25th November 2021 - Classic Yorkshire: Lost John's pull through

 mike

10th January 2019 - The Iron Way

Satellite picture - Google. Surveys - New Northern Caves Guide

The via ferrata of the Dolomites were created using iron melded with rock in order to allow safe passage for troops through hazardous mountain terrain.  Diggers in the Dales have too being using iron (well probably steel) to shore up their digs, allowing tourists to venture safely in places previously inaccessible.  The trip from Death's Head Hole to the Iron Kiln Hole entrance of Notts II, makes use of three stunning pieces of engineering.  Tony takes up the tale...  

This was the piecing together of the two known ends and the unknown middle bit. Conditions were right and the moment had to be seized; cold symptoms were suppressed with a slug of Day Nurse. At the bottom of the big pitch in Death’s Head, Alistair noted the traverse line of bolts that would have avoided the precarious rubble where we landed. We stuck with what we knew for speed, and trod carefully down to the ‘Y' hang leading to the main chamber. Arriving at the bottom of the more recently excavated shaft, we set off towards the final descent into the streamway. Once down, drysuits were unpacked and put on over caving suits.

We set off on the walk upstream, and it wasn’t long before we were wading into deeper water, eventually up to our necks, with the roof not far above. There was soft collapsing sand underfoot, and we made for the shallower sides of the winding passage to keep our heads above the surface. Tell-tale fragments of grass stuck to the scallops above, although no reminder was necessary that there are times when visits to this site are not possible. Our movements caused gentle waves that made an unearthly ‘gloop’ sound as they hit the sides.After a couple of hundred metres the passage became increasingly more shallow and the roof got higher. We strode on until we arrived at a narrow inlet on the left. ‘Groundsheet Junction,' Alistair announced with a grin. It was almost exactly two years since we had reached this point via Lost John’s, and I wouldn’t have recognised it. I was heartened again by Alistair's route awareness and very reliable memory. Another 150m and we were at the start of the ascent into Lyle Cavern.

After the scramble up we stopped to take in the atmosphere and spectacle of this large chamber. There at the back was the in situ rope and our climb to the very beautiful Helictite Rift. We removed our drysuits and geared up for the ascent. Once up, we continued along the rift to the distinctive free-standing flake that marks the beginning of the 140m crawl - the last challenge of the evening.This was our third trip through this impressive excavation. I’d like to restate our admiration for the endeavour and commitment that created it. At times I find this contorted, corkscrew crawl bewildering. Pushing my tackle bag ahead, I got confused. ‘Alistair? Alistair?…ALISTAIR!' Nothing. 'It has to be this way.' I followed my bag headfirst down a drop and turned my head at the bottom to look along the horizontal tube. There was the reassuring loom from the headtorch of my speedier fellow earthworm. The route becomes easier as you get towards the exit, not withstanding a couple of wet crawls that allow the muddy water to finally find its way into your underwear. Emerging into the welcoming space of Sir Digby Spode’s Inlet, we had a congratulatory hug. What a journey!

After the precarious downclimb into the streamway, we splashed and tramped along to the Notts II inlet and made the final climb up out of the pot, burdened somewhat by the tackle bags. The evening still allowed time for a beer in The Royal Hotel in Kirkby, where we reflected on a very satisfying journey, a trip through richly varied and sensational caving terrain.

13th December 2018 - An unexpected journey

Dick beginning to rig in the biting wind

It's been wet so the plan was to rig Death's Head, a new cave for Tony and I, before negotiating the dug connection to the Lost John's master cave and then turn round once we saw what we presumed would be a raging torrent heading towards the sump.

For the second week in a row we found ourselves parked next to other cavers, it's definitely becoming a very popular sport!  We changed under clear skies and in a biting wind, before heavily laden with a 100m rope, set off across the moor in the trail of all the other cavers. 

Despite the crowds, we had Death's Head to ourselves and Dick was soon rigging from a post in the encircling fence.  We're not sure if the pin from a bolt, hammered into the top of the post signified a survey station, or a specially reinforced belay fence post, but it certainly seemed less rickety than the others. Fortunately it's just steep ground down to the belay tree below, rather than a vertical drop, so it wasn't going to be taking that much weight.

