We wanted/needed some proper exercise and the weather was good (too nice to go caving really), so we headed across the traverses in OFDIII to Smith's Armoury right at the top end of the streamway. Not quite hard enough for the full 'welsh trips don't need ropes' approach we took a 'welsh SRT' approach with a 40m rope and another shorter piece, but no ladders and one foot-jammer each.

This is a very fine trip, although don't come if your shinning and 'ignoring big drops' skills aren't up to scratch as it has a great deal of shinning up and down and the famous traverses over rather large drops. It is possible to do the whole trip with no gear (Wookey was taken there this way sometime in the early 90's but even he thought it was a bit 'keen'). The 9m pitch/climb at the end of the crevasse really does need a handline+jammer at least. And a sensible level of gear is: 40m rope for the crevasse (5m down, traverse over big hole, 9m pitch). It would be a great deal easier if you brought a 30ft ladder for the 9m pitch, but we all managed with 1 jammer+footloop. There is also one 4m climb further on (before the traverses) which is sufficiently tricky that a rope is very sensible. A handy boulder at the top means you can pull it through afterwards if you bring a 12m bit of rope, otherwise you need a competent victim to downclimb it.

We spent a good long time peering at the surveys to find the route and drew a very useful copy of the survey for the part from the Wedding cake to Bowhani junction, which is where most of the horizontal navigation is. The Wikipedia entry for the route from the crevasse to the streamway is really useful - we might not have made it without this as which level to be at is not totally obvious in places.

The shortest route is via Timo's table, but as we wanted to a) go a way we knew at least the start of and b) show the others the way we went via Salubrious streamway.

The two teams for the day joined up as far as the Salubrios junction so that Matt could remind himself what he was looking for on the way back. This caused a not-very-early start as everyone got sorted, lights were tied to helmets etc.

We got underground at 12:30.

So the route is in ODFII, through the brickyard, past the wedding cake, down the corkscrew climb to Salubrious then up Salubriuos through a lot of passage that doesn't really look much like the survey (we tried to turn right too early and were generally confused for a while), before finally popping out after a short crawly bit into Chasm passage. It's a lower-level of Chasm at this point, so remember to look out for it on the return.

Go left along the very high Chasm for a short distance, then right into Poached Egg passage, crossing a junction to get to Bowhani junction where 5 passages meet. We took a worthwhile detour for 20m or so to the left to look at 'Straw Gallery' which is indeed very nice. Turns out you can't go round the loop back to the passage due to a big drop, so go back the way you came.

Going down to the right at Bowhani the general up-and-downiness commences, with a tricky climb and some traversing over holes. There is one more right turn to remember otherwise you'll go all the way up Creek Alley, and you have reached the crevase.

This is an easy climb down made disconcerting by the 20m drop you could fall down, then you traverse over the hole and some false floor boulders to a 9m pitch. You can actually freeclimb this but it's really not very sensible, especially on the way back up as it's a slot you can fall out of into the big space, and it's very shiny and awkward. There are nice new stainless hangers+maillons on the crevasse climb+traverse and hangers on the pitch. We used a 42m rope which was plenty. This was handy in fact as when Wookey threw the tacklesack down (after being reassured that that was fine) it bounced off down the next drop to the bottom of the crevasse. Fortunately it was shinnable with a rope so was retreived without too much difficulty.

We continued over more climbs in very up/down passage to get to a big space with a small boulder hole in the bottom corner. The easiest way is between the rocks but we did a tricky climb over the top instead. Down the bottom here seemed to be a dead end at moonmilky flowstone. We had to resort to the instructions as it didn't look traversable or shinnable. It is in fact a tricky 4m climb out of the bottom of the hole. This is the other place you would much prefer a rope (mostly for the return).

Shortly after this the traverses proper are reached. The first move is most entertaining as you have to use a ledge on the left wall and teeter over, but it does have some very handy stal fingerholds which actually make it quite easy. Just don't think about the huge drop. There are no bolts anyway (that we saw) so a rope won't help. More traversing follows, with an unhelpfully wide bit at the end. Wookey did all of it about 6 times back and forth, showing the best route, and everyone made it.

The dead-straight passage ends at a hole in the floor. down there, then back under the floor to climb down an awkward canyon then back again to a upwards squeeze which would keep the fatties out. You can just feel (more than hear) the rumble of the streamway by now.

