16th August 2026 - Well met at Hensler's

With a loud crack the first staple, from my brand new high powered staple gun, pierced the wood of the chair frame. My initial foray into upholstery then stopped, almost as soon as it had begun, with a phonecall from Julie. She explained that with AJ, they'd set off on a Hensler's themed trip around the Gaping gill system. They'd rigged Hensler's pot, set off down Wet Hensler's but after 15 minutes of crawling through cold water had become unsure of the way on and so had retraced their route. After half an hour, in energy sapping cold, they'd headed straight to the main chamber and been whisked to the surface by the winch. This left their SRT kit at the bottom of Hensler's High aven and Hensler's lot rigged. Would I like to join a trip to recover their kits and derig the pot? After being beasted by my wife on a brutal, but beautiful, run around Buttermere I wasn't feeling my strongest but, with another chance to descend Dihedral, I was definitely up for it.

Parking the car I said to Julie that it was going to be slow walk up to the gill. She was feeling pretty battered from the previous day too so we began our slow trudge up onto the moor. At the pot we met AJ and began to put some flesh on the bones of the plan. AJ and Julie were to get the winch down while Max, who was also joining us, and I would head down Dihederal and meet them at the bottom. Unfortunately, with public winching taking place, we couldn't use the pitch so Max and I headed to Marilyn, planning to meet the other pair at the foot of Hensler's aven.

At the bottom of the Marilyn pitches, Max found the krab attahed to his Stop would't open. A little gentle tapping, a little WD40 saliva, but it wasn't budging. Only opening his central maillon would allow it to be removed. We dropped down into the streamway and the junction with the master cave. At this point I know the turn for Hensler's aven is either a little way up or down stream, but can never remember which, so downstream we headed. Realising fairly quickly it was the wrong way, we u- turned and soon found the step up into the required passage, just upstream of where we had initially been.

Hearing other people ahead I wondered if it was the pair we'd been following down Marilyn but no, it was AJ having a good stomp down the passage having come from the main chamber via Mud hall and Mud Hensler's. It would have been tricky to time both our arrivals any better. At the bottom of High Hensler's (please have a listen to this incredible recording of Eric Hensler describing the measurement of its height) another attempt was made on opening Max's krab. While he pulled one way on it, AJ pulled the other and I tried turning the lock on the gate. Nothing, it wasn't for budging. 

Having heard of the joys ahead in Hensler's pot, Max headed for Small Mammal via Mud Hensler's and I began my way up the pitch. I appreciated a bit of a lie down at the top before, all too soon, Julie joined me and I moved on to Burnley pitch. With having had a bit of a 'mare at the pitch head when I was last here with Mike, I opted for a different tactic, ignored the sling which had pulled my into the vice of the rift, and went for a direct belly flop onto the ledge on the right, much easier. By the time I'd my SRT kit off for the struggle's to come, Julie was at the bottom of the pitch and I could haul up the first bag. All reunited, I began my mental and physical battle with the tackle sack. By the time we reached the short climb up into the rift a judge would probably have declared a draw between us. Sacks though are in it for the long game and my limited reserves were already being eaten into.

AJ passed the sack up to me and I tried pushing it ahead of me in the rift, it immediately pulled a blocking move from its repertoire and I was left with no choice but to vary my attack. Clipped to my belt and dragging now, I tried once more. Initially I thought this was going to work, despite it jamming at every move, AJ was behind me to release it and we slowly udged forward. Due to the length of the tether though, the bag lay on my lower leg, my only source of forward propulsion and we ground to a halt again. I called a time out. Laying in the rift I could hear AJ behind me enacting plan C. Shortly he told me to start moving again, I was free, barely able to feel the rope he'd tied round my ankle. At the first widening I was able to turn, look my nemesis squarely in the eye and haul. The knock out blow had been delivered. Any last, futile, resistance was soon countered by a quick flick from AJ and I knew we'd be through the rift.