Down the rabbit hole...

Dick soon had a sling round the tree and set of down to the first rebelay.  Joining Tony at the tree I was glad to be out of the wind. Putting my gloves back on after taking photos had left me with sickening hot aches, though I was glad that blood was returning to my fingers again.

Meeting up with Tony again at the rebelay we both looked skyward as the wind rushing over the top of the pot emulated someone blowing over an enormous milk bottle, producing an eery, resonating howl.

As rebelay followed rebelay, I realised it had been a long time since we'd done a cave with 'big' pitches. I'd love to do this pot again in the light as I'm sure much of its glory was hidden in the shadows.  The howls of wind noise from above was now replaced with hollers of delight from Dick below as he dropped the final pitch and landed on the boulder slope floor of the main chamber.

While I could see the other two below me, my attention was grabbed by the huge jammed boulder that acts as the take off for the final pitch. Sometimes it's best not to think too much about these things.

The main chamber is an incredible place and the dug shaft at it's base an amazing piece of engineering,  completed in just 7 weeks. This must have been a much more comfortable place for the diggers after their travails in the link between Notts II and Lyle Caverns. A lone bat had decided it was a nice place to spend the winter too.

The clever mammals know how to avoid all the brexit twaddle

Tony soon had a rope down the scaffolded shaft and Dick swiftly followed.  In readiness for the squirminess I believed to be ahead I stopped at the bottom of the pitch to take off my SRT gear, the other's voices disappearing down the continuation crawl.  The crawls and short squeezes completed a handlined climb dropped us into a beautiful piece of streamway and suddenly we were there at a short, rigged pitch down into a gently running stream.

Tony on the dig pitch

Tony with his gear still on was soon down into the Lost John's master cave with Dick not far behind. Kindly Tony passed his harness up and I was able to join them as they returned from upstream, where they had turned round at a deep pool. The stomp was now on down to the sump. Despite both Tony and I having been to the bottom of the Lost John's pitches and down to Groundsheet junction, we'd never actually been to the sump, so it was great to be there, especially as we hadn't been expecting to be able to make it down into the streamway.

In spite of the increasing weight of rope below and the worrying rubbing of the rope above as I removed a deviation, I felt really pleased that we'd all made it down to the sump, an added bonus to an already great trip. Shouts of, "Hurry up, we're freezing.", signalled my proximity to the tree and I hauled the now burgeoning tackle sack up the steep slope above, rope spilling from it as it was dumped finally on horizontal ground.

It was then back into the long line of everyone making their way back across the moor to the cars, headlights acting as a homing beacon to weary cavers. Though the moors had been crowded, we were the only customers in the welcoming Whoop Hall, though we hope they did have at least one other guest, a large gentleman in a rabbit onesy passing the bar causing me to lose track of the conversation on a couple of occasions.  

A few years ago the barman had complained that no one had mid week work's Christmas do's anymore and though he didn't raise it again, it certainly felt that things were even quieter this year. Changed social attitudes to drink driving (which I'm definitely not complaining about); cheap supermarket drink (which I definitely appreciate); a decade of austerity?  Whatever the reason I hope that there are enough people stopping in each week to keep country pubs like this one open, it would be a sad end to the night without half an hour of chat round a warming fire.

22nd November 2018 - Got to get yourself connected...

...the writing's on the wall and what it said was "Far away".

Long before I had even set foot in Pippikin, I felt I knew each of its pitches and squeezes intimately. Whether from reading and rereading guides and descriptions, or watching the classic Sid Perou film, it had become in my mind a pot, the navigation of which, would be an important mile stone in my caving journey.

Similarly, hearing Dave Ramsay in Inglesport talking about his digging exploits with a quiet and yet deep passion, as well as pouring over the pages in Descent as the ever more final pieces of the three counties jigsaw have been put into place, the new, dug connections on Leck Fell have held a magnetic draw.

As with Pip though, the single and yet very major stumbling block separating fantasy from reality is that, in my mind at least, these were the realms of proper cavers. Inhabited by multi week night enthusiasts and possessors of multiple washing machines. Definitely not the place for Thursday night tourists.

The draw though was strong. If we researched and prepared well, taking small steps, would our impetuous incursion be overlooked and safe passage be granted? It was time to take our first baby steps.

