look forward to someone reporting on the SRT trips so that I can enjoy the delights without having to do the work. Doug.

 

[Ian Adams]

It?s a dry ?walk in walk out? they said.

The truth was certainly out there somewhere but it certainly was not in Ogof Hesp Alyn. The cave of the Welsh damned I call it, and for good reason. Not only is this probably the most sporting cave in North Wales, it is also the muddiest, coldest, wettest and most miserably challenging adventure you could possibly hope to endure under the feet of a thousand sheep.

To get in, you have to drop into a hole (isn?t that what Mary said?). Not a long hole but sufficiently long to zap every last ounce of stamina you might have left inside you when you are making your escape out after suffering every indignity that a cave could possibly hope to offer.



The entrance hole


You definitely need training to manage this cave, and not ordinary training either ? you need to be well versed in the ways of stupidity and senselessness. It?s the kind of stupidity that no amount of training could hope to achieve. I guess that is why they told me it was a dry ?walk in walk out? cave (in the same way that Meregill never has any water in it)

So, in we went ? all 8 of us (I guess the plural adjective would be a clown of cavers). Straight down the hole we went in nice clean oversuits to be met with a flat out belly crawl of around 200 feet in what can only be described as musty smelling diarrhoea. I was assured it was just water and glacial silt but it certainly had the texture of diarrhoea but, perhaps, with a more subtle hint of aroma than you might get from an explosion of unpleasantness. Regardless, the oversuits became wet and claggy and the journey had only just begun.




The beginning of the flat crawl


Emerging from the crawl, we traversed a boulder chamber (have you any idea how hard it is to not slip of large boulders into mini abysses when you are caked in wet gloop?)



The Boulder chamber

This exercise re-imbued the lost heat from the flat water/gloop crawl and are hearts were gladdened. Immediately after the rope descent there was a wet duck which removed any recovered heat and returned us all to a state of shivering wastrels. Nice.



Standing up just after the duck


Now clean of cack but cold again, we made our way along a passage to another crawl ? this is known as the ?sand crawl? as it sumps up with water and silt in bad conditions. It was just passable BUT our soaked oversuits decided to allow the loose silt to adhere over the entire surface area as we crawled through. Eight mud monsters emerged on the other side ? the only evidence of human life being the whites of eight pairs of human eyes. Such was the extent of the mud invasion ? gritty silt had infiltrated our oversuits, infiltrated our undersuits and infiltrated our underwear. Walking produced an uncomfortable chaffing sensation at the top of the legs (like sand in a shoe but in your underpants instead). As awful as it was, I considered it would be much worse for the girls and I think I let slip a momentary wry grin.

Next came an awkward rift followed by a knotted rope climb. Adrenaline is a good provider of heat and the climb up produced enough adrenaline (and therefor e heat) to power a small reactor station (eco friendly renewable energy? You heard it here first!). It felt good to be warm again.



The knotted rope and adrenaline climb


Of course this could not last and only yards later we found the area known as ?the canal?. So called because it closely resembles one and is also just as deep. We tested the water temperature hoping it would be tepid and (rather unsurprisingly) discovered it to be a lower temperate than frozen water on Neptune.  Odd that it was still in a liquid state and we assumed that it was some trickery of science.



The canal


Impossible to avoid, one by one, we entered the Neptunious water and once again became spotlessly clean. Also once again, all body heat vacated our persons and left the cave by the nearest exit.

The next 20 minutes were spent undertaking arduous caving activities (like walking down passages) and we were able to muster some heat back. Not a lot. But some. A rapid forwards and backwards motion in the dark passage generated some relief (did Mary say that too?)

Sometime later we arrived at a sump. We do have a drain here but it takes a good 20 minutes for the drain to remove enough of the water to enable us to get through whilst in  sort of squatted position kissing the ceiling as you go (you?ve all done it so no mockery).

Yet again, the neptunious water sapped every morsel of heat out of our beings and left us (again) with the cold clammy veil of empty coldness.

Just after the first sump is (yes, you probably guessed this) another sump which also needs to be drained.  Whilst stood around (again spotlessly clean) waiting for the water to drain, it was noticed that we were all shivering. The sheep above our heads on the outside world had no idea what was going on. The fleeces we were wearing had been subjected to so much abuse they too were failing and the waiting around was being abused by the Grim reaper who was rapidly extending his talons in our general direction.

