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

Julie enjoying the first pitch of Dihedral route

Nearing the rebelay ledge

Almost on the floor of main chamber

Returning up the Flood pitches

Flood (Wade's) entrance

 

 

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?

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.

25th July - CPC Penyghent Pot

 AJ, Mick, Simon, Jay, Adie, Patrick and Mike

After a fabulous AJ organised trip through King Pot with the Craven, I was keen to join another of his trips. The fact that it was to Penyghent pot made it even more unmissable. I've only visited once before, but it had been a fantastic trip and I was looking forward to another trip with both a reduced share of tackle and a potential visit to one of the extensions.

It's been dry for weeks now but there was definitely moisture in the air and rain forecast as I drove to pick up Mike. Excellent brownie courtesy of Sam, a quick cuppa, a brief chat with Mike's aunt and we were off again on the way to the club cottage in Horton. The club's carpark was busy with both vehicles and bodies beginning to sort tackle but a short shuffle worthy of a top level Tetris player soon had all parties accomodated and all hands on the bagging of the ropes. Mick, Simon, Jay and AJ I'd met on the previous King pot trip and I was introduced to Patrick and Adie, the club's tackle master. Along with rope we were going to rig/derig pitches with, there were also a number of 'decomissioned' ropes that were going to be used to replace the handlines that aid progress in the rift.

Walking up to the pot we experienced a sensation that has become somewhat unusual of late, rain. We felt sorry for the people heading up Penyghent, any other day in the last 6 weeks they'd have had clear views. Today though the clag was properly down. While the initial plan had been for a potential visit to the Friday the thirteenth extensions we were glad that we'd revised our plans to aiming solely for the sump. I for one would prefer no rain forecast before heading into the likes of Psycho crawl.

While the ramblers made their way up into the clouds, we cut off left at right angles to the main path, following a vague trod. Arriving at an area of shallow shakeholes our party spread out until the scaffolded entrance was located and the group once again coalesced. Watching a group of cavers kit up it soon becomes apparent that there are often many solutions to a problem. While everyone sported a harness, descender and jammers, the type and arrangement were almost as numerous as the number of people.

[In progress...]

23rd July 2026 - Roadside Ribblehead

With Mike up in Glen Coe and limited time on my hands before the arrival of visiting relatives, a short but interesting trip was required. The CNCC guide describes Middle Scar as "A quirky Ribblehead gem, involving swimming, a challenging climb and a memorable summertime adventure." Perfect, just what Tony and I needed!

You know it's going to be an adventure when you have to add a buoyancy aid to your kit list, though I definitely felt a little out of place amongst the hoards of t-shirt and short clad viaduct spotters wearing a full wetsuit in the baking sun. Fortunately it was only a hundred or so metres to the cave entrance in a shake hole deep enough to hide our niche activity from view. A barn owl was using the solitude of the depression for a mid morning snack and while it was probably annoyed by being interrupted, we were awed by its flight. We removed the sheep repelling grille from the entrance and within a few metres we needed both our neoprene and buoyancy, the water both deep and cold.

With buoyancy on the first few out of depth metres of canal are superb. You can just float and haul yourself along on the currently in situ ropes, taking a moment to observe the dive line emerging from the depths and the wet(ter) entrance. The ropes end at the point you can wade and with the exception of the occasional collision with a submerged rock rib or two, it's superb caving. Dry land brings a return to the more usual caving found in these parts before arrival at a waterfall that bars the way on.

Two ropes hung down, one either side of enthusiastic trickle that the fall had been reduced to by weeks of dry weather. Despite having rather cool flecks of reflective material in its sheath the rope on the right looked quite ropey in the other sense of the word, so we opted for that on the left. While initially I was puzzled by the description of the climb as 'holdless', the issue soon became apparent. There look like there are holds but any attempt to use them in anger would probably result in them crumbling away.

Over the dam at the top of the fall a closer inspection could be made of the ropes and their anchors. I felt we had chosen wisely. While the rope we'd used was belayed to a number of sound looking bolts by 'traditional' rigging, that on the left was threaded through a couple of more dubious looking bolts and secured by stopper knots to prevent it pulling through the hangers. As it was also worn through to the core in a number of places we removed it and left it to pick up on our way back. 

