Thursday Night Club

28th May 2026 - What's Goyden on here then?

2026-05-29T08:40:59.929+01:00

For as long as I can remember a trip to Nidderdale has been on our wish list, sporting as it does a trio of caves that should, I'm told, be on every LCMLA level 2's ticket. The coinciding of a period of dry weather and a holiday Thursday aswell as a well timed MOT and service for Tony's car meant the dream could become a reality.

A brief cuppa and slice of, as ever, delicious rhubarb and custard cake at Mike's, a garage pick up of Tony and we were East bound on the Skipton road. Landmarks becoming less familiar and the steady flow of travellers' bow topped wagons heading towards Appleby gave an exotic feel to our Oriental adventure. Past Grassington and I really had no idea where we were anymore, the moors becoming bleaker, their gritstone crenellations silhouetted against cloudless blue skies. Surely there can't be any caves here, it's the wrong sort of rock? The sign for Stump Cross caverns soon put paid to that theory.

We descended into the metropolis of Pately bridge and began the steady climb into Upper Nidderdale before parking next to a bricked up railway tunnel within sight of our first objective of the day, Manchester Hole. Hawthorne in full bloom shone bright in the late May sunshine as we crossed the stiles to the entrance. The cool darkness below in stark contrast to the warmth and daylight above. Tony, keen to fully explore with the aim of taking trips here in future headed up stream while Mike and I headed down.

The entrance to Manchester pot

If this was your first experience of caving I'm sure you'd be impressed, it's a stunning stream way. At a knotted rope up a mud slope Tony and I chose to take the high road through the main chamber while Mike took the low through the stream. With no other navigational choices to make we shortly arrived at the sump pool with seemingly no way on. Fortunately we had an ever excellent Braemoor guide with us and quickly located the obscured, wet crawl through to the actual sump chamber.

Tony exiting the damp passage through to the sump chamber

Mike too, enjoying the cool waters

From here the guide that I'd read took you to the surface at Bax pot in just three, fairly innocuous sounding sentences to complete a lovely trip, exactly what Tony was wanting for his clients and what I was expecting for our day out. Mike though had with him a newer guide and a different plan.

He read out the next part of the description and following his instructions I returned down towards the stream. I don't think the next bits of passage will be on Tony's tour itinerary. There's low bits, there's wet bits and there are low, wet bits, even in fact some low, loose, wet bits. Worryingly when we arrived at the 'jumble of boulders tied up with string', the string was missing and Mike quoting other Sound of Music lyrics to me didn't do much to ease my nerves. Mike kept us on track with the description and after a final shimmy through some boulders we were in the vastness of Goyden. Locating a chain that was to aid our exit we stashed our gear and consulted the guide and survey. Tony's survey had a lovely tour, suitable for a group, marked on it but oncd again Mike had found an alternative trip suggestion.

Getting our heads around the layout of Goyden pot

The route is well described by Braemoor so I'll leave you with the general gist. Follow crawly passages either with flood detritus on the floor or improbably wedged in the ceiling via a number of rope and ladder climbs and over the occasional pipe traverse. At all times marvel at the incredible chert nodules and try not to worry too much about the fact that wherever you are the cave probably floods to the roof.

At one point we emerged out of the impressive, main Goyden entrance and basked in the Sun. All too soon though we retraced our steps and then followed a boulder slope back down to our bags. From them we enjoyed a vertical adventure playground climbing chains, ladders and the odd pile of stacked boulders. The vertical shenanigans finished at a lidded entrance and we emerged from Church pot into a small dry valley. Where we were now in relation to the main valley I had no idea (in actual fact we were still in the main valley), but my attention was drawn to a couple of Kites seemingly annoyed by the behaviour of a Buzzard.

Not quite sure where we were and also not quite sure where we were going we headed back to the road and while Mike returned for the car Tony and I began making our way down the valley. It's worth noting that up to this point we'd been carrying our SRT gear and a couple of ropes for the pitches in New Goyden. Personally if I were to do the trip again I'd leave them on the surface and collect them only when heading for New Goyden.

Taking on our usual roles when we play 'Hunt the cave', Tony and I slithered around on some boulders in the stream bed while Mike located the entrance and made the most of the shade from the tree above it. Our well carried SRT kit was finally donned and we made our way down the short entrance crawl to the top of the pitches. These are rigged from new looking bolts all except for the deviation, a more traditional looking bolt.

At the foot of the pitches we found ourselves in a streamway of impressive proportion. Upstrezm quickly led to a duck allowing access to the upstream sump. Nicely warmed from our brief sojourn in the Sun I was reluctant to get wet again so turned and headed back with the stream's flow. Again not far from our ropes we found the frothy downstream sump. A muddy climb just before it however led up to a brief wriggle through boulders and the impressive Planetarium. A small inlet trickle, Astronomers' passage led to further evidence of the Black Sheep diggers handywork: a low dig following the inlet with some impressive dry stone walling and another aluminium ladder leading up a small aven. Wratch about completed we ascended our ropes with Tony kindly taking on derigging duties. On the surface we once again basked in the now, early evening, Sun before the short wander back to the car.

While it was great to visit three totally new caves in a day the highlights for me were the connection between Manchester and Goyden and Goyden pot itself. It's a truly remarkable place which, while devoid of any calcite formations of note, more than makes up for this with some unique rock architecture.

26th May 2026 - What a Corker!

2026-05-26T19:03:56.625+01:00

Reading the papers or watching the news it can be hard to disagree with Jarvis Cocker's 2006 treatise on the nature of those running the World. A quality day's caving, or even a bad day's caving for that matter, is therefore a fine antidote to the general state of things.

Firstly you tend to be with fantastic friends but then there are the guides and topos. Equipped with either a Braemoor or Cooper description you feel navigationally invulnerable. Incredibly, for such quality work, the Braemoor routes are freely available online (here) and while NFTFH was purchased, profits from it went to cave conservation projects. The CNCC topos (here) and indeed the majority of the bolts we dangle from are also produced, installed and maintained by volunteers. Then you have days like today where your chosen trip is only possible due to the hard work of folk prerigging nearly all the entrances to the Gaping Ghyll system, cheers to the Bradford for this. Finally there are the diggers without who many, now classic, trips just wouldn't exist. Many of their stories can be found in the excellent Adventures Underground, the profits of which again have gone to good causes. I feel exceptionally priviledged to be able to escape to this bubble of magnanimous altruism, even for an evening.

Parking in Newby allowed a pleasant walk up, avoiding the half term crowds, to the tented shanty town surrounding Gaping Ghyll. The new online booking system was working a treat, a relaxed atmosphere pervading the shake hole and no queue snaking its way back down towards Bar pot. Perhaps the Bradford should offer consultancy services to the Nepali government, they'd soon sort the Everest queue. We checked in at the winch tent and set off to find Corky's. We found various other shake holes and Hensler's before finally locating our chosen entrance. Not so sure about the 250 m on a bearing of 110°, just behind the toilet block being possibly a better description.

We changed out of our sweat sodden clothes into even more inappropriate for the temperature neoprene, fuelled up on banana cake, quaffed some drink and descended the ladder into the coolness. The dug/blasted nature of the passage was immediately evident as we crawled, via a couple of short drops, towards the first pitch. It's recommended to approach this feet first along the preceeding crawl and this approach did make it easy to get onto the pitch.

Short pitches then come thick (thin?) and fast before the Nemesis crawl which isn't as bad as it sounds, though it is at a slightly funny angle for much of its length. Another short pitch intervenes before a shuffle under (through?) the Elephant's arse leads to Chemo Tim, the penultimate pitch.

Carefully descending the boulder slope below the echo from beyond became unmissable, something big lay beyond. If we weren't disappointed I can't imagine the emotion among the diggers as they reached the aptly named Vindication. It's an awe inspiring place that drops you into the vastness of Hall. At the foot of the pitch we had chance to do something we'd been unable to do since the start of the trip - walk.

It wasn't to be a huge leg stretch, just a wander up to the top of the col that leads into Boulder hall before retracing our steps for 30 m to find on the left, behind jammed blocks, the entrance to Mud Hensler's. A slippy slide down for a couple of metres before an unviting hole on the right led to an even less inviting muddy slip down to the crawl. "Are ducks a thing?" is an oft discussed question in our office and this became the subject of conversation, albeit about ducks of a different feather, as we passed an aqueous section before an almost pleasant crawl over smooth, low friction, bedrock - our small bags containing our SRT kit just seemed to keep sliding when pushed. Suddenly we popped out of the crawl into a towering aven with a rope hanging out of the darkness, Hensler's High aven.