It was at this point we noticed that some of our comrades lips were blue (not Mary?s). Enquires ensued on the lines of ?are you ok?? with the inevitable reply ?yes I?m fine? (because we are all tough and macho aren?t we).  This answer was satisfactory for around two minutes until a dawn of realisation prevailed that we had ?more of the same? the further we went in and ?all of the same? when we chose to return out. A further round of enquiries ensued with ?are you sure you are ok?? which was again met with ?yes I ?m fine? but this time the answers were rejected and a decision was made to return out (we could see the grim reaper fast approaching and, to be frank, he?s a pretty scary dude).

So, out we went following the same routine of cacked in cack, clean, cold, warm, cacked in cack, clean, cold, warm, cacked in cack, clean, cold, warm, cacked in cack, clean, cold, warm, cacked in cack, clean, cold, warm and to finish off, the 200 foot flat belly crawl in diarrhoea just to ensure we left the cave in the worst possible condition. Getting out of the exit hole whilst covered in cack, cold, stiff and miserable was 100 times more difficult than anything Mary could ever have conjured but we made it.

When you arrive back at your car to get changed, when you are frozen stiff, shaking like a leaf and covered head to toe in glacial diarrhoea , the last thing you are is ?careful?. This ensures that the inside of your car benefits from a decent dose of sloppy cack and ensures a significant bollocking from the better half when you arrive home.

The moral of the story is ? always go caving in someone else?s car (and don?t take Mary).

Of course ... there is a video too .... 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxiq3oOfTsg

Ian

 

[bograt]

, Luvvit Jakalpup, often wondered about that place 

 

[Roger W]

A beautifully clear explanation of why people like to go caving!

Loved it!

 

[JoshW]

absolutely brilliant report  :bow:

 

[YorkshireTea]

I wish to share a recent trip to south Wales...

Allow me to set the scene of our very first visit to the OFD system, an intimidating and vast system. Drenched to the core from the word go, misty horendous visibility couldnt see a thing and a real chill to the core. Moving fast to keep a single degree of heat. We went in circles, retraced our steps to no avail!!! Where were we!  What was this barron land!  1 and a half hours of clueless chilled unbelievable lostness I gave in and threw my remaining dry spare layer on as I fumbled through my bag. Ben however opted not to do this and brave it out, afterall this wasnt an emergency right?

Finally we retraced our steps, took a gamble on a new direction, 5 minutes later we were there!  The Holy Grale!  That ever so sweet, ever so satisfying sight pn the hillsode before us...  OFD upper entrance!2 hours after leaving the cottages we made it inside, to strip down and warm up. A ver smug Ben had his 'emergency' dry layer to smuggly waltz around in! 

We were finally warm and safe, INSIDE the cave

 

[Pegasus]

Competition closes on Monday 

10 Entries so far from:

JoshW
Hall2501
Mjenkinson
aricooperdavies
Cap'n Chris
Chunky
Dregson
Steviet_scg
Cavemanmike
Jackalpup

Winner chosen at random so you'd have an excellent chance of winning!!

Thanks to all who have shared their fab tales so far 

 

[Tilster]

So, this is my tale of why I am not a caver, I am a climber.

We're in the Dolomites, two weeks of Via Ferrata action. It's July, sunny and warm. We've already had one epic on the trip, where a 6 hour Via Ferrata didn't include the hour walk in or 4 hour walk out and we missed the last bus back to our accommodation, so we're on an easy day.

This particular trip appealed because it took in caves and tunnels used by the Italian army in the war. It'll be fun, we said. It'll be interesting. It's easy climbing, it's a nice ridge route so once we're up there's no real height gain. We'll have a nice day. And look! The weather forecast is beautiful.

We took a ski lift up to the top of the mountain, and walked to the base of the rock. Clipped into the wire with our cowstails, took off fleeces in the sunshine and then put on helmets.

The first clue that this wasn't what we'd planned was when it took me three goes to get up the first part of the route. But, it's ok we said, they do that to put off ramblers. We're climbers. We'll be fine. We got up to the top of the ridge, and the views were spectacular. We congratulated ourselves on how this was going to be a nice day. Then there was a sound like a plane taking off. We turned round and saw a huge bank of black cloud.

"Did you check the weather before we left?"
"Yes, it's not going to come this far over, we're fine."

Thus reassured, we continued, all be it at a slightly smarter pace.