While there's still a lot of crawling to go, there's nothing as snug, and I began to really enjoy the caving. AJ trucked on with the first bag, while I began to fill the second one for Julie. The plan was that I'd then put the final rope in the smaller, empty bag I'd been carrying my SRT kit in. Almost before we knew it though the duck appeared and was past and the bottom of the entrance ladder visible, our keeping up with which pitch we were on having gone completely to pot. I don't know if it's due to the extended warm weather we've been having, but the moor smelled particularly sweat as I exited the drum and stepped down onto living plants once more. The tackle sacks must have an agreement with the tussocks and they put up a valiant rearguard action but, enlivened by the sunlight, nothing was going to stop us now. Earlier Julie had suggested going on a second trip but there was absolutely no chance of that, I was spent.

At the sink hole life was bustling on, members of the public heading to or from the winch and club members on their way to duties or enjoying a cuppa. Max had made it safely out too and we decided on a working brew while washing the ropes in Fell beck, energised by some quality cake. My face also had a good scrub before getting changed for the walk vack down the fell. Unfortunately for Julie I'd left my dry t- shirt in the car so only had my very chic, new AV fleece vest to wear. Fortunately we only met a solitary dog walker on the way down and her 11 year old dog was much more interested in ear scritches than what dapper Yorkshire cavers are wearing these days.

13th August 2026 - The height (and depth) of sophistimication

Comfortably ensconsed in The Barn after our Black Shiver trip I was introduced to the delights of a chai latte by Julie. Unlike our usual pints this is so sophisticated they actually bring it to you at your table. Fantastically, on meeting up for this trip, she produced a whole tub of the miraculous powder for me from a highly exclusive European purveyor of fine victuals. If the quality of this blog entry is cosiderably higher than usual, it will be entirely due to my sipping of this admirable beverage as I compose it.

Once again a caving club, this time our own - the Craven, is in residence at Gaping gill. Obviously the main reason for these meets is the winch down to, and up from, the main chamber. For the visiting caver though the main attraction is that a number of the other entrances are rigged. This allows tackle free caving which is about as good as it gets, you can just choose a pair of entrances and make your way between them, unencumbered by weighty bags. From the list of rigged entrances we chose to head down dihedral, a route not available when the winch is running, and then return up Wade's entrance of Flood. 

We're not sure if it's shorter, less climb or less steep but there's something very pleasant about the walk up from Newby rather than Clapham. At the top of the hill there's a grand view of the Gaping gill shake hole and, at this time of year, the temporary camp spreading upstream from the mouth of the pot. Standing above the camp, resembling a Victorian folly, the light green canvas of the toilet tent reflecting the unrelenting sun, clearly marking our destination.

There was calm activity down in the shake hole and we both wandered over to chat with people we knew. Unfortunately I didn't realise Ian was working at the time with a journalist  - sorry Ian. We changed and signed in on the board and headed down towards the winch. Huge thanks to Paul and the young lady, sorry I don't know your name, who directed us to the Jib tunnel entrance saving us the mortification of wandering aimlessly under the watchful gaze of the numerous onlookers. Thanks too to Paul for his sage advice on getting out of Flood, "Just follow the water", worked a treat.

We ducked under the wooden pole with its warning sign, declaring a deep hole beyond, and clipped into the traverse line. At the pitch I was blown away. You don't normally get weather in a cave but here I was looking down on a cloud of sunlit mist. As the descent continued poor Julie was hit by an increasingly superlative ridden barrage of commentry. This is an incredible pitch. At the rebelay ledge I shouted up, "rope free", and quickly readied my camera. Apologies to Nick who was following us down for my photo faff.

Julie enjoying the first pitch of Dihedral route

Nearing the rebelay ledge

After what had seemed a long first pitch I was convinced we must be close to the chamber floor, but at the next rebelay I realised we were probably only half way down. The chamber bathed in both natural and flood light a truely awesome sight.

Almost on the floor of main chamber

The scramble up at the end of the chamber was helped by both the in situ lighting and handline at its top we both paused to take in the view again before disappearing along the heavily draughting tunnel that was our way on. Familiar landmarks passed we entered the, awkward for me, last section of passage to South East pot. I hardly ever get this bit right and, as ever, turned right too early meaning a slight descent onto, and longer traverse of, South East. At the low point, where the passage we should have taken emerges, a rope hung from the gloom above. I clipped in, held my breath, and swung out, the vastness below me now matching that above.