I love the tales of how the ever resourceful Hensler tried to ascertain the height of this aven, from rockets to Helium balloons trailing tape measures. While shy of his initial estimates it's still an impressive pitch and I'm glad I wasn't rigging it - I'm not sure how I'd reach the deviation at the transition between open aven and the shapely runnel in its side.

While Hensler's aven lies directly beneath the entrance of Hensler's pot, inbetween the two the passage follows almost 200 m of dog leg. Velcro passage lived up to its name grabbing at my bag and SRT kit at every opportunity before we arrived at Burnley pitch. At the top of the pitch we removed our gear for the thrutch to follow. While never tight the connection and Birth canal were often snug, at least navigation was straight forward, just follow the shot holes.

Haigh's Bottom pitch (is there a Top pitch or is it purely anthropomorphic?) allowed us to stand once again and also to admire the pitch's rock architecture. Monica's, AC/DC and Buzzy pitches followed in short order (though I did almost miss Buzzy opting for a side trip to the ropes hanging from Big Benn aven). From the pitches it was once again back onto hands and knees with the occasional respite of flat out sections in which to rest in the cooling water.

A solitary frog signalled that the exit was close before a short piece of shoring, a wall of warm air and the foot of the exit ladder. We emerged back into the Dales in the middle of a heat wave and I staggered back to our clothes drying at Corky's, my legs unaccustomed to walking after nearly four hours of crawling. Thirst quenched washing down another piece of banana bread we made our way to sign out at the winch tent. Those about to descend and those who'd just returned determinable by their expression of either anticipation or quiet reflection.

For us too the return to Newby allowed us to begin to contemplate a truely cracking journey through two amazing pots. Even after a few drinks back in the Barn the experience still hadn't fully been absorbed. In NFTFH Cooper states that trips only made it into the book if they left them smiling for a few days after. While far from a Black book trip, where use of prerigging would definitely be eschewed, it's a trip that will definitely keep me grinning for a while.

21st May 2026 - River of no return

2026-05-22T17:47:30.533+01:00

It's that time of year when the Bradford pothole club take up residence at Gaping ghyll. As well as setting up the winch into main chamber, they also kindly rig most of the entrances. This allows the visiting caver to choose from a smorgasboard of through trip possibilities all without the encumberment of tackle sacks. It doesn't get much better than this! Despite everything being rigged the recent wet weather limited our choice slightly so Tony chose Stream to Marilyn from the specials board and we headed to Clapham. The village was living up to its name with Fell beck making a thundering entrance into the village and we wondered if it might be too wet even for our 'wet alternatives'.

On the walk up through Trow ghyll we encountered a couple of heavily laden Bradford lads. Mike kindly reduced their load and we chatted about the recent successful climbs out of the main chamber. As we had our own call out and they weren't winching they also suggested we could just crack on with our trip rather than having to head up to their camp to let them know our intentions.

Leaving the main trod we headed directly for the dry valley on the slopes of Ingleborough and at its foot located the tubed entrance of Stream.

Last time we were here I was preoccupied with helping a bird of prey escape the confines of the tube so I'd completely forgotten about the slightly awkward moves between the entrance and second pitches. Once through these though the cave opens up to superb proportions. The pitches that follow are classic Yorkshire caving and it's almost too soon that you arrive at the horizontal part of the cave, a dash past a couple of waterfalls waking you from your revery.

Fortunately Mike has a good memory and led us through to Sand cavern without the numerous side excursions that we went on during our previous visit. At the junction between South and South East passage we dropped our gear for the obligitory trip to main chamber. It truly is a magnificent place and we're so fortunate to have it so close to home.

Retracing our steps to our cache at the junction we followed the trade route to the bottom of the Bar pot pitches before carrying on to South East aven and the drop down into Hensler's new crawl for a refreshing squirm. Despite our earlier concerns the water levels were fine and at the end of the crawl we went on a quick sight seeing tour to Hensler's master cave, passage on a much grander scale than either of his eponymous crawls.

From where the Disappointment water joins the master cave it's just a short distance before the scramble up to the bottom of the pitches and another classic Yorkshire streamway. It's worth noting that the warnings about loose rock should definitely be heeded, I'm really not sure what's holding some of the pitches together.

The distinctive grating cover of Marilyn was silhoueted against the dying light of a perfect Dales evening. Not for the first time this evening we'd missed last orders but once again Casa Brooks came to the rescue. More pubs should definitely serve cake with their pints!

Tony's Blair Witchesque video of New Hensler's:

14th May 2026 - I went, I watched, I wussed

2026-05-15T10:54:04.482+01:00

After an amazing trip to King pot I was intrigued to go and have a look at some of the other East Kingsdale classics. With a future Spectacle-Vesper exchange in mind I wanted to make sure I'd get through Splutter crawl. Fortunately Mike was also up for a recce so we headed up onto the moor on a glorious evening.

We found the big pile of stones that acts as a distinctive way point for pots in this area and located Vesper before retracing our steps back to Spectacle. The entrance didn't quite match the CNCC description but after a pitch and a couple of short drops we found a crawl that did match in all but one way. While the description mentioned shallow puddles of water, this crawl sported continuous and deeper than I'd have liked water.

I sat and looked for a bit before deciding I definitely wasn't up for it before letting Mike have a closer look. I'm pretty sure he'd have gone for it but I was almost back at the pitch by this point and so he (reluctantly?) followed.

From the comfort of an armchair I think the CNCC description is making the most of the constrained space and throwing the word tight in early, describing the entrance pitch, is probably just forewarning of things to come. NFTFH with a bit more space gives, as ever, a spot on description.

9th May 2026 - CPC X TNC

2026-05-11T19:53:52.145+01:00

Before the trip report begins, just to acknowledge that this is the 300th Thursday night club post on a blog set up almost 20 years ago by Tom. While he doesn't spend as much time underground he's still adventuring as hard as ever. There's loads of inspiring stuff on his website here and on his YouTube channel here.

Club caving. I've had a fantastic caving "career" spanning 20 odd years, going on trips with mates and eschewing the club scene due to not wanting to spend hours waiting at the bottom of cold, wet pitches for 20 people to ascend before you. A few years ago though, I attended a few of the truly excellent CNCC training events (see here) and was chatting about how fortunate we were as Dales cavers: free high quality topos, safe well bolted caves and massively subsidised training. With being a recipient of all of these things I'd mentioned about it feeling a bit wrong not to be giving anything back in return. The trainer, Ian Patrick, suggested signing up to the CNCC volunteer list (here) and joining a club. The club in question was the CPC and soon after I'd paid my subs and joined up.

Weekends tend to be busy with work or family commitments (thus caving on a Thursday night) so, with the exception of a terrific trip to the sump in Whitescar, I hadn't managed to make it on any club trips. A free Saturday though coincided with a trip to a cave I'd wanted to visit for a while, King pot. With the recent passing of the legendary Geoff Yeadon I'd been rewatching the fantastic Sid Perou films on YouTube about the record breaking dives in Kingsdale and wanted to see the King pot downstream sump for myself.

Friday night my bed time reading was the trip's entry in Not for the faint hearted, followed by a chapter of Pete Boardman's Sacred Summits to put everything into perspective. Saturday morning felt strange, no ropes to sort, no laminated description and a panic over what to wear. This wasn't due to caving being a particularly stylish sport but more not knowing how fast we'd be moving and whether we'd be taking on some of the more aqueous parts of the trip. I threw a number of options into the van, drove youngest to work, picked up some mini pork pies and Snickers from Lidl and headed over to Kingsdale.

Arriving at the layby by Braida Garth I was warmly greeted by the trip organiser AJ and the rest of the team, Jay, Mick, Simon, Julie and Toby began to assemble. With the team fully present it was time to get changed and as others seemed to be getting into neofleeces I followed suit, putting a balaclava in my pocket to ward off the cold if necessary. AJ had split the tackle between 7 small bags so we each had a small load and no single cumbersome tackle sack.