Not too long after comes the bit in the photo with the really scary-looking ledge of calcited crap. This is in fact dead easy as you just step across the corner using a handy stal handhold. You have also become largely inured to big drops and delicate moves by now. There are some notable pretties along the way. All that caving and climbing has been an effective numpty-filter so things are not trashed.

Next is the comedy maypole bridge (long scaf-bar over big hole with the streamway below, which is also easier than it looks. God knows who carried that 15ft bar all the way down here! Well done to you sir.

Despite having arrived at the streamway (it's just below through holes) you keep going along this passage in a rather confusing fashion until you really do come out at the streamway without climbing.

Jess had been desperate for a piss for hours now, so enormous relief took place.

We plopped into the streamway and waded on up, accompanied by wails from Olaf, who _really_ doesn't like getting cold and wet. The stream is quite 'canal'y here mostly knee to thigh deep and very calm, but it was bloody freezing and my knees soon went numb. Turns out that Olaf the wailer has those knee-length wetsocks which are popular with welsh cavers, and was still moaning! The deepest water was just above MSBL but it's easy to trip over a rock or slide on smooth sandy rock and get wetter.

We saw 4 white cave fish, the longest about 12cm. They have eyes, but don't appear to be able to see.

The streamway is beatiful with marble streakings, sandbanks, and all sorts of forms. It's much quieter than down at I and II. It took about 40 mins to get to Smith's Armoury where we had a quick snack and buggered off out again. Wading for over an hour gives you thigh-ache.

So then we wizzed back out, not getting lost at all and not hanging around too much. There was a certain amount of quiet concentration and ehightened pulserates from Tom on the way back over the traverses, and we all struggled up the crevasse pitch with our welsh-SRT single jammer. But overall an efficient return was made and we were out in 3 hours (it took nearly 5 to get in).

Tess had been a star and cooked dinner for all by the time we got back, so a huge plate of pasta +veggie+oxfords leftovers was scoffed.

A most excellent trip with a great deal of caving in it. It should be done more often than once every 20years. I was knackered though and had to go to bed by 11pm.

Oh, and Wookey and Tom had terrible body-ache the next day.

T/U: 8 hours.

Morning of The Trip. Awoke to exclamation of: ‘I’ve already told you to f#ck off!’ at 8am (fellow caver reacting to being offered a cup of tea). This time was widely agreed as an unacceptable hour for caving endeavours, considering the 2.00am sock wrestling tournament shortly before.

Summary of participants and preparation: two cavers in wetsuits (one of home-made vintage and the other a 2mm shortie) and two cavers completely unprepared for contact with water.

Trip commenced at 10.00am following instigation of “Alpine Start” by Ruairidh. Membership comprised of 4: Ruairidh, Radost, Jon and myself (Tom). The plan was to do the Swildons short round; an ambitious novice trip with sporting streamways given the recent torrential weather, but nonetheless with potential for boredom and frustration if navigation is suboptimal.

We eagerly jogged down towards sump 1 via The Wet Route and a very jammy Italian hitch that made the belay down the ladder/waterfall additionally exciting. Waiting for us at sump 1 was an inviting-looking mound of froth - as inviting as if the sump were a rabid animal waiting to consume mad cavers. We promptly retreated to find the mud sump. We checked our survey and headed back up the streamway.

After numerous false starts, wrong turnings, and dead ends, we found a passage that we assumed to be the way out of the streamway at the most nondescript part of the passage known to man and towards the mud sump. After a short free climb and a small passage, we emerged back into the streamway. Foiled again. Another encouraging-looking climb took us up above the streamway into an unrigged traverse suspended about 15m above the floor. This looked very hopeful, except for the total lack of any surfaces not composed of ultra-smooth calcite at a ~90° angle. Sometime later, just when we were about to give up and dive sump 1, we found the entrance to St Paul’s series. Along this was a muddy climb that appeared to match something that could be a mud sump, and was certainly the road more travelled, so was explored. It went upwards and choked out truly miserably. Given the amount of traffic it had seen however, we were not the only ones to have ended up in this sticky situation, which was consoling. Eventually, we found the entrance to the series leading to the mud sump and followed it through. We stopped to do our contribution to bailing and marvelled for a bit at the complex network of plumbing in place to keep the sump dry.

