Simon Beck
Member
A few weeks ago i bid a relieving farewell to my existence in the urban giant and moved back to the dales, i've sworn to myself and the dales that i will never leave again, although i fear my betrayal may cost be dearly. The resulting circumstances relating to my return are hardly satisfactory, no job, no car, no home (crashing at relatives) or my female companion who's in a similar boat in her home town. I used to fantasize back in my full time employment days about been on the dole, caving fulltime with not a care in the world or anything to hold me back. Well here i am!, it's not all it's cracked up to be, but there's still time. The first week was hell, i kept almost packing my gear in preparation for some lonesome trip to the far waters, langcliffe or quaking, but i couldn't see how some vacant empty trip would benefit me, plus the weather didn't help. It wasn't until sunday that i began to feeling that something positive could come out of my predicament, although it wasn't anything to create waves or a revelation, but none the less an unexpected outing in kingsdale that brought me round a little.
The venue for the day should have been vespers pot, but four other individuals had beat us to it when we arrived at braida garth, not that i cared they were welcome to it. A good trip yes, but lacking too much of everything but rope work, plus i was in the mood for something tougher. We discussed the alternatives and had a flick through the very up to date 70s copy of northern caves 4 we had in our possession, it also helped that Ian (Cummins) had a car boot full of rope, how prudent of him. Anyway i was ecstatic when king pot was decided upon. The last time i'd been down king was in a biggish group on a club meet and i'd disliked the experience hugely, not cos of the cave, but all the aspects of club related battalion style caving which i'd begun to despise, plus in the previous year my arrogance ambition and curiosity had made me realise i could do stuff on my own, or with a partner in half the time it took most clubs. So i vowed if i did it again it would be in a small group, 3 at the most.
The loads were light, mostly 8mm, my companion's a minimalist and would never use a rope or point of aid unless it's absolutely impossible without anyway. We also had his oversized tackle bags (larger dia) which in certain circumstances in the past had been a pig, but today they were a welcome choice, in the t-shaped traverse prior to queensway, they jammed nicely in the top of the vadose section allowing one the use of both hands, unlike regular sized tackle sack's which just beg to be cursed at. Queensway felt homely, due to it's similarity to another peice of passage in the dales, i've been longing to re-visit. Due to the previous days rainfall, water levels were above average, but not as bad as i'd expected, the sky had looked a little sinister beforehand, so i was excited at the prospect of levels rising, making the exit a little more challenging. King pot's one of those trips where in the initial stages and due to the variety you don't feel you're making very speedy progress, but the landmarks did eventually begin to pass by in quick succession, and on arriving at king henry hall, i felt we were getting somewhere. After bloodaxe the shortage of rope bacame an issue so basic rigging prevailed, on elizabeth we just chucked a piece of tat round the natural bridge and used the flake deviation, the bottom half of the pitch was wet and the rope just made it. Here we should have jettisoned all our gear, but due to me thinking there was another pitch continued on with our very light, but un-necessary luggage. Jane's pitch being the pitch i had expected, not realising this trivial obstacle was classed as a pitch, was passed without a 2nd thought. I'd forgotten how long a trip king is and at this point was thinking wow!, it's a long way.
By the time we reached the master cave, muscles i hadn't used in ages were beginning to protest and my lower back(which i'd pulled the previous weekend) and my bad wrist which still hasn't recovered since my crash on oxford st 3 months were causing some discomfort. This being the longest trip i've done in more than a year, i was fit from all the cycling i'd done in london, but not caving fit. The river cascading down the master cave was an intimating sight, brown swollen and quite warm, signalling to unfamiliar eyes that it had possibly thrown it down earlier, i think we both lost our footing due to the current on a few occasions. We visited the two sumps then got outta there, on the return through the crawls i spied a little aven in a cross rift just incase levels suddenly rose, but they didn't and we were quickly back at Elizabeth pitch. Me with 1/2 climbing, 1/2 srt kit and no hood had a real struggle getting the 8mm to pass through the chest ascender, even with the weight of two bags below and was frozen stiff half way up, probably a good job the water was reasonably warm. The return overall though was great, i really suffered and enjoyed every minute, reminded me why i got into this pursuit in the first place, something i lost touch with when the diving side of things took precedence, albeit some of the lonesome carries i did, i actually enjoyed more than the diving.
By the time we arrived back at the T-shaped traverse my arms were like spagetti and my lower back was in agony, but the going was easy and i didn't want it to end. During the traverse over the pit and due to my carelessness i dropped my tackle sack, which Ian quickly retrieved. A beautifull evening greeted us on the surface and after doing my calculations later on i think the trip took us between 6.5-7 hours.