The walk up the hill provided a chance to start to get to know my fellow club mates. Currently the news is even more doomy and gloomy than usual and I spend most of my time at work with kids who seem hell bent on making life difficult for other people. It's extremely refreshing therefore to meet new, great people who actually reaffirm your faith in humanity.

The angle of the hill relented as we moved out of the woods onto the open moor and Julie, with the coordinates of the pot in her watch, soon had us at the entrance shake hole. Knowing it was going to be a fair while before I saw it again, I took a moment to take in Kingsdale in all its glory before following down into the shake hole and the rocky slit at its base.

Oh! King pot has a reputation but I wasn't expecting it to rear its head so soon. The 2 or so metre climb down looked awfully narrow. I couldn't call it a day here though, so slithered down, reversing this manoeuvre being the first item on a growing list of things I'd have to worry about on this trip. In the small chamber that followed AJ was quickly changing my mind about club trips, the handline was already rigged and folk were rapidly passing through the squeeze. Tackling this obstacle with SRT kit on a slither of confidence returned, it wasn't particularly squeezy, though these things are often different on return, especially when tired.

Once again arriving at the first, Perfect, pitch the rope was already rigged and a couple of people already down. Ahead I could hear calls for rope bags to be passed forward, this was definitely not AJ's first rodeo. Our tackle sack was hung at the start of a traverse over a pit as the in situ rope appeared sound and we were soon at the second pitch with its slightly constricted start. Once through I was able to pass my bag forward and enjoy the rare delight of tackle free caving.

A section of crawling followed with a couple of junctions. As well as being able to swiftly and efficiently rig it transpires AJ's also a dab hand at impromptu dry walling, the direction to go at each junction never therefore being in doubt. Before long we started what was, for me, the trickiest obstacle yet. A bedding plane traverse over an awkward width slot. Any appendage that slipped down from the horizontal plane was immediately grabbed by this rift and I began wishing for core muscles that I don't have to keep me out of it. Towards the end of this crawl a left and then right hand bend in quick succession add a further twist. Fortunately helpful advice was forthcoming from those who'd successfully negotiated these turns (lay on your right for the first and then swing your legs down to allow you to lay on your left for the second). The sense of relief at passing this point was as sudden as the 4 m drop that followed. Without the in situ rope this would be a heart in mouth moment, but with it perfectly manageable.

In the chamber at the bottom of the rope we regrouped, Simon with bag number 7, the last bag, bringing up the rear. It was at this point I discovered that not all the bags were equally light (heavy?), Simon's contained not only the longest rope for the final pitch but a large first aid kit and other group paraphernalia. I suddenly felt very guilty at my unladen passage through this bit of cave.

The way on follows Queensway (personally I'd say more to the right rather than the "directly ahead" in NFTFH). Now I'm not sure about this bit of passage, I think it probably says more about the high quality of the chat on the way out that it passed in the blink of an eye whereas on the way back, mainly solo, it seemed indeterminable.

Emma's pitch intervenes and Anne's is bypassed before the vast King Henry Hall. Bloodaxe follows, then Victoria before Elizabeth. This has to be one of my favourite pitches. I don't want to give spoilers, just go and enjoy it! With nothing to better it, removal and caching of SRT gear seemed more than appropriate and we once again regrouped, Simon now finally free of his burden.

The slippy up and over of Jane's pitch was assisted by the in situ ropes and a couple of additional slings before the final bit of crawling and short drop into the East Kingsdale main drain. We stomped up to the upstream sump, possibly the most inviting sump pool I've ever visited before retracing our steps and following the stream to the more traditional, brown and murky, historical sump.

The Black book describes the journey on from the sumps through the Grasshopper series but the general consensus was that we were more than happy having reached this point and the upward journey beckoned. Once again AJ's organisation was a master stroke and though it felt wrong at some points ending up bagless, his insistence that full bags kept being passed forward worked superbly. While some bits of passage seemed significantly longer than on our way in, we steadily ticked off obstacles and arrived back at what I felt to be the hardest, the crawl-traverse.

Keeping my bag at right angles to the rift and passing it through a couple of short cuts meant that its transportation wasn't too bad through the t-shaped passage but unfortunately Julie's bag chose this moment to disgorge its contents leaving her Stop just beyond even the longest arms reach at the bottom of the rift. Fortunately some next level thinking from those behind turned a krab on a tether into a very effective hook and line and the day was saved.

Entrance fever now gripped us and the pace seemed to significantly accelerate with this obstacle behind us and we were soon up the last couple of pitches. With elation over riding any fatigue even the last rift climb onto the moor passed without issue and we were once again on the sun drenched slopes of Kingsdale after about 7 hours underground. The walk down to Braida Garth was a lot less sweat soaked than the climb up from it though the gentle rise from the farm back to the road caused my muscles to point out that they'd been working pretty hard.

Huge thanks to AJ for his planning of the trip, to Mick for nobly volunteering to sort all the ropes out post trip and everyone else for the quality company - my previous ideas about what a club trip would be like have been blown away.

7th May 2026 - Definitely under rated

2026-05-11T19:52:11.745+01:00

Over the years I've had sone cracking trips in Sell Gill, from 'full team' TNC trips (with Phil, our fastest runner, being dispatched to ensure we didn't miss last orders) to being a guinea pig on Tony's level 2 assessment. Never though had I been down the wet, Goblin, route. A visit from one of Mike's nephews meant that we required a short but adventurous outing and Goblin seemed to fit the bill.

Arriving at the entrance though there was only a trickle of water going down the stream and with the route solely being SRT, with no grovelly bits, I opted to leave my oversuit on the surface. Mike, once again, magnanimously handed over rigging duties despite knowing that this is a highlight of the route. It has been superbly bolted allowing some superb positions to be reached and the rock architecture to be fully appreciated. We're definitely going to be back with Tony for an exchange between the two routes.

While I emerged from the cave pretty dry in just my undersuit, my poor oversuit on the surface had managed to get wet anyway from a passing rain shower.

Joseph on the cracking final pitch

Mike joining him at the rebelay

Terrific rigging in and out of the oxbow

23rd April 2026 - an under appreciated classic

2026-04-24T11:55:00.009+01:00

One of the things I hate about my job is that you think you've a bit of free time, plan to make the most of it and then it's suddenly whipped away from you with an emergency cover for a last period of the day, year 9 Spanish lesson. Luckily one of the things I love about my job is that I work with some amazing colleagues who then bail you out.

So it was that I arrived at Mike's in time for Fat Rascals and a brew before the three of us headed for Horton. What a difference a weekday makes. I'd been here at the weekend and it had been packed with Three Peakers, now we could park right next to the start of our footpath.

It was a beautiful evening as we walked up the Pennine Way to the cross roads, Curlews calling their mournful cry. Taking a route intersecting the two paths through a bit of tussocky moorland then brought us to Little Hull pot.

A short stooping section inside the entrance brought us quickly to the crawl. It's not a bad crawl as these things go and without tackle sacks you'd hardly notice it. Unfortunately we all had to navigate a bag along it but, dues paid, we were soon enjoying an increasingly impressive streamway. At the pitch Mike had tied into the first bolts but then extremely kindly asked if I'd like to rig. Having read that there were some interesting situations ahead I quickly accepted his offer. The pitch became interesting straight away with a swing through a window into a parallel rift followed by a short traverse to another y-hang. Up to this point things had been flowing well but search as I might I couldn't find the next deviation. Fortunately as Tony descended he was able to rectify this for me. It's on the same wall as you're descending and out to your right if facing said wall.

Approaching the second pitch I was glad I'd read the, as ever, excellent CNCC description and ignored the lower bolts, instead following a rising line up to a shelf. Through a window from the shelf I could see the y-hang and rigged the traverse line to a an intermediate bolt just the other side of the orifice. Secured by my cowstails I was then able to defenestrate myself and reach across the void under tension to rig the main hang. And what a hang. This is a great pitch. Beautifully fluted, stunningly proportioned and with a couple of dazzling white formations to finish it off. The fact that there was no way I was going to make it to the second deviation didn't bother me at all, I was just awed by my surroundings.