Further classic caving brings you to the only junction in the cave. The way straight on, Mudlark, we read lives up to its name and we didn't feel it necessary to fact check the description. Left, up an inlet, leads to the more enticing Rising Mirth and what is now one of my favourite pieces of passage anywhere. It's not particularly remarkable apart from a series of incredible chert bands. Prior to this I think all the chert bands I've seen lie, like the limestone beddings they're sandwiched by, in the horizontal plane. These lie in the vertical plane and intersect the passage at a range of angles, sometimes even at 90 degrees to each other. The result is a series of walls or dams that look like the Hulk has smashed through, their integrity in places looking like it would be similar to a stud wall.

A remarkable assault course therefore ensues as you try to thread yourself through them, channeling your time spent as a youth playing Operation. I've never seen anything like them anywhere else and, after a recent visit to New Goyden as well, I think chert has now made it into my top three when it comes to types of rock. My favourite walls being where calcite had grown over the chert leaving glistening white walls instead of black. Sorry Mike when we take you to visit I'm going to be taking my big camera box!

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end and our passage 'finished' at another 5 m high waterfall in Parba pot. While the survey (it's fantastic that the CNCC descriptions now have links to the cavemaps site that they now host with all its online surveys) shows that the passage continues above the fall, we're told it's similar in nature to Mudlark and would also require further climbing aid. While turning around is normally associated with merely having to cover previously trodden ground, I was excited to have another opportunity to experience its amazing geology.

Despite our spending a couple of hours exploring, mainly in the water, we hadn't made much of an impact on its temperature and the final canal still felt cold. The excellent little homemade ladder allowed easy egress from the flooded section and back up into the beautifully engineered entrance. As soon as we climbed the metre or so out of the depression the car was immediately visible and we were there in a matter of minutes.

This is an absolutely stunning trip for small groups of careful cavers and it feels surreal that sucn adventure can be had so close to the crowds at Ribblehead. The only down side being trying to time the more revealing parts of your change with the few moments when there aren't people taking photos of the viaduct.

9th July 2026 - A pause for reflection

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...

1st July 2026 - I can see clearly now

Since our previous visit to Spectacle at the end of May, work has put paid to a few potential trips and this week too was going to be a non starter. I have fantastic colleagues though and Mr Hamilton exceptionally kindly agreed to running a parents' evening by himself allowing a trip in a brief weather window.

Caving on a Wednesday as opposed to a Thursday meant there were different folk around and we had the pleasure of bumping into one of the Thunder pot diggers as we set off from the lay by. Just before Heron we heard a muffled bleating sound and peering down a small hole we could just make out the nose of a sheep who, living in an area famed for it, had decided to try its hoof at pot holing. Fortunately she had the attribute of being a team player and allowed a straightforward capture and hoick back to the surface. Undettered by her initial experience, she seemed keen for more and followed us towards Spectacle before being distracted by a patch of grass.

A month of warm and fairly well watered weather seemed to have resulted in a huge expansion of the tussocks and the crossing of the moor from Heron seemed much harder work than previously, an exchange of waves with the diggers at their tripod giving but brief respite.

Our previous recce allowed us to find the entrance much more easily than before and we were soon down the first pitch and the ensuing free climbs. At Splutter crawl there were distinct pools of water, rather than the continuous canal of our earlier visit, so I assumed my best Superman pose and inserted my body. I'm still not quite sure about where my source of forward propulsion came from but I was concious of trying to use my toes to udge me forward inch by inch. A couple of metres in, the cave seemed to give me a welcoming hug and there were a couple of opportunities to cool my face in well placed puddles before a narrow slot in the floor signalled an expansion of the passage. The fun though continued with a head first descent of 2 metres of ladder which I'm glad Mike wasn't able to witness.

Pulling the rope I'd been towing the tackle sacks emerged through the crawl, shortly followed by Mike. The second pitch was close at hand and, though described as 'narrow and awkward', after Splutter crawl, seemed fine.