We walked for 3 hours, and there was no sign of the caves or tunnels. We checked the guidebook, which clearly said we should have gone through at least some by now. This was confusing, because you can't really get lost on a Via Ferrata. You're attached to a guide wire. It's like the most basic Hansel and Gretel exercise ever conceived.

We upped the pace again. And joy! A cave appeared! The wire went into it! And the rain started. It didn't start as light drizzle, the heavens opened. So we threw caution to the wind, unclipped and ran into the cave.

"We'll wait it out, right?"
"Yeah, the weather forecast definitely said it was due to be ok here, it'll pass."

So we waited. In shorts. And t-shirts. We put on fleeces, but it didn't help much.  We peered out of the cave.

"This is set in, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"So, if we carry on through the next set of tunnels, I reckon we can escape down that grassy bank and walk out."
"Okay. . ."

So we ventured out of the cave, and moved as fast as it was safe to do so to the next set of tunnels and caves. Just as we reached them, the lightning started. This is A Bad Thing when you're clipped into what is essentially a giant lightning conductor attached to a mountain.

Now we were in a dilemma. Do we unclip and move through the caves without backup, or do we stay clipped in and risk electrocution?

I opt to unclip. This proves to be a poor choice. This choice means we miss the exit tunnel, because we're no longer following the wire. The exit tunnel would have spat us out right above the bank we'd earmarked as an escape route. Instead, I walk to the end and nearly fall down a 200ft cliff.

We retreat. We look for the offshoot tunnel with our headtorches. We fail to find it. I wonder, aloud, why anyone goes caving since you clearly are at risk of death at all times. We go back to the exit over the cliff.

Leaning out, we can see the wire, and decide you have to shimmy along a narrow ledge to get to it - obviously we're not in the cave with the offshoot - we've read the guidebook wrong. Shimmying along a ledge when you're shivering is not to be recommended, and at this point we briefly consider divorce, then decide it's reasonably likely one of us isn't getting home anyway, so let's allow nature to take its course.

We make it to the grassy bank, having, perplexingly, managed to miss all the other caves and tunnels the guidebook assured us were there. I wonder why cavers go caving since there don't seem to be any caves, or at least, not as many as the guidebooks suggest there are.

We are elated to make it to the bank, and eat a celebratory chocolate bar because we aren't dead. This proves to be a premature celebration. At this point we are soaked to the skin and there is still a mountain thunderstorm raging overhead. We step onto the bank, and discover that far from being able to run down it to the trail a la Julie Andrews, it is a vertical, slippery death-trap.

Divorce is once again discussed.

Two hours later, we make it to the trail, and head back to the ski-lift, and just as we arrive at the gondola, the sun breaks through the clouds. This strikes us as hilarious, as we wring out our socks.

I have never been so glad to get back to the car, drive home and take a hot shower. I have also decided caves are not nearly as fun as I anticipated.

 

[elfears]

Not exactly a trip.

I took my very first trip into a cave with ULSA in October, and I've been to caves in both the Dales and the Mendips since, but no trips for a while. I spent the whole of last week looking forwards to CHECC where I'd finally get the chance to get stuck in and put my SRT training to the test in an actual cave as opposed to the luxuriously central-heated and well-lit climbing wall.
Sadly, I spent my Saturday afternoon not so much underground as under a was-neon-yellow-now-rather-muddy group shelter. Some complications regarding group sizes and the sheer volume of cavers trudging around the Dales meant a detour from Lancaster, and suffice to say a bit of a wait a-top the entrance to Cow Pot.
Shivering and soggy, we chatted and some SUSS members stumbled upon us and stopped for a while. We attempted to play various games to pass the time, including a rather sorry attempt at a thumb-war. Thumb-wars are difficult when your thumbs resemble cocktail sausages on a regular day, but this was no regular day. I clutched the group shelter as the wind shook it with all the force of an aggressive toddler having a tantrum with a parachute at nursery. The hail battered my fingers, wind chill wasn't particularly pleasant: I was wishing for the callouses and tough skin which comes from days underground and doing things 'outdoors'.
After a couple of hours of waiting, when it was my turn to descend over the ledge, I suddenly didn't feel quite so eager as I had the previous Tuesday, day-dreaming of my Lara Croft-like agility and strength.
I blinked the rain out of my eyes and tried to get a decent purchase of the rope with my now Cumberland sized fingers. I fumbled a bit with the descender, the friction greater than what I had been used to at training. But it was okay. "Right, now step back over the ledge" instructed the lovely Nathan, so believing that I could do it. And I did too: I love heights. I love descents. Unfortunately, my frost-bitten brain forgot that. Instead, looking down into the black abyss all I heard in my head was "nopenopenopenope". I realised I wasn't just shaking from the cold, but fear.
And that was that. I thought it best not to try and push through and try again, I didn't want to have another hiccup in a more dangerous place, and my friends had waited around long enough that day! Back to the farm: surprised, and initially, a bit embarrassed.