Tony soon arrived and at the base of the pitch with the next rope and we were soon down the next short pitch to the streamway. A quick scuttle brought us to a decision point, to duck or squeeze. The CNCC description for this pot has a few phrases that are pretty Cooperesque (those who've ever followed a Mike Cooper description in Not for the Faint Hearted will hopefully know exactly what I mean) and of the squeeze suggest that, "Cavers who are big-boned, gym-addicted, or over-enthusiastic about food may struggle". I wouldn't describe myself as big-boned, I haven't been to a gym in years and though I'm quite partial to a bit of cake, thought I'd give it a go. For me there were three tight sections, one straight away lead to a flake that then then needed to be stood up on. A second on a downward traverse from this point and then on a final drop back into the streamway. I was definitely glad I'd limited myself to a single Fat Rascal earlier.

With the full team through we carried on down stream to a section that reminded us of trips in Cantabria with any "up" points pre rigged with extremely handy rope of dubious provenance. The exposed traverse that followed one of the climbs also benefited from an in situ line and brought us safely to the final pitch. It's worth noting that unlike the rest of the cave so far, this pitch does have some loose material on it.

Following the stream again and with one final up, again with fixed rope, we emerged into a chamber where the character of the cave changes. The clean, solid and pale limestone is replaced by black and yellow shale and a sloping sandy floor that leads back down to the stream and the final ominous sump pool. I'm always in great awe of the people for whom this point marks the start of their journey, the cave to this point merely acting as a prologue.

With the sump marking the mid way point of our journey it was time to turn around and retrace our steps. It does worry me that from the sump back to the final pitch the only foot prints were ours, all sign of previous travellers having been washed clean by flood.

At the downstream end of the aqueous crawl we decided we were going to go for the full Little Hull experience and having enjoyed the squeezes on the way in we wanted to sample the duck on the way out. It is significantly quicker as it allows SRT kit to remain on and, for suitably attired cavers, not too bad at all my head remaining out of the water all the way.

Any chilliness from the duck was soon dispelled on the pitches and I was definitely properly warm by the time I'd finished pushing my tackle sack along the entrance crawl. We emerged into a stunning night, the bulk of Pen y Ghent distinguished by an absence of stars. It was though significantly cooler than when we entered the cave, a thin layer of frost shimmering on the bags we'd left at the entrance.

Arriving back at the car in Horton we discovered it wasn't Thursday anymore and we'd definitely missed last orders. Fortunately Mike's bar has not only far more liberal opening times but also a mind reader of a host serving each person's desired tipple without even having to ask. Squeezes behind us there was no issue with the accompanying cookies either.

Little Hull really is a fantastic pot and I can't believe I've made it to this point in my caving career without a visit. It has everything a classic Yorkshire pot should have, condensed into a trip perfectly suited for an evening visit.

[Post script: Absolutely loving 'Adventures Underground' by Cordingly and Haigh, I've just bought its inspiration 'Underground Adventure' by Gemmel and Myers. The first chapter of which gives an excellent description of the exploration of Little Hull.]

1st April 2026 - Christmas at Easter

2026-04-09T12:29:05.731+01:00

Wanting a few photos of Gavel Rigg but not wanting the toil of carrying camera equipment through it, a short cut option of a trip down Christmas pot was planned. After having a look at some of the othe entrances in the area: Gavel Rigg, P5 and Pay Sank (do like the origjn of this name - think P5 in French), we began our descent through the entrance tube of Christmas (a Yulehole? Look it up!). There are some cracking pitches that eventually bring you to the beautifully decorated junction with Grange Rigg itself and then finally the 'terminal' boulder choke, a way through which we didn't feel like exploring having had a lovely trip to this point.

Exploring cave a bit further East of our usual stomping grounds also allowed exploration of a different hostelry. As with Christmas pot, the New Inn in Clapham is definitely worth a visit.

The entrance tube to Christmas pot

Tony entering the natural cave

Tony on the opening pitches

The finely decorated junction with Grange Rigg

Nearing the bottom of Grange Rigg

8th April 2026 - Echo chamber, Gavel

2026-04-09T12:29:05.729+01:00

The "Chums" had been busy in Gavel following an old lead and had broken through to a new bit of cave. They weren't following a draft but were instead drawn on by the sound of emptiness in what was to become Echo chamber.

Once they'd taken their photos and finished taping Mike, Tony and I went for a look before I returned a few days later with a camera to try and capture some of the amazing straws.

[No tape was crossed, thus having to be a bit inventive with angles and any tape in shot removed in Lightroom (badly, as if you look carefully you can still see its shadow)]

5th March 2026 - High Hull pot

2026-04-09T12:27:19.679+01:00

With one of Mike's nephews visiting a short action packed trip was required and High Hull Pot didn't disappoint.

18th December 2025 - End of term

2025-12-19T16:56:00.004+00:00

No, not a star to follow but Tony about to ascend Centipede

Mike knows how to put on a quality trip, there were even brand new bolts

Tony descending Vestry

4th December 2025 - The best just got better...

2025-12-05T10:24:00.006+00:00

...and not just because we had Tony back again this week.

Despite it being the second time we'd done it, we'd loved last week's Mancunian themed trip and with the weather not quite being right for other trips on our list, it seemed a perfect opportunity to get to know it really well.

Being drier than last week, rather than taking the Manchester bypass to get to Mainline Terminus, we opted to go via the Trident series. I'd also asked if I could try navigating, under normal circumstances this could lead to a potentially very long trip, but knowing I had Mike just behind me meant we wouldn't be missing last orders.

Having successfully found my way to Battle of Britain chamber I pointed out where I thought the way on to the Bypass lay and Mike sagely nodded in agreement. We then headed up the slope to the start of the Trident, explaining to Mike what I expected to see next and having my fairly loose and sketchy description turned into something actually useful by the Easegill oficionado.

The route to Eureka junction through Trident is fantastic, clean washed streamway interspersed with interesting rope assisted traverses and drops. To try and help link things together we passed the junction where the Wretched Rabbit water joins and went down to see the junction with the main drain before retracing our steps.

This isn't a section of Wretched Rabbit we use very often and despite finding "a" way up into Four Ways Chamber, I'm sure it wasn't "the" way. A moment of befuddlement followed and thanks to Mike we were quickly heading via Depot chamber to Stop pot, rather than back out of Easegill via a return to Wretched Rabbit.

With an ascent of the Stop ladder and a relatively easy ride around the boulders that follow we were soon at a junction with last week's route at Mainline Terminus. The silence and darkness of the gaping caverns now ahead in stark contrast to the loud and light coloured streamways we'd recently left behind.

In my head I'd completely missed out one of the big chambers and at the sight of a rope ascending into the gloom I thought I'd gone to far, but no, I just hadn't noticed it when I'd walked right by it 7 days previously. Even when I saw a likely looking boulder on the left I convinced myself it wasn't the right one until Mike headed behind it and into the Mancunian way.

The next bit to Easegill aven seemed to pass without too much issue and at the top of the pitch Tony looked a little bemused. "I bet he's now wondering why we bother with harnesses and descenders too", I thought as I wrapped a sling around me and clipped an Italian hitch into my krab.

Once again the navigation seemed to flow, but it was reassuring to glimpse over my shoulder and see the glow of Mike's lamp not far behind. A quick up and over at Molluscan hall and we were back at the streamway contemplating the slot from which the stream flowed. Things would be better this week. One, I actually knew which way to go this time and two, I took my fantastic Aunty Liz knitted merino beanie from my pocket and put it on under my helmet. This meant that it wouldn't be getting wet and I was now significantly warmer for the short and aqueous crawl of Dismal junction.

At Platypus, Tony took over the navigation as he's wanting to fix the shorter County round in his memory and he soon had us back at Broadway. Last week the ladder was throwing a bit of a strop at it's infrequent use, but today after it's second outing in the same number of weeks it was much more compliant.

Adding the Trident start made this even more of a cracking trip than last time and is highly recommended. If you've a visiting, competent caver who's never been in Easegill then this would be fantastic, pretty much tackle free, trip to take them on - though we do have another plan...

27th November 2025 - A Manchester round

2025-11-28T12:55:00.013+00:00

An aligning of planets meant that I was able to get to Kirkby a bit earlier than possible offering the opportunity for a trip further afield. Unfortunately planetary alignment doesn't seem to affect atmospheric conditions on Earth and with the weather not playing ball we opted for a more local trip that could be completed in slightly damp weather.

We'd been on a Manchester themed Ease gill trip before and really enjoyed it. It's a trip that has a bit of everything, an edited highlights trip to showcase what the system has to offer. With this in mind Mike wanted to reacquaint himself with the navigation so that he could take friends and family in the future.