The next obstacle was the Wet Crawl. While 'wet' is a perfectly adequate adjective to describe the crawl, low, loose and quite long could also be used without arguement. As ever in these situations, Winston Churchill's paraphrased words about a tackle sack being a good way to ruin an enjoyable cave, came to mind. The bow wave of displaced gravel in front of the pushed sack was frustrating, but when an enthusiastic push broke a thin flake of rock from the side of the crawl and loose rubble poured in, I was genuinely frightened. Fortunately as the stones knitted together the flow stopped and I was able to carefully clear a way forward, the end of the crawl lying just a few metres ahead.

Once more in relatively expansive surroundings we redonned our SRT kit and scrambled over a boulder or two to the impressive Dodd's pitch. I struggle to find rebelay bolts, even with my lamp on full beam and so resorted to the natural described in NFTFH which was more than adequate to give a free hang. Just below the bottom of the pitch, the lower of twin eyeholes (the source of the pot's name?) gave access to the penultimate and increasingly loose pitch. Where this ends is a matter of opinion as the angle of the pile of choss gradually relents. 

A further scrambling descent of the Great Rubble Heap leads to the final pitch. It's worth noting that there is now a resin bolt here, so no hanger required, as well as a forlorn plank of wood that seems to do a surprisingly good job of preventing the pitch filling with scree. A few metres down the sum of the obstacles we'd overcome to get here, coupled with a narrowing of the pitch and further tottering choss got the better of me. This was going to be another bit of passage that we'd reluctantly leave for when Tony could join us. Mike seemed happy with this arrangement and we began our swim up the slope to the bottom of our ropes.

Fortunately the Wet Crawl seemed shorter on the return and we soon seemed to be at the ladder contemplating how we were going to get our tackle sacks back through, the slot at the crawls entrance denying an easy pull through. Depositing the bags into this slot, I crawled over them, once again towing a rope behind. Mike then udged up into the crawl, tied on each bag and manoeuvred them into position for me to pull through. I doubt that this was as easy to do as he made it seem, but they were both soon on their drag through the crawl.

Normally it takes a couple of days before I start to ache after a trip but putting my SRT kit back on, I could feel it in my shoulders straight away. It was with quite a bit of relief that I pulled out onto the moor, the not insignificant rain slightly worrying as we hadn't expected it for a further hour or so. Even the short climb back up to the car caused leg muscles to remind me they'd been working hard and removing my wet t-shirt proved to be quite a struggle with shoulders now calling time.

As we drove back towards Kirkby the rain fell ever harder and it was a desolate town centre we found on arrival. The Barn was shut tight, the Snooty Fox likewise, so through deepening puddles we tried Avanti, no joy, before finally a welcome in the Red Dragon. Joined by Uncle Dan we more than doubled the clientel and the Scots barmaid seemed more than happy to close up around us while we drank. It has to be said that no-one would ever confuse any one of the three of us with a professional basketball player so it made Dan's evening when he was asked if he could help reach some napkins from a high shelf.

As the barmaid contemplated the flooding cellar, I was wishing for the immense shoulders of the referree in charge of the football game on the TV and knowing that the satisfaction of this trip would last considerably longer than the aches and pains.

28th May 2026 - What's Goyden on here then?

For as long as I can remember a trip to Nidderdale has been on our wish list, sporting as it does a trio of caves that should, I'm told, be on every LCMLA level 2's ticket. The coinciding of a period of dry weather and a holiday Thursday aswell as a well timed MOT and service for Tony's car meant the dream could become a reality.

A brief cuppa and slice of, as ever, delicious rhubarb and custard cake at Mike's, a garage pick up of Tony and we were East bound on the Skipton road. Landmarks becoming less familiar and the steady flow of travellers' bow topped wagons heading towards Appleby gave an exotic feel to our Oriental adventure. Past Grassington and I really had no idea where we were anymore, the moors becoming bleaker, their gritstone crenellations silhouetted against cloudless blue skies. Surely there can't be any caves here, it's the wrong sort of rock? The sign for Stump Cross caverns soon put paid to that theory.