After a 1/2 pint in the marton, i stuck my thumb out on the south bound A65, it was 9:30pm on sunday eve, i didn't think i stood a chance and expected i'd either be walking to brackenbottom or sleeping rough that night. But after 30-40mins of getting ignored i finally got a lift all the way to the centre of skipton. I spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about been back in the mastercave watching those raging waters tumble past and tried to forget about the other shite i should be worrying about, like money and the hope of future employment and all that bollocks. I'd choose the pain and suffering expected on the most brutal of pothole trips over the pressures of living in todays society, stripping myself of a majority of my material possessions and stuff i take for granted as made me realise that. I endeavour from this day forward to suffer in the underground like never before........ Si-B
The venue for the day should have been vespers pot, but four other individuals had beat us to it when we arrived at braida garth, not that i cared they were welcome to it. A good trip yes, but lacking too much of everything but rope work, plus i was in the mood for something tougher. We discussed the alternatives and had a flick through the very up to date 70s copy of northern caves 4 we had in our possession, it also helped that Ian (Cummins) had a car boot full of rope, how prudent of him. Anyway i was ecstatic when king pot was decided upon. The last time i'd been down king was in a biggish group on a club meet and i'd disliked the experience hugely, not cos of the cave, but all the aspects of club related battalion style caving which i'd begun to despise, plus in the previous year my arrogance ambition and curiosity had made me realise i could do stuff on my own, or with a partner in half the time it took most clubs. So i vowed if i did it again it would be in a small group, 3 at the most.
The loads were light, mostly 8mm, my companion's a minimalist and would never use a rope or point of aid unless it's absolutely impossible without anyway. We also had his oversized tackle bags (larger dia) which in certain circumstances in the past had been a pig, but today they were a welcome choice, in the t-shaped traverse prior to queensway, they jammed nicely in the top of the vadose section allowing one the use of both hands, unlike regular sized tackle sack's which just beg to be cursed at. Queensway felt homely, due to it's similarity to another peice of passage in the dales, i've been longing to re-visit. Due to the previous days rainfall, water levels were above average, but not as bad as i'd expected, the sky had looked a little sinister beforehand, so i was excited at the prospect of levels rising, making the exit a little more challenging. King pot's one of those trips where in the initial stages and due to the variety you don't feel you're making very speedy progress, but the landmarks did eventually begin to pass by in quick succession, and on arriving at king henry hall, i felt we were getting somewhere. After bloodaxe the shortage of rope bacame an issue so basic rigging prevailed, on elizabeth we just chucked a piece of tat round the natural bridge and used the flake deviation, the bottom half of the pitch was wet and the rope just made it. Here we should have jettisoned all our gear, but due to me thinking there was another pitch continued on with our very light, but un-necessary luggage. Jane's pitch being the pitch i had expected, not realising this trivial obstacle was classed as a pitch, was passed without a 2nd thought. I'd forgotten how long a trip king is and at this point was thinking wow!, it's a long way.
By the time we reached the master cave, muscles i hadn't used in ages were beginning to protest and my lower back(which i'd pulled the previous weekend) and my bad wrist which still hasn't recovered since my crash on oxford st 3 months were causing some discomfort. This being the longest trip i've done in more than a year, i was fit from all the cycling i'd done in london, but not caving fit. The river cascading down the master cave was an intimating sight, brown swollen and quite warm, signalling to unfamiliar eyes that it had possibly thrown it down earlier, i think we both lost our footing due to the current on a few occasions. We visited the two sumps then got outta there, on the return through the crawls i spied a little aven in a cross rift just incase levels suddenly rose, but they didn't and we were quickly back at Elizabeth pitch. Me with 1/2 climbing, 1/2 srt kit and no hood had a real struggle getting the 8mm to pass through the chest ascender, even with the weight of two bags below and was frozen stiff half way up, probably a good job the water was reasonably warm. The return overall though was great, i really suffered and enjoyed every minute, reminded me why i got into this pursuit in the first place, something i lost touch with when the diving side of things took precedence, albeit some of the lonesome carries i did, i actually enjoyed more than the diving.
By the time we arrived back at the T-shaped traverse my arms were like spagetti and my lower back was in agony, but the going was easy and i didn't want it to end. During the traverse over the pit and due to my carelessness i dropped my tackle sack, which Ian quickly retrieved. A beautifull evening greeted us on the surface and after doing my calculations later on i think the trip took us between 6.5-7 hours.
After a 1/2 pint in the marton, i stuck my thumb out on the south bound A65, it was 9:30pm on sunday eve, i didn't think i stood a chance and expected i'd either be walking to brackenbottom or sleeping rough that night. But after 30-40mins of getting ignored i finally got a lift all the way to the centre of skipton. I spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about been back in the mastercave watching those raging waters tumble past and tried to forget about the other shite i should be worrying about, like money and the hope of future employment and all that bollocks. I'd choose the pain and suffering expected on the most brutal of pothole trips over the pressures of living in todays society, stripping myself of a majority of my material possessions and stuff i take for granted as made me realise that. I endeavour from this day forward to suffer in the underground like never before........ Si-B