County laddered we set off downstream from Broadway past a shower bath in full power shower mode. The step up to the right was taken and the usual, "Which way is it to the Manchester bypass?" rigmarole undertaken.

A few years ago I bought a very lightweight caving under suit. Not for trips to warm foreign climes (though it has since come in useful for that), but for ensuring that I don't suffer from severe dehydration as I sweat out litres of water trying to follow Mike through Easegill. As soon as Strava makes it to the subterranean world I'm confident he'll be at the top of the leaderboard for quite a few Ease gill segments. Sadly the suit in question was tucked snuggly away at home in my caving drawer.

A sweaty mess with stingy eyes I arrived in the expanse of the Main line terminus and Mike was off already weaving an optimal route through the boulder strewn chambers of the high level series. We're getting quite good at locating the boulder behind which the Mancunian Way is secreted and the floor of the crawl quickly became reassuringly sandy, we were definitely in the right place.

At the end of crawl, next to the lovingly built clay brick wall, complete with model workman our memories failed us (or at least mine did). Fortunately this route is covered by one of the excellent Braemoor descriptions and we knew we wouldn't be puzzling over the way on for long.

Reassuringly there wasn't a dribble of water going down Easegill aven, an indicator that the return to County should be possible, so we donned our Brooks's Finest (a lot better than Tesco's Finest) slings and HMS krabs to descend the short pitch. Oscillating between passage we remembered and passage we didn't recall, the description kept us true till we arrived at a slot on the left from which the stream ensued. "Just follow the water, the first bit's the worst", said Mike and off I went. After a few metres the roof did rise a bit, but ahead it lowered ominously once more, the foam on the roof doing little to ease my nerves. Well it is quite damp I thought so the water'd be a bit higher and so I pressed on.

Trying to breath just out the corner of my mouth and ignore the foam tickling my nose I tried to keep my breathing steady, the water running down stream towards me now starting to back up and narrow the useable airspace even further. Could I roll onto my back and "ceiling suck"? Just as things started to get silly, the roof began to rise and soon I was able to kneel and get things back under control. With air no longer a concern I now began to worry about how cold I was.

A few years ago I bought a neo fleece. A fantastic invention, your core wrapped in thick neoprene and your limbs unencumbered but kept warm by thick fleece. Perfect for situations such as this. Sadly the suit in question, along with my neoprene boxers, was tucked snuggly away in a bag in the van.

OK, chilly but not freezing and the passage now beginning to open up, a quick stomp would soon have me back to normal. "Al?", was faintly heard from back beyond the aqueous passage. I've known Mike long enough now to read a bit more nuance than just the word might suggest. I didn't think I'd like the next bit. "Wrong way". There was no nuance in this, it was back into the water. Thankfully going downstream there was more airspace as the water wasn't backing up.

The cobbled passage now on my right suddenly came into recollection, Dismal junction. It wasn't pleasant but so much better than the continuation in the main stream. Time for a stomp. Platypus Junction, Toadstool Junction all flew by and we were soon up the little climb from Broadway and at the foot of our ladder. The climb increased my temperature further and Mike had soon tamed the ladder back into a manageable coil for our now rapid exit from County.

Our conversation as we crossed the moor was slightly more reflective than the new posts that have appeared, the older ones seemed significantly easier to see, but we were soon back at the farm. On the drive too and in the pub much of the chat was about what a great trip this is. The evening was finished to perfection by the free hand moisturiser outside the posh shop in Kirkby and by Mike getting the pizza in.

6th November 2025 - Shake down cruise

2025-11-07T12:20:00.006+00:00

It's been quite a while since we've hand an underground trip. For Mike and I our last was an unusual trip to Sleets gill and for Tony right back to our Rowten experience. The going back of the clocks signaled that it was time to get regular trips back up and running and a short trip to Long drop seemed to fit the bill.

I was a bit concerned that being on a course I might not even be able to make it and warned the others that I might be a bit late. The people running the course though definitely practice what they preach and made sure that I was let out in good time. My park beyond the where the traffic jams are/cycle the rest plan then played out perfectly and I was actually earlier than normal to Kirkby. The huge advantage of arriving early was even longer to enjoy a brew and superb ginger cake at Mike's.

With Tony's arrival we were chauffeured onto the moors in the poshest car that Mike and I have been in in a while and the fact that the information screen is stuck in Polish added to the exotic vibe. Leck fell always brings to mind wet and windy changes so the settled, unseasonably warm weather was a very welcome surprise. Mike then led on confidently across the moor and surprisingly soon we were at the fenced enclosure. I'm not quite sure what was going on behind me as we went over the style and began our descent of the shake hole but I think it involved Tony's destruction of one of Mike's prized tackle sacks!

There's been quite a lot going on at the bottom of the shake hole and as well as the usual way on there's now a newer shored shaft and some beautifully landscaped spoil. One of the new raised areas allowed a very civilised final sorting of equipment before we headed into the open cave mouth and the short drop down to the first pitch. The first SRT trip of the year is always a bit of an eye opener and arriving at the bolts I fumbled with all the bits of metal on my harness to find something that I vaguely remembered would help me down the pitch. As for threading it, well luckily Petzl are quite helpful and I followed the nice little graphic etched into my Stop until the rope took on a vaguely familiar shape.

First pitch successfully negotiated I thought it would get easier from this point on but as I approached the top of the second pitch I could just make out a bolt above me

[in progress...]

21st August 2025 - Genuinely hardy? Er, no!

2025-08-22T08:40:00.020+01:00

We've just come back from our summer holidays so the weather is now once again gloriously settled and I've still a bit more time on my hands allowing trips further afield from home. This combination meant that a trip to the Eastern Dales to visit a cave requiring dry weather was on the cards.

Sleets Gill seemed to fit the bill and so after some very fine strawberry cake at Mike's (his daughter has obviously inherited her mum's baking genes) we headed towards Littondale. It always feels a little strange donning layers of neoprene on a sunny afternoon in a dry valley, but fortunately the cave entrance lies only a few minutes from the car. It is though uphill and it's worth wandering up the right hand side (river left) of the gill to avoid the obstacle course of barbed and electric fences.

A small bag and walking pole at the entrance signalled that we weren't to be alone in the cave and we bumped into our fellow explorers at the foot of the peculiar scree slope that leads down into the darkness. One had been caving for over 50 years and the last time he'd been here was assisting with the infamous rescue in the early 90s. Where we were sat chatting would have been metres under water on that occasion though.

Mike and I are both fortunate still to be on our first set of knees so we left Phil and Richard to their photo trip and headed towards the main gallery. The Wharfedale sump seemed innocuous enough, a fair length of the dive line lay dry on the beach. Phil had said that on the day of the rescue when the two cavers had entered the water was knee deep at this point. Slightly reassured we carried on into the gallery, ticking off features as we went. The Bottom Connector and Boireau's passage were passed and noting the climb down to the lower levels, the sudden end of the chamber reached.

Backtracking 20 m from the choke we came back to the short climb down and the way on to Hyperthermia and Hydrophobia passages. Initially it was just run of the mill caving until we came to a junction at which water was flowing from a small drain. This was the way on.

Mike contemplating Hydrophobia passage

8-10 minutes can feel like a very long time and while in the past I've contemplated the difference between a 'hands and knees crawl' and a 'flat out crawl', I now fully comprehended the difference. My legs didn't seem to be able to do anything other than bob along behind me, my shoulders doing the lion's share of propelling me forward. It was ag this point I began to realise that something wasn't quite right. I wanted to take a photo of Mike in front of me. My camera was easily accessible at the top of a small tackle sack I was pushing in front of me, but for some reason it was just too much effort and I just kept on crawling. While never tight at all, it was a bit disconcerting that whenever I tried turning my head it seemed to involve putting my face through the water.

Reading the description for the '68 series

Before I had time to dwell on things though, the passage enlarged and we were once again confronted by another bizarre feature, The Ramp. While feature naming can be somewhat obscure and is often the result of in jokes, or needing to have been there at the time, the original explorers had it spot on with this one. If ever there was a need to bring crampons or ice axes into a cave then, forget high altitude abysses in the alps, this is it. While Mike confidentiality remained on his feet, I lay down and made like a worm hoping that one part of my prostrate body would stick long enough to make progress.