After the mud sump, we got ourselves almost entirely lost in Paradise Regained. Radost’s summary of the situation varied gradually from “We’re not lost…. Yet” to “I have no idea where we are.” Much later we sat down to consider how miserable it had gotten and why we ever even bothered to leave the warmth and comfort of the tackle store, before we began to try to find a way back. Then Radost decided that he could hear a stream somewhere in the distance (unsurprising given we were in a cave that had a higher H2O composition than some icebergs) - he deduced that this might be the fabled Blue Pencil Passage and set off down some grotty hole in the passage into which a stream trickled.

The grotty hole led to an awkward squeeze that went on interminably through tight jagged corners, and had just the perfect amount of water in it to make fingers and limbs numb. We pushed it long enough to admit that as entertaining a squeeze as it was, it was not worth pursuing just for the sake of it. Then, just as realisation was dawning that I would perhaps never feel sunlight on my skin or hear birdsong again, a highly relieved Radost shouted up to me that he had found the main streamway and that I should go feet first through the next section. I did my best to relay this to Jon behind me, but a communication breakdown occurred after that which resulted in Ruairidh, in the rear, emerging head first like a surprised newborn in a wetsuit into the streamway above the chain two metres from the floor. This method is NOT recommended by the authoritative advice in Mendip Underground, and from on-the-spot appraisal of the process by Ruairidh, I think for good reason (he supplied a commentary composed almost entirely of expletives and prayers to the ancient, antisocial and unhelpful god of caves, Swil-Odin).

We wandered up the passage as far as the entrance to sump 3 and reviewed our situation: we had two pairs of goggles between us, and two of us in wetsuits, two in standard oversuits and a pile of fossilized bones for company by the side of the stream that we preferred not to join.

Ruairidh and I admitted that we would be willing, if skeptical, to try diving the sump. We decided that we would each go a small way, but not entirely in, and then back again so that we had a feel for it without having to commit. At this point we also set up a foolproof signal system using tugs on the rope to allow communication through the sump.

Ruairidh spends a lot of time variously getting psyched up and chickening out, before I offer to seriously attempt it. The entrance is quite committing, being another miserable little hole, only this time at the very bottom of the chest-height pool and totally filled with non-breathable asphyxia-inducing water.

After a false start using a club Pixa headlight on minimum battery, Ruairidh offers his helmet and headlight, with a vastly superior Fenix. This and a very aged club member’s special prescription diving goggles that we nicked do the job, and then several gulps of air and I set off into the unknown. Diving through the darkness hand over hand on the rope, I realise that we have spent the majority of the trip totally lost, so what are the chances that we haven’t somehow ended up at the 20+m infamous sump 12? Oh well, there’s a first time for everything... Dive. Hand over hand. Down. Along. Along. Along.

Up. Out. Breathe Out. Breathe In. Scream.

I made it to the other side, and not the figurative reference to an afterlife, but the very real far side of sump 3. In the state of adrenaline fueled euphoria I pull 3 times on the rope to signal I’m alive. I was in a chamber with no visible way out, and had not been told what to expect on the other side. Subsequently, I found a small muddy ledge and sat on it, accompanied only by a similarly despondent frog, to wait.

And I waited… And waited… And waited some more…

After what felt like fifteen minutes, I was starting to wonder how much oxygen was left in the air bell, and how I could get out of it. I had a look around, searching for some passage up down or sideways that could put me onto dry land. Eventually, I found the way on through - a short duck that had almost sumped dividing the chamber into two airbells, which led into yet more deep water for the entrance to sump 2. Going through the second sump entirely alone wasn’t really a sensible option.

I had to go back through sump 3 and hope that I didn’t meet anyone coming the other way as I did so.

Again, I wade deep into the water, my hands on the rope.

One final breath and I go under.

Again I’m on my back and in front of me is the rope. I pull myself along. More confident this time. At least this time I know that there’s something on the other side.

I surfaced out of the depths. “Why didn’t you come through after me?!”

It turned out that they had not expected me to go through at all, but rather to have another look. They had been sat waiting for me for quite some time, and Ruairidh was just about to have a go at diving through to try and recover his Fenix.