We descended into the metropolis of Pately bridge and began the steady climb into Upper Nidderdale before parking next to a bricked up railway tunnel within sight of our first objective of the day, Manchester Hole. Hawthorne in full bloom shone bright in the late May sunshine as we crossed the stiles to the entrance. The cool darkness below in stark contrast to the warmth and daylight above. Tony, keen to fully explore with the aim of taking trips here in future headed up stream while Mike and I headed down.

The entrance to Manchester pot

If this was your first experience of caving I'm sure you'd be impressed, it's a stunning stream way. At a knotted rope up a mud slope Tony and I chose to take the high road through the main chamber while Mike took the low through the stream. With no other navigational choices to make we shortly arrived at the sump pool with seemingly no way on. Fortunately we had an ever excellent Braemoor guide with us and quickly located the obscured, wet crawl through to the actual sump chamber.

Tony exiting the damp passage through to the sump chamber

Mike too, enjoying the cool waters

From here the guide that I'd read took you to the surface at Bax pot in just three, fairly innocuous sounding sentences to complete a lovely trip, exactly what Tony was wanting for his clients and what I was expecting for our day out. Mike though had with him a newer guide and a different plan.

He read out the next part of the description and following his instructions I returned down towards the stream. I don't think the next bits of passage will be on Tony's tour itinerary. There's low bits, there's wet bits and there are low, wet bits, even in fact some low, loose, wet bits. Worryingly when we arrived at the 'jumble of boulders tied up with string', the string was missing and Mike quoting other Sound of Music lyrics to me didn't do much to ease my nerves. Mike kept us on track with the description and after a final shimmy through some boulders we were in the vastness of Goyden. Locating a chain that was to aid our exit we stashed our gear and consulted the guide and survey. Tony's survey had a lovely tour, suitable for a group, marked on it but oncd again Mike had found an alternative trip suggestion.

Getting our heads around the layout of Goyden pot

The route is well described by Braemoor so I'll leave you with the general gist. Follow crawly passages either with flood detritus on the floor or improbably wedged in the ceiling via a number of rope and ladder climbs and over the occasional pipe traverse. At all times marvel at the incredible chert nodules and try not to worry too much about the fact that wherever you are the cave probably floods to the roof.

At one point we emerged out of the impressive, main Goyden entrance and basked in the Sun. All too soon though we retraced our steps and then followed a boulder slope back down to our bags. From them we enjoyed a vertical adventure playground climbing chains, ladders and the odd pile of stacked boulders. The vertical shenanigans finished at a lidded entrance and we emerged from Church pot into a small dry valley. Where we were now in relation to the main valley I had no idea (in actual fact we were still in the main valley), but my attention was drawn to a couple of Kites seemingly annoyed by the behaviour of a Buzzard.

Not quite sure where we were and also not quite sure where we were going we headed back to the road and while Mike returned for the car Tony and I began making our way down the valley. It's worth noting that up to this point we'd been carrying our SRT gear and a couple of ropes for the pitches in New Goyden. Personally if I were to do the trip again I'd leave them on the surface and collect them only when heading for New Goyden.

Taking on our usual roles when we play 'Hunt the cave', Tony and I slithered around on some boulders in the stream bed while Mike located the entrance and made the most of the shade from the tree above it. Our well carried SRT kit was finally donned and we made our way down the short entrance crawl to the top of the pitches. These are rigged from new looking bolts all except for the deviation, a more traditional looking bolt.

At the foot of the pitches we found ourselves in a streamway of impressive proportion. Upstrezm quickly led to a duck allowing access to the upstream sump. Nicely warmed from our brief sojourn in the Sun I was reluctant to get wet again so turned and headed back with the stream's flow. Again not far from our ropes we found the frothy downstream sump. A muddy climb just before it however led up to a brief wriggle through boulders and the impressive Planetarium. A small inlet trickle, Astronomers' passage led to further evidence of the Black Sheep diggers handywork: a low dig following the inlet with some impressive dry stone walling and another aluminium ladder leading up a small aven. Wratch about completed we ascended our ropes with Tony kindly taking on derigging duties. On the surface we once again basked in the now, early evening, Sun before the short wander back to the car. 