The top of The Ramp saw the first formations we had seen in the system and jolly fine they were, their pristine white a stark contrast to the water washed mud below. The descent of the slope was significantly easier than the ascent, the only thing required being to moderate your speed.

Mike at the top of the aptly named Ramp

Reacquainted with our bags which we'd left at the foot of the slope Mike read the next part of the description. It was time to don our hoods and have our masks at the ready. The black book describes the following sump as "an easy, 4 1/2 m long, free dive". In Rowten we'd dived a sump nearly twice as long so surely this couldn't be a problem, especially with it's reputed gin clear water.

I began my 'sump routine'. Helmet off, spit twice in each half of my mask, wipe, splash my face with water, mask on, then breath in through my nose to check the seal. Happy with my mask, helmet back on, turn on my secondary light and then head into the water. Content, I resurfaced, took a couple of breaths and dived. For the second time on the trip things didn't seem quite right. The Rowten sumps have a simple, almost tube like, geometry. You just pull on the rope and and through you go. There almost seemed too much to see here as you navigated through the flooded passage. The friction between the roof and my positively buoyant body wasn't helping either. There it was though, the exit mirror. I tried smashing through but was held back. Fortunately my head made it through into the thick air but the rest of my body was now held. Somehow a loop of rope had formed round my ankle. It took a good few seconds before I had the presence of mind to slip back down into the water, allowing the loop to slacken and for me to free myself. Released and relieved I fumbled to get out my camera to record Mike's traverse of the sump. On surfacing Mike too questioned the definition of an 'easy' sump before continuing through the neck deep water.

The ducks beyond the sump

With the unlaminated description having been left prior to the sump we were now reliant on our memories. I was pretty sure that we needed the right fork, but after a couple of muddy puddles it choked. Right, we knew that there was another duck involved so we tried the left fork. Not to happy about this 'duck', Mike tried a muddy slope. Nope. It was back to the 'duck'. The water now muddied by our suits that had been used as brake pads on The Ramp, I felt forward with my feet. There was absolutely no way I was pressing on down here. Befuddled we returned back through the sump. On rereading the description it transpired that the way on had been a low airspace duck through one of the muddy puddles.

Ordinarily I'm sure we'd have made the 2 minute return through the sump and carried on but, without any discussion we headed back towards Hydrophobia. At its start Mike asked if I was OK to carry on. I replied, 'what if I'm not'. I didn't catch his reply and once again we were flat out crawling.

At the end of the crawl Mike was sat with the description. He began reading, stopped and then tried again in a more upbeat voice. I think we've caved enough together now that there doesn't need to be any protracted discussion, indeed there doesn't need to be any discussion at all, Hyperthermia passage was going to be saved for another day, we were heading out. It was only at this point that the C word was mentioned. We were both cold. Despite our neoprene we were losing heat to the surprisingly cool water. No wonder I hadn't felt like taking my camera out, let alone return through the sump or continue to Hyperthermia, I could barely feel my wool and neoprene clad toes and hypothermia was much more in mind.

Both Mike and I have ascended our fair share of scree slopes in our time. We don't though normally go up them laying on our fronts, to exit Sleets Gill there's no other option. Nearing the top of the slope light became visible. As well as the light from the entrance Phil and Richard's head lamps were also shining. We asked how they'd got on and then about the rescue. If you watch the fantastic Sid Perou film (here) and are utterly blown away by the skill of the rescuers, go and visit the passage and your reverance will be taken to new levels. Half an hour to traverse 250 m, the rescued never having dived before. I'm told it was joked that one of them burnt through nearly a full tank of air. They'd have had to have staged multiple tanks for me.

Despite being overcast, the warmth from the sun was unmistakable and I felt life coming back to my toes as, aside from some frisky bullocks, we made our way back to the car more easily than on the approach.

It's not often we're lost for words but it had been an odd trip. Not only are there a number of unusual physical features in the system, but the surprisingly cold water had definitely affected my impressions. As we rewarmed chat began to return and arriving back in Kirkby a visit to The Barn was unquestioned.

I'd like to say it was on purpose but Tony we've left quite a bit to go and look at when we return with you (though possibly after another Warmbac neoprene order).

10th June 2025 -

2025-06-14T16:21:00.004+01:00

Thistle, Runscar and Scar Top with Tony and Mike

8th May 2025 - Rowten part IV: The round

2025-05-09T10:21:00.006+01:00

With our trip though the sumps complete it was time to remove the remaining ropes from Rowten. Last time I'd been through I'd set things up so that we wouldn't have to go down the main pitch, just haul the rope from above. Mike though had come up with a much better plan. A descent of the gully route to the bottom of the main pitch and then one of us could derig the Eyehole route while the other derigged out of the gully. For one of us at least this should give a great Rowten round.

Driving down the Kingsdale road I was about to pull into the Valley entrance parking, Mike then reminding me that we wouldn't be going through the sumps today! Parked in the right place, we once again headed up to the Turbary road with a surprising weight of rope to rig the Gully route. Mike went to check that the sheep still hadn't nibbled through our ropes on the eyehole route and then began rigging the gully.

A leafy scramble leads down into the open pot before the first real pitch. I have to admit I love daylight, open air caving and I'm sure a botanist would have a field day with some of the plants growing from the cliff walls.

At the bottom of the gully we crossed the stream on possibly the slippiest, algae covered rock I've ever had the misfortune to find myself on. I was glad of the security of the rope and much happier once I'd crossed and we were back on dry, grippy limestone.

The chasm then began to narrow, allowing progress to be made by bridging. With day light still filtering through from above, the rift once again opened to the shaft down which our main pitch rope was hanging. A few interesting rebelays, a final long pitch and we were back at the bottom of the rope we'd left last week.

Mike had done a grand job of the rigging, allowing me to get a couple of snaps, so I felt he deserved to be able to complete the round. Meanwhile I began back up the way we had come. While I loved derigging the main shaft, the following traverses started to grate with increasingly full tackle sacks and by the time I arrived at the last pitch I was relieved to see Mike coming back down to help me having cleared his route. The resulting pile of tackle sacks was a little intimidating but fortunately it was downhill all the way to the van.

Over a pint in the Barn we reflected on our recent trips to Rowten. In very high water a hybrid eyehole/gully route offers an awesome trip. In low water the gully/eyehole round is superb and then of course there's the through trip too!

5th May 2025 - Rowten part III

2025-05-06T10:30:00.008+01:00

Through work I've recently been acquainted with a superb fellow called John who's a proper caver - he's a rescue team member and everything! Having heard about our recent trip through Rowten he mentioned that it's a trip he'd like to do. Well the weather's still holding, we'd ropes that needed retrieving and handily it was a bank holiday; a rare Monday night trip was on the cards.

It was lovely walking up onto the moor with just a single short rope and our masks between us, unencumbered by heavy tackle sacks. It was great too arriving at a pre rigged entrance and despite the presence of myriad sheep, it seems that they don't like nibbling at caving ropes. With the ropes already in place we were at the bottom of the main pitch in no time. Unlike last week though sunlight still lit the upper part of the main shaft in a a spectacular display.

The main pitch rope was unclipped from the bolt at the bottom and the bag clipped as high as possible on it so we can hopefully retrieve it from above in the near future. From this point on we rerigged the pitches so that we could pull through, removing the need for a visit to the lower reaches to remove ropes.

For the second time this week I stood in the sump pool and repeated my pre dive preparations. I like to keep things the same, the only difference being that I was going to use a rope to pull through the bags and the tackle sack containing my harness and pitch ropes wasn't in a dry bag so was negatively buoyant.

I thought I might be more aware of my surroundings on this trip through, but once again it was just pull on the rope until it broke through the surface of the water. I don't know if it was the negative buoyancy or the thicker rope, but it was definitely easier to pull the bags through than previously. Once they were through it was then on again through the 4m sump to the bell where I'd said we'd regroup. Bags retrieved, John followed shortly afterwards.

Last trip I had the privilege to see Tony's face as he came through the sumps for the first time and I wasn't disappointed at John's reaction either. It's hard to put into words: is it making the trip from one cave to another, arriving somewhere new, doing something you didn't know that you'd be able to do, the relief of breathing air again? For me it's a mixture of all these emotions and popping out of the pipe they come flooding back again, with the addition of how surreal it feels to see the car a few seconds away.