More discussion ensued and it was decided that we would indeed brave the sumps while Radost and Jon went back via Blue Pencil and the mud sump.

Dive. Down. Swim. Along. Tum-ti-tum... This isn’t soo bad. Jesus H. Christ it is f#cking cold. Ruairidh has taken back his helmet and lights; I am now entirely reliant on touch, and given that everything is as numb as Tony Blair’s conscience, this strategy is not proving fantastic...

Along and up. Break the surface. Breathe out. Breathe in.

After a brief further wait for Ruairidh following behind me, and found myself no longer alone in the airbell. We both quickly notice the effect of the low oxygen levels, and decide to get the hell out as fast as possible. Furthermore, the swimming goggles I was wearing (supplied by Radost) did more to restrict vision than aid it - both above and below water. They were bringing on a cracking headache as they dug into my eyes. We go into the next airbell and I lead the way through sump 2, with Ruairidh much closer this time. At one point the ceiling begins to rise upwards a bit, making my oxygen-deprived heart leap at the thought of breathing again, but this is just a cruel trick played by the sump, and it falls again with another few metres of before the real end begins.

When we get out, we are both shivering profusely and hardly able to speak; wordlessly we proceed to bugger off out this cave as fast as possible. The passage is still ver submerged in water though, so progress is still miserable, with sections of crawling through water as the traditional ducks are helpfully extended and combined by high water levels. The sight of sump 1 makes Ruairidh very happy. We pass through it barely noticing its presence, until emerging as Fairy-washing-up-liquid-advert babies on the other side from the foam. After sump 1, we pick up the pace even more, and wordlessly agree that the time has come to exit this burning building before the whole place comes down, a la Batman and Robin. Unlike Batman and Robin, we don’t get a montage of running down collapsing stairs to the batmobile, but another bunch of endless waterfalls to climb and extra-wet passages.

A bunch of cavers were coming down on the ladder that we’d rigged, but as there were about 800 of them and 2 of us, we got priority and continued off at a good rate of knots (this later turned out to be a bit of a mistake as this club was using our ladder and was totally incompetent about remembering things - although Radost and others asked them to bring it back when done, they left it rigged and I had to get it the next day. We should have just coiled it up as we climbed and gone off with it when we had the chance). We continued up and along at a good speed, under the impression that we would prefer to die from exhaustion rather than hypothermia, given the choice. The last few climbs are a bit confusing as we really are quite tired by now, and no longer entirely certain quite which direction is up. We eventually see daylight again though, and finally actually get the out of the cave.

Back at the Wessex hut, after six hours underground, we staggered into the changing room and I went straight for a shower after coming out of the wetsuit, and then had a cup of tea. Ruairidh didn’t even have a shower.

When we get back to the world of voices and humans and tell of our epic exploits in the world beneath the Mendip fields, we get in response “oh, bloody hell, you’ve put a scratch in my nice prescription diving mask!” from ancient club member Wookey, so we retreat to the Hunter’s Lodge instead to contemplate the meaning of the universe in peace.

Next morning we were up bright and early. Due to an error in the decimal place when calculating how many people do the shopping for, we had enough food to provide everyone at the farm with at least two breakfasts, and still have leftovers for the next day! Replete, we then split up into our respective teams: Team efficient and team keen-but-incompetent, and set off across the fell.

Team keen-but-incompetent were set to go down Lancs. Being quite a few meters shy of the suggested rope length, Martin took frugal rigging to a new level, and after rigging two rebelays that were tighter than a ducks arse, arrived at the bottom of the pitch with the rope bag still half full. So far so good. The plan was to go down to the the streamway via a loop round Montague West and Wilf Taylor's passage, climb up into the high level route at Stop Pot and then make our way over to County. That was the keen bit, now for the incompetent part. . .

Rather than a blow-by-blow account of our navigational incompetence, which would be quite challenging given the number of unintentional detours, let's just say that nine hours after leaving the surface myself and Martin emerged into the mist and drizzle at county pot having successfully completed the traverse. This was quite a feat, given six hours into the trip we met team efficient 15 minutes from the Lancaster Hole entrance. . .

