Spoiler: If you want a trip report look elsewhere, think only my lower half was underground for about 30 seconds. If though you're after some ramblings on why I only managed a 30 second trip, read on...
A teacher's timetable can have a big effect on how the year as a whole goes and I've learnt that, if occasionally it goes your way, you need to make the very most of it. Every second week on a Thursday there's been a chance that I can get away early and, with it being my last week in school this year, I wanted to make it count.
The weather has remained remarkably dry so, coupled with the early start, we had the opportunity to keep the momentum going with East Kingsdale trips. Therefore, I suggested Growling to Mike. As ever he was more than up for any outing and so, under blue skies, we headed for Kingsdale.
With the potential for a late return and to prevent disturbing the farm, weve taken to parking up by Yordas, the approach only being slightly longer. Today though the parking was full and Yordas itself was bustling with activity. Recognising a friend's car I went to chat while Mike parked the car further back down the valley. Sonja was there as her son was filming in the cave (see here) and she hoped to catch up with him at the end of the day.
It was a sweat soaked trudge up the valley side despite the fact that most of our cave clothing was in bags rather than worn and it was with some relief that we dumped the bags in the rough area of the pot while we looked for the entrance. There are a lot of shake holes in the shallow, dry valley leading up from the pile of stones that acts as a useful navigational aid but it wasn't long before we found the one thag we wanted.
Adding extra layers, gloves and a helmet the atmosphere began to feel even closer and I began to get frustrated as I tried to squeeze my harness into an already bulging tackle sack. Mike had swiftly rigged a handline for the entrance climb and had already disappeared from the foot of the climb as I first lowered my SRT kit leaking tackle sack and then myself into the gap in the limestone.
At this point my brain usually goes quiet. This is why I cave. There is a lot that I find frustrating in life, ranging from people who think it's fine to mix different pasta shapes to right wing nut jobs touting their illogical and vile twaddle and I admit that it gets to me. Drinking is one way of calming my racing mind but obviously this isn't a sustainable solution for numerous reasons. A weekly caving trip, with the finest mates you could wish for, therefore serves as my healthy therapy. The physical challenge of moving through passage, or the mental problem solving of rigging allow a fast track to a flow state in which I'm only focussed on the present. This normally sets in the moment the cool air of the cave us met, or on clipping the first carabiner. Today though my mind kept racing.
Was it overheating on the way up? Coming to the end of a busy term but with school trips still ahead? The fact that youngest had just fallen off his bike and, while he'd escaped with a bit of road rash, I still needed to sort his bike before going away? Or even something as petty as knowing my harness would keep trying to escape from my sack and require constant restuffing as I made my way along the crawl below me? An amalgamation of all of the above?
Fortunately Mike was still in ear shot of my muted, "I can't do this." "Can't do the move, or feel you shouldn't be here", he sagely asked. It was definitely the latter, my whole body almost physically revulsed by the act of entering the cave.
As previously mentioned, it's not just the caving that acts as my therapy, but that it's done with amazing friends. Friends who're there for you both when things are going well or, as today, not so well.
With minimal kerfuffle we were soon having a pleasant wander further up the valley identifying other entrances before the slightly less stifling descent back down to the car and the inevitable pint in The Barn. Growling will hopefully still be there for me on another day...
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