As I climbed what I thought was the top of the pitch caught my torch beam, but no it was just a deviation, the pitch continuing to soar above. Julie's been experimenting with her SRT rig and was hoping for simple pitch heads while she fine tunes it. In Flood they just couldn't be any better, high anchors allowing a straightforward step off the rope onto wide ledges.

Returning up the Flood pitches

All too soon daylight was visible and Julie let out an audible sigh. This is a magnificent route into the Gaping gill system and was over far too soon. Emerging jnto daylight it's always nice to find a sign post declaring that you are where you thought you should be, and just a short walk back to our start point.

Flood (Wade's) entrance

Normally there's still the walk off the moor before we can treat ourselves to a well deserved pint, but on this occasion I wasn't even out of my suit before an impromptu barman at the Trenchfoot Arms served us our drinks. A careful wipe with the hand of the plastic mugs they were served in fitting perfectly with my newly discovered sophisticated lifestyle. It would be far too easy to while away an evening with good company here. As it was we had to pack up our bags and wander back across the moor, taking in the vista of peaks in Lancashire, Yorkshire and Cumbria, after a truly quality trip.

9th August 2026 - Black Shiver: Summer Edition

Mention Black Shiver and many people's mind will immediately be drawn to an image of a glistening sweep of neve, a gully line rising from the limestone bench at Ingleborough's foot, almost to its summit cairn. Alas, North Yorkshire's premier winter route is an ephemeral line, rarely forming due to requiring very specific meteological conditions. Another Black Shiver also commences from the limestone bench and also requires specific weather to contemplate. Unlike its sibling, the Gully, Black Shiver Pot is not a fleeting route, its lines hewn from the very rock of the mountain, its delights not visible for miles around but hidden from view below the moor.

Topping out from Black Shiver Gully, one of Yorkshire's finest winter lines

Enjoying a post trip pint in the beer garden of Ingleton's Wheatsheaf hotel, almost in the shadow of Ingleborough, Mike suggested that our next trip should be to the aforementioned Black Shiver. In twenty odd years of caving in the Dales it's never been an outing that's been suggested and Julie had never visted either. A bit of reading at home suggested that this was a magnificent trip down a deep and wet pot hole, and so I began gathering together rope, a lot of rope. So much rope that a rendezvous with Tony was required to pick up some longer lengths. Thanks so much for driving over and I hope the exchanged rope will be of use on your adventure!

Meeting up with Julie the mass of rope and associated tackle seemed to almosf fill her car and we still had Mike to pick up. A working cuppa at his brought some semblence of order, a mound of chaos now contained in the cosmos of three tackle sacks. Further chaos was avoided by parking at a lower lay by in Chapel-le-Dale, a little extra elevation a small price to pay for the avoidance of the three peaks crowds. I was glad that both Mike and Julie had the location of the entrance on their devices, the seemingly featureless expanse of limestone bench stretching far in all directions, even the valley road was obscured, the plateau on the west of the valley seemingly smoothly connected to that on the east.

Kitting up cake is always welcome and Sam had done us proud, Julie incredibly having the self restraint to save half of her piece for later!? Mike also graciously allowed me rigging duties and so I located the first bag and tucked the description into my pocket. Looking down the entrance climb I was glad that we'd decided to bring an extra rope to act as a handline, a couple of the footholds being slick with mud. At the bottom of the climb an inviting passage led off but our way on was a low, cobble floored crawl following the small stream. This soon and improves and as ever, if it weren't for tackle sacks, would be a relatively pleasant hands and knees crawl.

The passage keeps improving all the way to the head of the first, short pitch. This and the following, slightly longer, Blood pitch we're both negotiated with little disturbance to our flow and we were soon a few metres before the head of the Black Dub pitch. Here the passage takes on an egg timer silhouette and it's said that it's easiest to rig the pitch via the upper part, before reversing and then joining the pitch rope through the lower part. Pitch duly rigged I squirmed through the bottom part of the passage and deposited myself into, not the dry sand normally associated with egg timers, but a cold, wet puddle. Despite the relative discomfort of the puddle, its proportions allowed easy access to the pitch rope and I was soon at its foot.