1st May 2025 - Slow is smooth and smooth is fast

2025-05-02T09:28:00.016+01:00

Tony's thoughts on Rowten to Valley entrance

I can't remember when this challenge was parked inconsiderately in the driveway of my

consciousness and left for me to deal with. I do remember clearly though when late into

Alistair's birthday celebration last August, he took me aside with two glasses of those

fantastic whiskies he collects and looked at me intently. 'Slow is calm, and calm is fast' he

said deliberately, and held my gaze. Oh boy, I suppose it's time.

During the winter two of the dynamos in my life wordlessly begin preparations. Why else

would they ask for a dive vest and a neoprene hood when I offer to include them in a kit

order? Come to that, I did put 'diving mask' on my own Christmas list.

You dream up plans for settled dry spells, but that kind of weather becomes a friend whom you've lost touch with, and you can't quite remember their being. Then they show up out of nowhere and you think, 'Oh! I remember you!' The warmth continues and I feel a bit sick when the message arrives. I don't know if I'm still capable of this, or if I have the heart. There are many tasks I should be doing but I can't think of anything else. It can't be that hard? Other people do this, probably fairly regularly. There are no reports of accidents. It's just a psychological challenge to be met with rationality and good preparation. Slow is calm, and calm is fast.

I lay a weighted rope in the lake and standing waist deep in Crummock Water in full caving gear, looking certifiable to Buttermere tourists, I measure 11 metres, turn on both lights and pull myself below and along. I repeat the journey five times, trying to visualise the event and enact composure. On the drive down I do something that I haven't done since sitting bored in secondary school lessons, looking down at my Timex and trying to hold my breath for a minute. It seems a bit harder than it used to be but I can still do it, just.

It's a beautiful evening when we ascend to the Turbary Road, but there is tangible anxiety. Chat is interspersed with heavy silences. As per usual, Mike efficiently rigs us down via the impressive 70m pitch. The moment is getting closer. Rigging is left mockingly in place, should courage fail. All too quickly we arrive into the calmness of death's waiting room, where a yellow hand line runs impassively into the unseen.

'Well this is all a bit serious!' pipes in Mike with a welcome disruption to the tension.

Alistair's characteristic thoroughness is reassuring as he triple confirms that we are in the right place. Neoprene hoods are fitted and masks wetted. Mike pokes his head down for a look into the submerged bedding. We recap on procedure then Alistair disengages from us, takes his breaths and disappears. Cord pays quickly out of Mike's hand until it comes tight; he pushes Alistair's gear bag down under the roof and it vanishes.

It's my turn. I duck into the water for a practice and don't even notice the cold. I peer down the line of the rope but it becomes gloomy after a couple of metres with no encouraging indication of liveable space beyond. I take my breaths and to my surprise, lose myself to the process. I'm off, pulling, pulling, disturbing some small stones and then I quickly sense the end. I emerge into a surreal, small, gold hued dome with the unusual large scalloping that seems to characterise this area of cave. I feel very alone but elated that the longest of the dives is over. I have no desire to hang around and with urgency I pull my bag through, re-stack the cord and commit to the following section. Torpedoing through the surface into the next cross rift I clatter into the wall on the opposite side. How did you say we should do it Alistair? Barrel through at top speed? Right you are!

I pull my bag through again and we wait for Mike. Soon there's a glow, a red helmet

appears and a beaming smile. We're jubilant, the relief in such contrast to the mood of the last two hours. We stomp gaily through to the roof tunnel pitch and on to Valley Entrance to emerge in the stillness, warmth and fading light of an exceptional day. Kirby Lonsdale's Royal Barn then hosts for us the cheeriest of trip appraisals.

Al's ramblings

Once upon a time:

My recollection may be a bit hazy, but I'm pretty sure for as long as I've known Tony he's been doing a series of short dives in his native Crummock water. These have always been of the same length 2m, 4m and 8m. Asking about this ritual he told me about the Rowten sumps, a trip he'd love to do in the future.

The future:

In readiness for a wash out summer the weather in the Dales has been dry and stable for weeks now. Mike and I had great conditions for our sump practice (see here), we'd been on a Cantabrian adventure (see here), come back and it still hasn't rained. Conditions are perfect. "What do people think about rigging Rowten on Thursday?" read the text and each of us began to prepare to see if we could make Tony's dream a reality.

As ever trips like this require solid foundations and Sam had once again excelled herself with a lemon tray bake and a bottomless pot of tea. Replete we then headed over to Kingsdale under clear blue skies. Conversation in the car based on how we were going to approach the sumps and the ferrying of our gear. It seemed strange parking at the Valley entrance spot for a Rowten trip and our attire too, neoprene heavy, hinted at a more unusual excursion. I'm aware I probably mention it too much but we're very privileged to live were we live and Kingsdale looked stunning as we climbed up to the Turbary road, a gentle breeze preventing over heating.

A stunning evening in the Dales

As Mike began rigging the first pitch I realised that my mind had been entirely on the sumps, I hadn't thought about this part of the trip at all and I needed to get back into a ropework mindset. I'm just glad I wasn't doing the actual rigging.

Mike rigging the first pitch

I love caving at this time of the year. Daylight really adds to some pitches and Rowten is one of them. It's at the fringes where things are exciting, a transition between two states. I love paddling close to rocky shores and running (well probably walking to be honest) along airy ridges. In caves the light, the colours and even the smells all change as you head into the twilight zone and the perpetual dark beyond.

Tony descending the daylight shaft

As we weren't pulling through we'd opted for the eyehole route but, landing on the wide shelf at the edge of daylight we joined the traditional route and crossed the bridge to a narrower ledge on the side of the open pot. Given what we were to be doing later in the trip, it seemed odd that we all avoided the puddle on the ledge even though it would hardly have covered the bottom of our wellies.

The last vestiges of daylight

Trying not to get wet in the puddle

Mike beginning the descent into darkness

A very short pitch took us from the ledge to a small alcove and another y-hang. From here it's once again just a few feet down before we could swing into the top of a bottomless rift. A handful of bolts further on lies a final y-hang from which the rope hung freely down the main, stunning pitch.

In the bottomless rift, Mike rigging the main shaft

From the landing it's probably best not to go on too much of a wander, holes between the boulders leading to the stygian abyss. A careful traverse by the right wall though brought us to the more secure surroundings of a streamway that offered a number of terrific little free climbable drops.

Two short pitches interrupted the flow and left us at a point Mike and I had been to a few weeks prior. On our earlier visit no further progress was possible as just round the corner lay a thundering wall of water. Today it was markedly different, a small babbling brook inviting us to follow the water. Before we did so we needed to sort out our gear. Harness were removed and put in dry bags, masks and extra neoprene donned. Thus attired we began the solemn procession to the sump pool.

Rigging the last short pitch

The sumps can be reached by going with the flow but this involves a short duck and once again, ridiculously, I wanted to avoid getting wet so took the dry bypass to the left. At the pool there was no choice but to drop down into it, but by the line it was only knee deep allowing us to make final preparations.

We had three small drybags of gear and the plan was that I'd take a line through with me and pull two bags through, Tony would then follow, again with a line and recover the last bag. This would allow Mike to feed out lines and make sure bags went freely into the sump before coming through.

I went through my usual mask routine. Wet my face to cool it down, spit in my mask, wipe, swill and then put it on. Check it was beneath the edges of my hood and then don my helmet once more. I tried to concentrate on my own preparations but was aware of Mike testing his mask by laying in the water next to me. Once he was done I checked he was happy with the line which I "held" by pushing a knot under my elbow pad, the theory being that it would detach if it were to become snagged. I then turned from the others, calmed by breathing and dived. Pull, pull, pull, check I still had the line, pull, pull, pull and breathe as I broke the surface into the first air bell. Now for the bags. Courtesy of Mike ensuring that the buoyant bags made it under the lip of the sump they came through easily and immediately I entered the second, shorter sump. It was over in a flash and once the bags were through I set to ensuring that there was no free line that could cause problems for the others. Line retrieved I hurried to dig my camera out of the bags to capture the others coming through.