Of everything I have learnt this weekend: about cave photography, expeditions;how to squeeze through a wooden box after too many helpings of chilli; I didn't think I'd learn something about fear. Sometimes, your brain knows what's best for you. Other times, you have to go beyond what's innate and look to rationality, reassuring yourself with the knowledge that you are physically able to do it. I don't think I was quite there on Saturday, but I look forwards to another weekend, when I will.

 

[AR]

Quite why we were going into Mandale Sough in February, I?m not sure, but someone in the ATAC must have expressed a desire to go and no-one had any better ideas. In the height of summer, you can walk down the sough in trainers (if you don?t mind them getting a little muddy) but in winter, it?s a different matter.  In full expectation of a wet trip, I?d opted to swap furry undersuit for the lower part of my wetsuit, which is a 3mm windsurfer?s suit where the lower part is a dungaree-style affair, coupled with an old fleece for the upper body.

Arriving at the parking spot and getting out to change, the first thing that struck me was that it was bloody cold, proper freeze the balls off a brass monkey weather, and I started to wonder whether they?d be the only balls frozen off that night. Putting on a stiff upper lip (not difficult when it?s slowly freezing) I and my colleagues kitted up. Back in those days I didn?t have a waterproof pouch to put car keys in, so I asked one of our number whose elderly Volvo lacked such refinements as electronic key systems if he?d mind popping them in the back of it. This I would later regret?

After a bracing walk through Lathkill Dale we arrived at Mandale Mine, and quickly unbolting the gate we headed down the incline in the relative underground warmth. The sough itself was looking quite high and there was discussion as to whether it might be sumped, but we pressed on to see whether it was passable. The water was chilly and quickly got waist-deep, but the wetsuit soon warmed up so it wasn?t so bad. In places, you had to bend double to get though sections of low roof which made keeping the upper body out of the water awkward but we managed, and got through into the main stope. Looking down the hole at the end of this where you?d normally drop down into the next section of sough, it was clear that this wasn?t an option unless you fancied a swim. Since no-one did, retreat was the only option and the fire in the Lathkill Hotel was really starting to appeal.

I was one of the first back out, and assuming the others would all be following close behind, started heading back towards the parked cars. By now, the temperature had really dropped and was well below freezing, and my nether regions were really starting to notice this. Keeping moving seemed to prevent my wetsuit from freezing solid under the oversuit but it wasn?t generating enough warmth to stop me wondering if I had a future career singing soprano.
Reaching the car brought thoughts of dry clothing and warmth but then I remembered where my car keys were. Not a problem I thought, the rest of the gang will be right behind me as I stamped and stomped in the sub-zero.

The minutes passed, the warmth continued to seep away, the dry clothes sat taunting me on the other side of a locked car door. Still no sign of the Volvo owner, when another of the collective appeared I asked about his whereabouts, only to be told he?d gone for a look up the sough tail. What was probably about ten minutes later but felt like a complete ice age, my passport to not freezing to death finally appeared; I was at last able to strip off the wetsuit and try and get some feeling back into my legs with a dry towel before getting the long dreamt-of dry clothes on. Having managed to unstiffen my legs enough to operate the car controls, it was now time for the Lathkill Hotel with its fire and beer!

 

[MeshK]

Short but sweet - Like the trip was intended to be....


Living in Derbsyhire, you get used to the cold and the wet, and the very cold and the very wet ? or so I thought. So here is a brief story of a pretty memorable trip, if only for the sheer misery that ensued.

We were asked by a friend (also caver) if we could take him and a novice family member on a trip down Giants Hole one Winter a few years back. Eagerly agreeing (expecting a bimble around the top series, getting a roast dinner as payment, and keen to show off the sport to newcomers) we all piled into cars and headed on our way.

Upon arriving and parking up, already in our undersuits for the drive, we just threw on our oversuits, grabbed our helmets and the 5 of us pottered off to the cave.

