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!
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.
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.
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……
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