An early start at Bullpot Farm and perfect coordination brought us to Kingsdale at around 2pm (+/- 1hr). We changed and kitted up at the roadside and headed off across the valley floor with a few members of the party holding 'phones at arms length and pausing to squint at them from time to time. We continued over the beck and up the hillside in this manner, then fanned out along the ridge. Shouts of 'I've got it!' would be followed seconds later by 'damn! It's gone.' We had, of course, managed not to leave a call out.

We had a peep in the exit and decided it would go, then 'got it...damn, it's goned' our way to the entrance. Fortune smiled on us and we got a message through to the Fenland Control Centre. After a few minutes discussion with our director of photography, Olly descended the entrance. 'Do I get a sherpa, then?' he called up. With a sigh I grabbed the rope bag and followed. The first few metres are best approached by crawling in the bottom of the rift. Olly dragged the bag and I helped it past constrictions. Soon we were walking in fine meandering passage.

I sensed a presence behind me. Looking over my shoulder I saw Matt's lamp approaching, carried, I assumed, by Matt. 'They've found us! Hurry!' I shouted to Olly, who then sprinted off down the passage. I followed at best speed, wishing I was thinner (more running, fewer pies). I arrived panting at the pitch head to find it already rigged, and our fearless rigger standing around the corner ready to descend. The others caught up and we had a debate about who would carry flashguns and where they would put them (I should have fled at this point, but I did not).

'Pitch free!' I made a minor spectacle of myself by getting my leg stuck as I part climbed, part thrutched on to the pitch head. I touched down on a short, rather wet horizontal section before the next pitch. Olly went off to rig the next pitch and Aiora was soon on her way down the first - rather more elegantly than your narrator.

Now the Director of Photography was in charge. Yves got on the rope, abseiled a few metres down the pitch and tied off his stop. Matt was stationed above the pitch head with a flashgun. I heard someone above bellow 'Cow! karabiner! waterfall! spanner!' I might be mistaken about that - the water was making a lot of noise. Eventually, through shouting, gestures and arcane lamp signals, I was positioned in the plunge pool, more or less under the waterfall, pointing a flashgun up the pitch. Here I remained for 20 minutes while the DoP composed the perfect shot. My good cheer deteriorated. I might have uttered an oath. Presently, the job was done. Yves unlocked his stop and descended to the bottom, complaining cheerfully about his numb legs.

Olly and Aiora had gotten restless and gone off exploring during my refreshing 20min frigid shower. They retured and Matt joined us at the bottom of the pitch. The DoP set about the business of re-rigging the pitch as a pull through. Descending the pitch, he asked Olly to hold the rope clear of the waterfall. Olly obliged and was rewarded by being yanked into the plunge pool. He kept his footing and avoided a soaking (or, at any rate, postponed it).

Soon we were on the move. The passage toward the exit is nicely sculpted, good splashy fun. There are a few flowstone formations to stoop under. After a while, it closes down to a longish, wet hands-and-knees crawl. Mostly this is on smooth rock, but occasionally on cobbles. Trying to keep a dry-bag full of flashguns out of the water made this much harder work than it might otherwise have been, and the others disappeared into the distance. Eventually I reached the exit duck. I fiddled with my SRT kit a bit, ostensibly to avoid getting snagged in the duck, but really to play for time. I gritted my teeth, laid down in the murky stream and pushed myself into the constricted passage, emitting a strangled squeak as I got a gallon of freezing water down the front of my oversuit. I pushed the flashgun bag ahead of me to the DoP and squeezed out of the exit. The outside world was dark and the evening air mild. We walked back to the cars, sometimes chatting, sometimes in companionable silence.

We changed again at the roadside. I was advised to be circumspect when admitting to 'spannering Matt's maillon.' Mark showed me a preview of the pictures of Yves on the second pitch - they looked good, promising to be well worth a few minutes freezing. Soon we were in Ingleton, just too late for tea and cake at [insert name of your favourite gear shop/cafe here]. Doughnuts and drinks from the co-op sufficed and after chatting for a while we got in the cars and dispersed.

A thoroughly enjoyable Sunday afternoon trip.

Cavers:

Aiora, Mme. President Olly, rigger, cynic Matt, stalwart, meet leader Mark, director of photography Yves, novice caver, model Adrian, dogsbody, narrator Time Underground: Not sure. I was a bit drunk when I adjusted my watch from BST to GMT. A few hours.