I should just that that up to this point, the weather had been somewhat unremarkable for the last few weeks; a bit wetter, slightly colder ? nothing to write home about.

Having decided just to have some fun around the entrance series, we climbed into Upper West & East Passages for some variation and explored some of the natural features of Giants Hole. Our newbie proved to be particularly keen and able and persuaded us to stay for a while for him to explore.

Cue: A lot of standing around in the streamway and starting to feel the chill.

Finally having persuaded him we started to leave the cave, noting that the wind had picked up quite dramatically since we had gone underground. Upon dubiously leaving the relative warmth of the cave, we discovered that whilst underground we had missed the start of The Apocalypse.
Sleet.
Wind.
10 seconds from the cave, our buffs were frozen.
Hail.
Wind.
20 seconds from the cave, our cuffs were frozen.
Sleet.
Hail.
Snow.
Wind.
30 seconds from the cave and our suits were frozen.

Q: How many cavers can remove frozen oversuits with numb hands in a tiny (and flooded) campervan?

A: Definitely not 5.

Even a roast dinner couldn't make up for that trip.

 

[Over the Hill]

So there I was sat in the pub a long way from any caving area this Saturday night having wished I had a warm Rab Nebula Jacket to keep me warm. Slate floors, outside loos, grumpy landlord but cheap beer and one of the locals tells me his caving tale and recalls...........................

When he was in the Army quite a few years ago he worked closely for a certain High Ranking landowner who owned fells that contain some of UK?s best and largest caves. They had arranged for his Gamekeeper to run an outdoor survival type event on a Army Training Range, an event that was overseen by the teller of the tale. Things were trapped, skinned and eaten and tales told over open fires until the early hours.
At the end of the event with a large amount of ordnance still around the teller of the tale was told by the then Peer of the Realm to ensure the Gamekeeper left happy and one has to remember in the Army an order is an order. This is where things get interesting as the Gamekeeper apart from receiving rounds of ammo and a box of thunderflashes also asked for a couple of Grenades to get that pesky fox that was making his life a misery. Always going to ground in the same place and one terrier had already been lost trying to flush him out

Well this teller of tales was not sure that this particular Gamekeeper had taken the Grenade get that fox throwing course so he arranges to do the job for him. Some weeks later both were to be found on this well known caving fell armed with primed grenades ! The Gamekeeper leads him to a small caver sized limestone hole, the pin pulled and thrown (not the pin you understand he threw the Grenade). Thing was the grenade went ding, ding and more dings before hitting landing at lot lower from the caver sized entrance. Several seconds passed and there was an almighty Boom!
It was at this point as the Grenade had dinged so far they thought that there was a slight possibility they could have just killed a member(s) of the caving fraternity.

So next time you under the ground that boom it may not be flood pulse your hearing but the very same and know semi retired local gamekeeper (who reminds me of the Road runner somewhat).

That my friends I swear is a true story hence the place and names have had to be omitted and to bring it  to you I had to sit this very Saturday night getting ever colder wishing for a Nebula Jacket to keep me warm. 

 

[Jenks]

A tale of cold and stupidity

My first weekend away with Exeter University was to travel up the motorway in the wind, rain, and eventually snow all the way to the freezing Yorkshire Dales for the  2010 CHECC forum. This weekend was one of the coldest weekends the UK has seen for a number of years, with temperatures dropping overnight to as low as -16C.

Fortunately, I was clever enough to not be involved as one of the people who were forced to sleep in multiple sleeping bags on the frozen camping ground, and managed to gain a "comfortable" space on the floor of the room, packed in tightly with others so that getting cold was not an issue.

However, the decision to travel all the way to Gaping Gill to go down Bar Pot was probably ill advised, given the temperatures of -6C on the walk there while the sun was still up, which was to drop by the time we came back in the dark. But ahead we went, with the keenness of someone going down only their second cave, on their first weekend away. At that point, the keenness was keeping the cold out of my mind.

The trip itself was one of the long ones, due to the leader of our trip wishing to bring all their camera equipment down to take some photos of the waterfall cascading from the surface, brilliantly illuminated by the sun streaming into the cave. Unfortunately, by the time we had reached main chamber, due to the obvious faff and the long tie ins that CHECC require, it was of course dark by the time we reached the main chamber, and the photo opportunity was lost.

However, we managed to get a reasonable photo from the water cascading through the wrong section of the cave due to the surface water over the normal entrance freezing and forcing the waterfall down a different location. In the process of taking this photo, I of course went too close to the waterfall, and ended up soaking myself.