Normally at the bottom of a pitch you'd remove your descender from the rope and stomp off (or more recently, crawl off) down the passage. Stood though welly deep in a pool of dark water I wasn't stomping off anywhere and quickly clipped a bolt on the passage wall. Barely visible under a foot or two of water a narrow ledge lead along the left hand wall. Beyond it no light penetrated the inky black water than could well have been bottomless. Udging along the ledge I reached another bolt and secured a traverse line, glad to have avoided a dunking in the stygian depths.

Mike about to descend into, and Julie negotiating, the Black Dub

Keeping to the shallows

The deep water safely negotiated, it all seemed for nothing, the way on seemingly barred. Crouching down though, a low continuation of the pool offered further access into the depths and began crawling through the water I had just spent so much effort trying to avoid. Though quiet today, it doesn't require much imagination to realise why the original explorers called the next pitch Thunder pot, the water briefly pausing here before plummeting nearly 100 m down into the Black rift. Our journey too would be slightly delayed, a low bedding plane crawl on the left briefly leading away from the stream.

Once through the slot, an exceptionally comfortable stance allows contemplation of what is about to follow, Black Shiver's main course. Securely attached to the traverse line a long reach from the sanctuary of the stance allows the bolt for the second arm of a y-hang to be gained, and once rigged, a cautious swing out over the abyss. A deviation allowed for free hang down the rift, walls to either side remaining soundly vertical while the rope kept paying out from the bag. Then, emerging from the gloom, a bridge of jammed boulders across the rift offering a temporary respite from the vertical. A lone deviation bolt from the boulders meant that a pair of bolts for a y-hang should be close at hand and, a few metres above and out to the right, I finally spotted them. A short climb up the chocked boulders allowed access and I rigged the second 60 m rope. Before setting off on a pitch I always check the topo to see what I should be looking out for. Aside from the deviation bolt just below me, nothing,  just a single, uninterupted vertical line to the base of the rift some 55 m below. Added to the 30 or so metres of rift already descended the sheer scale of the pot was now beginning to become apparent.

Once again the rope just kept paying out from the bag and this time there weren't even some jammed boulders to distract from the ever downward journey through a subterranean cleft, millennia in the making. The call of "rope free" brought movement from two dots of light far above, and as one began its gravity defying descent towards me, I began to take in my surroundings. This is a truly awesome place.

A trio once more, we scuttled under the waterfall to find a hole, no more than half a metre high, that the water that is carving this covert cathederal descends through. Following, we were once again intimately acquainted with it and I was glad when the passage opened up to allow progress on hands and knees rather than flat out crawling. The description suggested that some parties abstain from this aqueous delight, returning immediately up the rift, but it really is a cracking piece of passage that soon brings you to a window overlooking a large chamber. A short pitch leads down into this before a continuation passage can be taken under a wall of boulders held together by quite a large amount of hope and ever so little calcite. The two smooth, monolithic walls of the rift are now fogotten, the rock of the passage carved into myriad forms and with formations clinging to its sides.

A final short pitch allows access to the final metres of the streamway before it runs into a sump pool. While the water and a few hardy souls can continue their journey beyond, for us though this marked our turn around point before the outward campaign.

Mike contemplating the sump pool

With Mike detackling I was able to enjoy the first part of the return sack free, always a huge privilege. I was glad too, to be unencumbered as I made my way back up the two long pitches to the beat of the slowest, most mournful, dirge. It is not often in Yorkshire, especially when weilding relatively bright lamps, that the rope disappears both above and below into darkness, leaving you suspended in space by influences unseen. Arriving at the intermediate rebelay my call of rope free down to Mike was immediately followed by Julie's from above and my hoped for rest was not forthcoming.