No sooner than I was ready, the line began twitching before Torpedo Tony came through at a rate of knots. With no anchor to deploy he was only stopped by the far side of the air bell. Now just the wait for Mike. The water turned from inky black to an eery green glow and then Mike was through too. Stooping, up to our knees in water it seemed a strange place to be jubilant but there was now uninterrupted air through into the master cave.

I've always enjoyed a stomp down the main drain but today the experience was taken to a new level and their was definitely a skip in each of our steps. Approaching Valley entrance the air began to smell thicker, filled with life and emerging from the pipe into the daylight brought a grin to our faces. As Mike Cooper puts it in his Black book, "[the trip] is likely to represent a memorable high point in their Yorkshire caving career". He's not wrong.

7th - 15th April 2025 Mike's Cantabrian round up and Tony's film

2025-04-21T13:17:00.008+01:00

A return to the caves of Cantabria and the Ason Gorge 2025

Caving team - Al, Tony, Mike

Running team - Emma, Edward

Multi activity team - Alfie (cave, run, bike, via ferrata)

10 days at Camping Ramales, a week of fine warm weather followed by cooler showery conditions.

Out each day for varied activities returning to base for substantial calorie replenishment, cakes provided by Sam; slabs of gingerbread, fruitcake and chocolate brownie.

Caving, 5 underground trips;

• Cuivo to Mortera Astrana

• Rubicera to Astrana

• La Sima to Gandara

• Torca Fria to Cueva del Lobo (cold to wolf)

• Torca Tibia to Cueva Fresca

The Walk-ins;

Cuivo is Cantabria’s answer to Kingsdale’s valley entrance, half an hour stroll up the fell to an easily located entrance and 10 mins mosey return to the car from the exit, happy days. The Rubicera is a different affair, an hour walk up onto the Astana plateau from the col Ason followed by a descent of two exposed steep slopes requiring care, both hands and the use of a fixed rope. A car juggle allows for an easy stroll out from the Mortera.

La Sima - Gandara was another steady walk in the morning sunshine to an easily located wooded shake hole entrance shaft and a brief walk down the hill back to the car at the end.

Tibia Fria and Torca Tibia were both harder work, high on the limestone plateau above the Ason col, walking and traversing through broken limestone territory, cliffs, beech woodland and high meadows for a couple of hours; the Tibia in particular only locatable when literally on top of it. Combination of watch map, gps, guidebook descriptions and a bit of good fortune all required.

Pulling through;

All trips were pull throughs. This seems to be the nature of the caving here and perfectly fits our approach and style. The deep feeling of commitment to an unknown underground journey through the mountain heightens the experience and achievement.

The Cuivo and Rubicera involve mainly short and straightforward pitches that easily blend into the continuous underground movement, often with fixed ropes to aid speedy progression, though the Rubicera is a little opposite in style with big caverns and passages to start.

La Sima was quite different with a daylight shaft to 180m, involving rigging 5 pull throughs at hanging stances and then a further 65m pitch broken into 4 sections down a loose chaos of huge blocks that focus the mind and quieten the conversation.

Torca Fria had a short entrance series that we could manage with a 40m rope but required a bit of thought and adjustment to use the equipped stances to best advantage.

Torca Tibia has a classic series of pull throughs with two longer 85m pitches with a secondary stance on each requiring full use of the two 65m ropes we’d taken and certainly gave us a moment’s thought and consideration as we descended into the depths.

Union galleries;

Most caving systems we experienced had 3 constituent parts; entrance series of pitches, a lower exit system of chambers and usually a connecting ‘union gallery’ between the two.

The Cuivo and Rubicera entrances led to a deep underground river system, the Leolorna, the Rubicera joining it lower down than the Cuivo, involving a short lake crossing (joyous return of the Lidl middle aisle rubber rings for flotation used last year in the Coventosa) and some superb pools to wade or cross via traverse lines.

The Sima entrance led to a straightforward connection through easy passages and scrambling over blocks past the now nonchalantly passed fossil event series to the huge Gandara chambers.

Tibia Fria pitch series led to a roped traverse over a deep pot followed by the ‘vertical laminator’ a translation from the Spanish for an upward rope in a tight passage which certainly warmed us up and the onward route through a complex of passages and rifts.

Tibia Torca had a couple of entertaining connection passages, one fairly contorted squeezing rift for 50m with SRT gear off and then back on above a 30 m pitch, amusingly named in the translation as the‘bottomless catflap’ which in turn landed us in a great river passage for 30 minutes complete with cascades and pools before the route again left the main stream up a series of short ropes through stunning passages of pocketed limestone created by a layer of eroded conch shells and so the onward connection to the passages of Cueva Fresca.

Big exit passages;

The Cuivo and Rubicera exit into the vastness of the ‘Sala de Chaos’, a huge of chamber of scree and blocks leading to daylight and the pre rigged entrance rope (this year the scene of some serious rockfall).

The Gandara, Lobo and Fresca exits all involved connecting into vast chambers, huge potholes with rigged handline traverses, including one named the ‘cauliflower’ and a couple described as a ‘spiders web’; complex navigation and an increasing weariness after 6-8 hours underground before the uplifting sight of daylight at the entrance, often impressive ejections onto the steep, vegetated mountainside.

Sustenance;

The previous year’s trip involved my wife’s homemade gingerbread and flapjack, eaten in large chunks together and lovingly named ‘gingerjack’. This year it was combination of the fruitcake and chocolate brownie. I wasn’t convinced, expecting a dreadful mush halfway through a caving trip, but the reality was an incredibly rich and sumptuous experience that was repeated on each trip, the crumbs at the bottom of the bag being turned into irrefusable powerballs of ‘frownie’. Even Alfie approved of one halfway round a hilly bike ride.

Personal favourites;

I’m usually out front and rigging the pull through ropes. Topo in pocket, pitch anticipated, check the fixed equipment, run the rope through, tie off for pull down, add ‘scary krab’, descend, ‘’rope free’’. On the longer pitches requiring a second or third stance, rebelay and rope pull down there’s always a greater sense of commitment and intimidation, I tie a knot in the rope at the expected arrival depth, locate the new set of bolts, clip in cows tails, tie off descent rope and pull down rope, double check and then ‘’rope free’’ in my best melodious care free voice to instill outward relaxation. My favourite moment of the trip is when Tony arrives at the belay, lands on my shoulder, clips in all his krabs, looks over the ropework with his critical eye and it’s no longer an individual experience.

In the flow;

Picking a favourite moment is hugely simplistic. For me I always want to emphasise the holistic experience of these underground journeys; the commitment required of the pull through trip; the feeling of moving efficiently and effectively through an unknown impenetrable maze of passages and chambers interspersed with deep pitches, carrying nothing but a rope and guidebook, relying entirely on our combined experience, knowledge and instincts, constantly thinking, deciding, checking, focussed; all encompassed by the continuing and varied journey. And of course a meal and a beer and the end of the day to relax and help digest the experience.

Alternative activities were available;

Cantabria is beautiful limestone country with accessible mountains, for running and biking, verdantly green in the spring time. Emma and Edward enjoyed a variety of mountain runs, green, blue and red trails from Ramales, high mountain routes above Ason and Arredondo; Emma motivated by the mountain environment and a return to running fitness and Edward by the array of data and statistics Strava provides (his first 100km week?).

Alfie got the most variety fitting in a day’s caving, a couple of runs, a via ferrata and couple of hilly bike rides with some awesome downhill speed on perfect tarmac, whilst also submitting his GCSE DT coursework on time.

Thanks

• Al and Tony for pics

• Sam for amazing cake

• Liz for bespoke merino beanies

• Club Viana for quality descriptions and topos

We’ve still just scratched the surface of the trips available and the entertainment to be had……

Tony's film...

15th April 2025 - Final trip

2025-04-16T21:16:00.005+01:00

Tibia to Fresca

13th April 2025 -

2025-04-16T21:12:00.000+01:00

Torca Fria to Cueva del lobo

11th April 2025 - In Gandara...

2025-04-11T17:10:00.004+01:00

Torca la Sima to Gandara with Tony and Mike

8th April 2025 - Oh wow!

2025-04-09T14:47:00.003+01:00

Rubicera to Mortero with Tony and Mike

7th April 2025 - Cantabrian reaquaintance

2025-04-09T14:46:00.005+01:00

Cueva to Mortero with Tony, Mike and Alfie

Taking the road south from Loredo, it was great to see familiar landmarks appearing as we came closer to Ramales.