In the cave, not an issue, I was the first up the first pitch, first up the second pitch, and onto the surface, -10C, with some inexperienced SRTers following. I huddled myself into the small cave to the side, making myself as curled up as possible, and hoping the others would make it to the surface fast. An hour later, with everyone out of the cave, we could start the long journey back to the car.

Out into the wind, and everything became stiff, movements would cause the oversuit to crack as the frozen sleeves were broken. Another hour back to the car. There was silence as we walked, as everyone contemplated their own stupidity for coming on this trip, and I considered my own particular stupidity in also getting wet in the current conditions. This, I thought, was how I would die, not through an impressive extreme event, but through the stupidity of standing under a waterfall in a cave in a bitter Yorkshire winter.

Once back in the car park, the toilets were spotted as an opportunity to warm up, and the warm air hand drier was particularly utilised until feeling came back into my hands for long enough to unzip my oversuit and change back into warm, dry clothes. However, these clothes were not sufficient, and that is why a RAB Nebula jacket would have been incredibly useful.

A return back to the forum, and copious amounts of tea and chilli (and no small amount of a beer jacket) finally managed to create some semblance of life, enough to even mean that by the time of the stomp, I was willing to strip back down to naught but my boxers and enjoy the experiences that only CHECC can offer.

 

[Dgreenwell]

(Hope I'm not too late)

Not a great success...

Last summer ACC had an enjoyable and thoroughly successful trip up North when we stayed at Bullpot farm. Some members stayed at the hut all week whilst others joined for a long weekend etc. The cavers were keen and many a trip was run. I'l be the first to admit that as a club we are spoilt by having the caves of south Wales just on our doorstep, this does however mean that some of our srt skills are a tad rusty. However the week greatly improved our ability so do not fear; this is not a tale of srt disaster! 

By the back end of the summer it had been a good while since many members had seen each other, one night we decided to celebrate the meet up. The morning after a few members (myself included) decided that we were feeling a little delicate and would avoid srt that day. So we found a cave within walking distance that we were assured would only needed a couple of ladders to be rigged. The sun was shining and it was warm, we set out, enthusiastic at the prospect of an underground jaunt.

We found the cave, or rather, we found a cave and entered, admiring the spiders staring at us on the way in. It took about half an hour of lugging tackle sacks full of ladders and rope to what was in the theory the first bit in need to rigging before we twigged that something was not right. Questions such as - "Does this cave feel unusually tight?" and "Doesn't this cave feel really sharp?" were asked. Profanities that I'm not even sure existed before the trip were uttered but we continued on, searching for the elusive ladder pitch. Eventually we gave up, we didn't find the pitch, were covered in mud, bruised and surprisingly exhausted.

We returned to the hut to find other members of the club, who were still having an obligatory pre trip faff, surprised to see us. We moaned about how the cave was small and painful, complained about how it didn't seem anything the description or the survey, there were even suspicious thoughts of being set up. However there was a very good reason for this. We had just spent the last hour and a half underground in the wrong cave. A much smaller cave that had an entrance that might look a little similar to our initial objective if you squint a bit. We decided to give up on caving for the day and wander slowly across the fells to the pub, maybe we could feel sorry for ourselves there with a pint.

I can't remember the name of the cave we failed to find or that or the other cave we ended up in, probably my subconscious trying to suppress the event.

The week itself was a great success, but just not on that afternoon.

 

[Mrs Bottlebank]

This is a digging tale from the '90s when with the DCC we where digging in Low Douk using old fire hose, water and gravity.

At the time I was a shadow of my former shelf and was shoved down many tight bedding planes and nasty slots to establish if I could see if rocks could be heard dropping, water levels rising etc. Obviously I did not have the protective layer of fat now that I do now.

One of our team had a fabulous old red transit minibus converted into a camper / caver luxury changing facility.

After another long trip lying flat out in cold water for hours, trying to burrow in to the Temple of Doom area I emerged onto a bitterly cold fell buffeted by winter winds. The ground was frozen and the team vehicle felt a long wayaway at the bottom of Turbary Road by the pumping station.

But then a wonderful sight, as I came  to the top of Turbary Road. One of our friends had left before me, gone back to his van, driven it up the lane. Parked and put the heater and kettle on. I was greeted by a smile and a warm cup of tea and then when changed and warm even a warm wet j-cloth to wipe the mud of my face. (Think I needed the whole roll rather than just one but the thought was there )

Never forgotten that moment and it just shows what a tight team diggers are.