Beyond this slot lies an immense pitch

Once again making the most of the cosy niche at the head of the pitches we regrouped to haul the bags. Julie kindly then set off with one, and with Mike keeping the other as he derigged, my bag free caving jaunt continued. Not only bag free but my return crossing across the Black Dub was also greatly assisted by the traverse line. Climbing out from the Dub, the guide suggested a feet first return through the lower, wider, part of the egg timer but both Julie and I found there was plenty of space in the large puddle to allow a more conventional dismount before a repositioning of body parts to pass the brief narrowing. On his return Mike continued up until he reached the y-hang and egressed through the upper part of the passage with no issue.

Another bag filled, normal service was once again resumed, and I began my usual battle with a bag back towards the surface. Despite my newly acquired handicap, relative to those now behind us, the final couple of pitches seemed remarkably short and we were soon back in the entrance crawl.

Julie and Mike on the exit pitches

A patch of daylight became visible and a couple of tackle bag pushes later I could stand in the drizzle at the base of the entrance climb. Not wanting to ruin a quality day I attached my hand jammer to the handline and self belayed out into the surface shake hole. The imposing bulk of Ingleborough a dark shadow in the clag, Ribblehead viaduct visible at the head of the dale. I felt jealous of Julie's earlier self control as she devoured her final bit of cake and began to contemplate what we had in for tea. The return journey to the car was just as damp as the outward, the source merely changed from sweat to drizzle.

After such a classic trip there could be no other option but to head to the Barn and it was great to be joined by Emma and youngest for a couple of birthday beers. The Barn had even put on live music for the occasion.

The icing on the cake for such a fantastic trip was, literally, a cake. Sam, Mike's wife, having kindly baked one for my birthday, it's darkness and richness a further reminder of the features of this classic Yorkshire trip.

6th August 2026 - How cold?

A quick trip to share the delights of Middle Scar with Mike and Julie. The water in the canal has definitely not warmed up.

4th August 2026 - Another not trip report

Spending a currently rare, wet day catching up with blog writing it's quickly become apparent that there's been a bit of a dearth of photos recently. While some might get away with a solely text based blog, wity and erudite writing being enough to hold the reader's attention, writing is not my forte and so I hope the odd pretty piccie makes up for this.

While I may get lucky (more often when I'm able to get my helmet off and move its lamp to the side), on the whole the pictures I take with my wife's Olympus Tough (TG-5?) and just helmet lamps often feel a little disappointing and recently I've stopped carrying it.

My (long suffering?) wife's (long suffering?) Olympus TG-5/6?

Does disapointment come from trying to take pictures in far from ideal conditions? I'm also not sure if I bothered to hold my helmet and its lamp out to the side

Away from spray and humidity though things are much better

Give the Olympus lots of light eg subject close up, or here by shooting where daylight still reaches and I'm pleased with the results

I'd certainly not dream of taking out a non waterproof camera here

Of course though I'm able to take pictures extremely quickly, just pull the camera out of my chest pocket and in places I wouldn't dream of exposing a non waterproof camera. Fitting in a chest pocket also means my hands are free for dragging tackle sacks around. While I know It's far from fair to expect sharp, well lit images in many of these places where spray and high humidity abound, sifting through lots of hazy and grainy images for the odd 'keeper' can be a bit soul destroying. 

At the other end of the spectrum is the kit that I take only on 'photo trips'. I still like to think this is fairly compact: a mirrorless camera, flash controller and 3 flashes all in one Peli (1300) case, but it can still feel like a major inconvenience, especially on top of tackle sacks filled with rope. It's not just the physical bulk of the gear that has an impact on trips though. Setting up a shot with just 2 flashes, let alone 3 can feel like time is moving at a geological pace with friends feeling like they're entering a new ice age. Spending the time though, I'm often pleased with the results.

My much loved Canon RP

The case I carry it in. Not entirely a fair comparison as this Peli case will also hold 3 flashes and their controller

Some of my favourite pictures have been taken with a 2 flash set up

For a 3 flash setup your models have to be very understanding

Even just with a helmet lamp I'm pleased with results from the RP though of course these are 'ideal' conditions, no spray or humidity

So, is there a compromise solution? Even with just helmet lighting mirrorless cameras can produce much nicer results than those from a compact, so what about trying leaving the flashes at home and just taking a small mirrorless camera? When I upgraded to my Canon RP I tried to part exchange my trusty old Canon EOS-M. While it's definitely not all about the gear, the purchase of this camera resulted in a huge increase in image quality from the compact camera I'd used previously. 