Dave had told us that the navigation through the connection between Notts II and Lost John('?)s('?) was considerably easier from the Notts end. So, having read and combined the knowledge from multiple descriptions, reversing them where necessary, Tony and I began our trip down the scaffolded entrance of Iron Kiln Hole.

Entering the natural cave we met up with Dick and Andrena who, having set off a bit earlier, we're kindly waiting for us and headed down to the main streamway. I know I'm very guilty of stomping through passage, eager to get to the destination rather than enjoying the journey and so it was great to have Andrena on a first visit, pointing out the many formations that I'd normally race past with my blinkers on.

Dick stopped at the knotted rope allowing easy access to Bruno Kranski's above and with expected return times exchanged, while they carried on up stream to visit the stunning formations beyond, Tony and I made our way up the rope.  Very quickly we found ourselves at the 'muddy puddles' and just beyond we caught our first glimpse of the scaffolding that would guide us for the next 140 metres or so.

Lying in the first puddle and looking ahead I decided that what lay beyond looked like warm work and made use of the space to take off my hat and readjust my clothing. With no more excuses for inaction it was then onwards into the dig.

It really does have to be seen to be believed. Each foot, in a resonant echo of the Committee pot entrance, singing a song of human determination and team work. While the going was on occasion awkward I knew I had no cause for complaint when I compared my situation with the tribulations of the diggers. The last corner might well have been a bit squirmy, but at least I wasn't attempting it while transporting a pile of scaffolding and the sides and roof of the passage were well shored, rather than constantly trying to entomb me.

Now in scaffold free cave, three tricky little climbs had me waving my feet, unseen below, in the search for a foothold to allow a final udge up into the small chamber above, before finally the cave once more began to open out.  My first navigational blunder of the evening saw us heading past some bang wire under some huge boulders. As I descended a few words of Ramsay wisdom rose from the depths of my memory, "just don't follow the bang wire into this old dig, it's death on a stick." Slowly and gently we reversed back out and descended a few metres to the right instead, dropping down into the magnificent West passage.

Before heading on, we looked carefully at the view behind us, a prominent, club shaped rock marking the way for our return journey. Straight on at the T junction, where right would take you to Boxhead, the aptly named Helectite rift just gets better and better. In many caves, passageway like this would be festooned with conservation tape and it must have looked staggering to the original explorers when the calcite floor was pristine. The descriptions I'd read mentioned holes in the floor and it is true, there are. Abyss might be a better term, the bottom of the rift visible through them metres below. We stayed high in the rift, enjoying the spectacular speleothems, too high though for the way on, the head of the Lyle Cavern pitch appearing 10m of unclimbable rift below us.

Well aware of our limited time we turned around, noting places where we thought we could climb down and hoping that the route would be even more obvious from below. Back past the T junction and very pleased that we had taken the time to look back at where we had left the choke previously. Finding the entrance to the connection from this side would be much harder on first acquaintance.

Gravity assisted, the return journey felt much faster, especially with the added amusement of tackling bits which should probably be tackled feet first, head first. On the last section of descent before the sump, on a yellow band supporting the roof, someone had scribed in the mud "Far away" and while physically only tens of metres away from huge passageway, that's definitely how it felt at times in the connection.

Perhaps it was just my angle of approach, but the drained sump felt deeper on the return and I definitely came out wetter. Glinting on the rock ahead though I could see light at the end of the tunnel, Andrena and Dick having climbed up from the streamway after their explore  further upstream. Team reunited, I was glad of the stomp back down the meandering master cave to warm me back up before we encountered the cold air sinking down the entrance climbs.

The spot with the arm chairs next to a fire in the Whoop Hall had been taken by the only other customers so we made do with the other fire, the seats though being just a little too far away. We were though very close to a speaker, the soothing music almost drowning out conversation.

Thanks to Dick, Andrena and Tony for sharing the adventure, but especially to the now generations (?) of diggers that have made this trip possible. From the opening of Notts II to non divers, to the more recent three counties connection, your work is greatly appreciated and we now can't wait to try some of the longer through trips you've made possible.

19th January 2017 - Ah-ah, ah! Ah-ah, Ah! Valhalla I am coming...