Years later I believe the connection was made by another team. One of whom runs this group. Just hope they had as good a team spirit as we did.

The van no long exists so it would be nice to think a wonderful warm RAB Nebula jacket could try and take its place to warm me up straight after getting changed.

 

[Bratchley]

A few years ago I travelled to the USA to work a Summer Camp and since I had a month off in the country afterwards, I decided to try some caving in TAG and northern Utah. TAG went smoothly. Utah very nearly didnt.

The cave was Main Drain cave, a conglomerate Alpine cave in the Bear River range, the deepest in Utah at around 400m. Although relatively shallow in relation to many other alpine caves, the cave was fairly remote and at altitude, not far short of 3000m and I was coming straight from sea level with little rest. I was also fairly new to SRT at the time (a few months doing it) and had very little gear with me as I'd barely even packed enough to last for the 3 month summer camp.

Peter was my contact, a short and very welcoming man from Burnley (would you believe it). He was the main explorer of Main Drain, one of only a handful of people who'd reached its terminal sump and of course I was curious as to how more people hadn't been dying to get exploring in there! He elaborated that very few nearby cavers were physically fit enough or keen enough to endure the icy cold, wet conditions. According to Peter, that included almost all of the nearest cave rescue team.
Being young, keen, inexperienced and certainly foolish, I was excited.

We went to scrounge some gear from some very kind friends of his. I ended up with the very basics, a MyoXP, microrack, helmet, harness and old worn Daleswear suit and what seemed to resemble some Sports Direct thermals.

We drove up to the mountains for a good number of hours early morning and drove to Tony Grove, at the base of the steep hike to the cave. The hike was uneventful and we reached the entrance, rather uninspiring, a hole in the ground maybe 3m x 6m. Peter rigged the 60m or so pitch and in we went, landing on two massive snow cones on the way in. The cave then went up, with an ice waterfall pitch called "Ryans Ice Climb", an interesting obstacle and topped out at a tiny hole and crawl which draughted like nothing I'd felt until then. This dropped down Leaky Faucet Pit, a irritatingly wet, fairly restrictive 70m pitch with multiple obstacles that dropped into canyon passage with multiple pitches and ways on. Peter led the way, through varied (sometimes awkward) passage and before I knew it the big 80m "Frayed Knot Falls" was ahead. This was an extremely impressive free hang, the story behind the name mildly unnerving, and the landing point dropped us next to a manor house sized boulder. Once again, Peter led on down multiple "nuisance drops" on the approach to the 60m Kilo Pit (where the cave gets below 1000ft). Not far from this is where the "fun" began.

On the way down one of the nuisance pits, of around 30m or so, the descender began to struggle on the cold, extremely mucky rope. During the faff, I noticed the stitching had mostly torn on the left leg loop connection to the central maillon webbing, and before I could get the ascenders on had pretty much gone. At this point, I had swung to a tiny ledge and was shouting down to Peter, of 50 odd years old, who in the noise of the waterfall next to me could hear essentially jack shit. After very little hesitation I realised I was extremely fortunate to have had a pantin, which subsequently allowed me to climb extremely carefully back up after a change over, without weighting the harness. All I then had to do was get out!

Fortunately the nearest pitch out was rigged with a little too much rope. The use of a sharp ish rock later gave me some old muddy rope from which to forge a harness and we then carefully exited the cave. Frayed Knot Falls was definitely worse going up!

After 10 hours down under we emerged, needing another harness, as we still had two days caving left. Neilsons Well was the cave for the next day, and after finding another harness it went very smoothly, the 450ft final pitch free hang down Fantasy Well being the highlight (especially when rigged with an American "death triangle" and goopy corroded snap gates).

Of course, I had to go back to Main Drain, as it needed the ropes pulling up for the winter and I still needed to get to the bottom for exploration. The second trip (again with a very early start), accompanied by an Austrian caver, went well from the entrance to the sump (albeit very cold, wading through chest deep snow meltwater) until the journey out, where we'd decided to stage our exits so that no-one waited and got too cold. I was in front, with Peter at the back and the Austrian fellow in between. The ropes were to be left at the pitch heads, Peters job, so it was very unfortunate when I took the wrong turning at the junction below Leaky Faucet. After 20 mins going through some passage very very similar to the one I needed I realised my mistake.