With my EOS-M I felt like I was taking 'proper' photos for the first time (3 flash setup)

The camera shop 'expert' though said it wasn't worth anything as it looked like it'd been dragged through mud. What did they know!? My plan then is to try taking this camera as my 'default' camera on trips in the hope its case is still something I'm happy to take on longer trips or those when also burdened with lots of tackle.

My trusty EOS-M

My very smart new Inglesport case

Not a completely fair comparison, the Peli case on the left also holding 3 flash guns

Of course for wet and grim trips it'll be the Olympus everytime but I'm hoping that my new, light weight setup will see me taking a camera along on trips more often. As someone once said, "The best camera is the one you have with you."

2nd August 2026 - Tremendous through trip

Putting a date in the diary weeks in advance for a trip in August that requires dry settled weather is often a futile act but, as the day approached, the dry weather held and a return to Dowbergill passage was on. Looking in my copy of NFTFH I found that ever since my first traverse in 2022 with Mike, I've returned every couple of years. Once you've sampled its delights it will definitely keep drawing you back. For Julie though this was to be her first acquaintance.

Turning off the Skipton road and heading up into the Dales the scenery just gets better and better and I'm always amazed that there aren't more collisions as drivers are distracted by the awesome overhang of Kilnsey crag. While the continuing valley may be less vertigious, it's no less impressive and the village of Kettlewell is surely the archetypal Dales village.

Parking a little way up the Park Rash to make the return walk a little shorter we wandered into town and then back out, past the busy campsite and into the quiet valley leading up to Providence. The bracken was high and I felt like a lead rider on a Tour climb as I pushed my way through it. It also seems to have its own microclimate, holding heat under its canopy, already with wet and over suits pulled down to my waist there was little to do except enjoy the brief respite of vegetation free sections of path.

Pausing at the heavily lided entrance to dry off briefly 

[In progress...]

1st August 2026 - A morning's adventure

Needing a morning's adventure for eldest and his friend, a return to Middle Scar seemed to fit the bill. Donning wetsuits we were glad it was just a short walk from the van to the entrance, the relentless Yorkshire sun beating down as it has for weeks now. The extended dry spell even ensuring that you can leave the Ribblehead road and not immediately sink at least knee deep in bog.

With buoyancy aids on we negotiated the first couple of metres of dry passage and then slipped into the cool dark waters of the canal, the fixed lines allowing us to keep our upper bodies mainly out of the water and letting us pull our way swiftly through the deepest section.

This aqueous obstacle overcome the boys took the lead and we regrouped at the bottom of the short pitch up the waterfall. Despite the warming effects of the more rapid movement to this point, the boys had opted to keep their buoyancy on, the thick foam providing welcome insulation. It's worth noting that even after weeks of warm weather the deep, slow moving water remains stubbornly cold. As swiftly as I could I gained the top of the pitch and lowered a ladder and life line. I'd been wondering why the tackle sack was so heavy but then remembered I'd brought my Petzl Rig rather than my usual Stop. While it's undoubtedly a great device for belaying others, I do question that they've seemingly constructed it from osmium, not the best choice in terms of either price or mass.

Before the boys set off again I briefed them on the delicacy of the upcoming chert formations and how they needed to be treated like the jelly fish that they'd once been. I'd love to have a friendly geologist on hand to explain how these 'walls' had formed in such a multitude of directions.

The 'final' waterfall chamber reached we quickly about turned, needing to keep moving. Only the pitch caused a brief hiatus in our outward journey and we were soon back in the water by the entrance. I thought the shrieks from the boys were due to the temperature, but no, they were due to a drowned shrew bobbing by at face height. My shrieks though were due to the cold as I realised too late that I hadn't zipped up my wetsuit.

Emerging at lunchtime and with the modal age of the group being considerably lower than usual, Seasons bakery in Ingleton provided a more than adequate substitute to The Barn for apres cave activities. When asked whether they wanted to sit in the shade or sun to devour our sausage rolls the response was both instantaneous and unanimous.