Given that Tony was so impressed with his first visit to Lost Johns with Dick that he'd gone back a few days later, it seemed right that we should try a trip to the bottom of the pitches as soon as possible. 

Unlike the last time we had tried this, when all I can remember was gathering every bit of rope and every maillon we possess and shoving them in innumerable tackle bags, split between the two of us, Dick had pulled off an organisational master stroke. There were three neatly packed bags, one each and a plan that would have us each rigging a couple of pitches.

Dick set off like a whippet down an enlarged rabbit hole and was soon rigging the first of his pitches while Tony and I followed more sedately, enjoying what seem to be the purpose built traverses above the streamway and holes.

The first two pitches swiftly dispatched, I took over for Candle and Shistol, before a short piece of horizontal cave brought us to the Battleaxe traverse.

The traverse is a fantastic piece of cave, exciting bridging above the heard, but unseen, streamway far below.  Passing over the first y-hang we made our way to the very end of the traverse, where a rather cramped game of leap frog crossed with cat's cradle put Tony on point.

Muttering something about "progression in SRT skills!", he moved up to rig the y-hang before descending the superb Valhalla pitch.

12th February 2016 - Back to Boxhead

Dick rigging the main pitch

Returning up from the bottom of Lost Pot

Journey to the source of the blue pipes

The joys of epiglottis passage

29th January 2016 - Discretion is the better part of Valhalla...

Having gathered together pretty much every rope and maillon we own to get us to the bottom of Lost Johns, there was absolutely no way I could manage a camera too, so sorry no pictures.

Heavily laden we soon realised it's been a while since we'd visited Lost Johns as we found ourselves walking through the wrong gate. We jumped back in the van and a few minutes later were in the right field, climbing down into the streamway.

Dick's recollection of the system soon came back and as I sploshed around in the stream, he moved swiftly along a higher traverse line.  With each passing pitch the load of tackle bags decreased till at the start of the Battleaxe traverse we were down to our final one.

At the end of the traverse we looked down into the gloom of Valhalla and listened to the crashing water. Our warm dry perch suddenly seemed very cosy and it didn't take much to convince Dick that this should be our turn around point.

While I'm pretty sure that I don't have many things in common with Madonna, enjoying a decent pint of Timmy Taylor's is one of them. Not sure if she ever drinks in the Snooty Fox though.

20th March 2009 - Lost Johns

It was quite an evening in Yorkshire. Wonderful light provided by a sun on an early Spring afternoon. Waiting at Devils Bridge it seemed that the whole world was in their cars, but driving up onto Leck fell we surfaced into a halcyon landscape which we had to ourselves as per usual. We headed off down into Lost Johns again, this time the whole team knew where to go, and travelled down four abseils to the sump. We negioatiated the duck en route which seemed the only unpleasant part of the whole system. Back in the Snooty Fox we saw that next Friday is disco night. Something to look forward to at last.

13th March 2009 - Lost Johns

With a combined age of over 200 years (when will these guys grow up), the team assembled on Leck fell with an assortment of rope lengths (with a combined age of at least 200 years thanks to Johns museum piece). As usual, some of the team tried to look like they knew what was going on and where the cave was whilst Dick effortlessly put the correct ropes into the correct bags and headed off. We choose two routes down into Lost Johns and had a near faultless trip, meeting up at the swopover for a break.

Phil in New Roof Traverse

Phil's lights were on there way out and Tom's resourcefulness was never challenged as he arranged a jury rig which got the job done and saw him out.

Phil exploring the cave - without a light!

As usual, it was nice to stand out amongst the posh lot in the Snooty Fox where they had matching glasses for each brew of beer. There was talk of an end of season bash but as usual, no driver could be thought of. John tried to engineer an early end to the season but it seems trips up until Easter, not the spring equinox, will have to be tackled.

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20th Dec 2007 - Lost Johns

This trip started with John and his lost long Johns. Then direct to Lost Johns, before John got lost in Lost Johns (with Alistair). Ground was still frozen from previous week, so virtually no water in the cave. Good turn out, Phil, Alistair, John and Tom. A few good photos again in the main shaft (mud pot?). Alistair can you name pitches?