I went back to the junction, this time around 40 mins after I first went wrong. Where were the others? Had they gone past? There was multiple other ways on, which one eventually led to leaky faucet? If Peter has already gone past me he wont know until I'm not on the surface after the ropes have been pulled. That wont be for hours. If I go down another route that's wrong and Peter hasn't yet passed me he could do so. After sitting and thinking for only a few minutes I was wet and already extremely cold. I could hear no-one. None of my choices sounded good, all other ways looked the same. Best case scenario was to choose the right one and find Leaky Faucet still with a rope on it, but if they were ahead they'll have derigged it and if they were behind they'll come past.

I chose to wait and hope they were still behind me. This was the driest, warmest part of the cave on the main route so if I was going to spend a long time here, this is where I should stay. My lack of any survival kit whatsoever was something of a regret at this point. After what felt like forever (but was probably only max half hour or so), someone appeared. They'd had a considerable hold up, I've still never asked what it was, but I rolled my freezing ass up on to my feet and finally caved my way to Leaky Faucet.

From here it was simple and if it wasn't for the bottom strap on the Pantin breaking and removing a considerable amount of leg skin, I'd have said it was still enjoyable! After over 11 hours under, I was glad to see the sun.

Pictures:

Fantasy Well Rigging

Walk to Main Drain

More Walking

Main Drain Entrance


I've had plenty of scary experiences since, but this one was the first time I genuinely felt scared in a cave and never forgot it!

Josh

 

[frawleyh]

Little Neath River Cave
I was warned it would be wet; I guess the name and significantly too small wetsuit gave it away. But na?ve fresher me was not prepared for quite how chilly and wet Little Neath would be!
Slightly hungover from the previous night of caving games, a small group of us went to follow in the footsteps of our elders in UBSS; visiting Little Neath River Cave. We parked up and kitted up and traipsed down the river peering in any hole we could find looking for the cave; until Cam disappeared. All we could see were pair of wellies sticking out of the rock; guess he found the entrance! One of our party was already starting to regret the determination and valiant effort it took to get into the wetsuit he was offered- ?I used to wear this when I was about 14?- and was complaining of chafage. The cave began with a tight, very wet crawl which was great fun and soon filled up our wetsuits which solved the issue. After some wiggling about it opened up slightly before reaching my first ever duck. I got through without drama and we carried on to Tributary Passage. This was one of the few bits of walking I had done for a while as I finally got to stand up straight!
We then went through to look at the infamous sump that links Bridge Cave to Little Neath (woo go UBS!!) before continuing on our own little adventure. Us freshers were allowed to lead the way for a while until, totally oblivious to where we were going and what we had reached, we were forced to stop. There was lots of water?. Surely we weren?t to go through it? Cam smugly told us we had reached The Canal and that yes, it was swimming time. We braced ourselves and went for it. After what felt like a very long time and lots of water in my ears, we reached the end. An upside, the hangovers we greatly reduced!
We then went on to the Junction Chamber where we stopped for chocolate, biscuits and more chocolate. Suitably fed, we- like the wise men- returned via a different route; thankfully the Canal By-pass. The trip was going swimmingly (excuse the pun!) until the exit crawl. Cold, wet and quite tired by this point, I got my leg and hip wedged under a bit of rock and couldn?t get it free. This dammed up the stream as my oversuit filled up. There was a fair amount of pushing and pulling (well as much as possible in a near flat out crawl) as we tried to decide which way was easiest to get me out. One of the more sympathetic of the group thought I had stopped because of a spider and was freaking out because he doesn?t like them while I was thinking that 2 trips with the club seemed too soon to require a rescue story. After about 15 minutes (although it felt like hours) lying face down in the water, I managed to wiggle back out the way I came enough to relieve my leg from under the ledge and we all crawled/dragged ourselves back out of Flood Entrance to finish like a beached whale in the river.
After a quick dash back to the car, we peeled everybody out of their wetsuits and dressed in warm, dry clothes, we returned home to Bristol.

 

[Alex]

Are we allowed video trip reports? I described one audibly. I should say although I am interviewed for a bit, it's not my video. Credit to Steve Sharp, he can decide who gets the jacket should it win.

Discovery of 4117 in Matiezno:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXeUA4Bbx44&feature=youtu.be

For more info on the cave:

http://matienzocaves.org.uk/descrip/4117.htm