While it was great to visit three totally new caves in a day the highlights for me were the connection between Manchester and Goyden and Goyden pot itself. It's a truly remarkable place which, while devoid of any calcite formations of note, more than makes up for this with some unique rock architecture. 

26th May 2026 - What a Corker!

Reading the papers or watching the news it can be hard to disagree with Jarvis Cocker's 2006 treatise on the nature of those running the World. A quality day's caving, or even a bad day's caving for that matter, is therefore a fine antidote to the general state of things.

Firstly you tend to be with fantastic friends but then there are the guides and topos. Equipped with either a Braemoor or Cooper description you feel navigationally invulnerable. Incredibly, for such quality work, the Braemoor routes are freely available online (here) and while NFTFH was purchased, profits from it went to cave conservation projects. The CNCC topos (here) and indeed the majority of the bolts we dangle from are also produced, installed and maintained by volunteers. Then you have days like today where your chosen trip is only possible due to the hard work of folk prerigging nearly all the entrances to the Gaping Ghyll system, cheers to the Bradford for this. Finally there are the diggers without who many, now classic, trips just wouldn't exist. Many of their stories can be found in the excellent Adventures Underground, the profits of which again have gone to good causes. I feel exceptionally priviledged to be able to escape to this bubble of magnanimous altruism, even for an evening.

Parking in Newby allowed a pleasant walk up, avoiding the half term crowds, to the tented shanty town surrounding Gaping Ghyll. The new online booking system was working a treat, a relaxed atmosphere pervading the shake hole and no queue snaking its way back down towards Bar pot. Perhaps the Bradford should offer consultancy services to the Nepali government, they'd soon sort the Everest queue. We checked in at the winch tent and set off to find Corky's. We found various other shake holes and Hensler's before finally locating our chosen entrance. Not so sure about the "250 m on a bearing of 110°". "Just behind the toilet block" being possibly a better description.

We changed out of our sweat sodden clothes into, even more inappropriate for the temperature, neoprene, fuelled up on banana cake, quaffed some drink and descended the ladder into the coolness. The dug/blasted nature of the passage was immediately evident as we crawled, via a couple of short drops, towards the first pitch. It's recommended to approach this feet first along the preceeding crawl and this approach did make it easy to get onto the pitch.

Short pitches then come thick (thin?) and fast before the Nemesis crawl which isn't as bad as it sounds, though it is at a slightly funny angle for much of its length. Another short pitch intervenes before a shuffle under (through?) the Elephant's arse leads to Chemo Tim, the penultimate pitch.

Carefully descending the boulder slope below, the echo from beyond became unmissable, something big lay beyond. If we weren't disappointed I can't imagine the emotion among the diggers as they reached the aptly named Vindication. It's an awe inspiring place that drops you into the vastness of Mud Hall. At the foot of the pitch we had chance to do something we'd been unable to do since the start of the trip - walk. 

It wasn't to be a huge leg stretch, just a wander up to the top of the col that leads into Boulder hall before retracing our steps for 30 m to find on the left, behind jammed blocks, the entrance to Mud Hensler's. A slippy slide down for a couple of metres before an uninviting hole on the right led to an even less inviting muddy slip down to the crawl. "Are ducks a thing?" is an oft discussed question in our office and this became the subject of conversation, albeit about ducks of a different feather, as we passed an aqueous section before an almost pleasant crawl over smooth, low friction, bedrock - our small bags containing our SRT kit just seemed to keep sliding when pushed. Suddenly we popped out of the crawl into a towering aven with a rope hanging out of the darkness, Hensler's High aven.

I love the tales of how the ever resourceful Hensler tried to ascertain the height of this aven, from rockets to Helium balloons trailing tape measures. While shy of his initial estimates it's still an impressive pitch and I'm glad I wasn't rigging it - I'm not sure how I'd reach the deviation at the transition between open aven and the shapely runnel in its side.

While Hensler's aven lies directly beneath the entrance of Hensler's pot, inbetween the two the passage follows almost 200 m of dog leg. Velcro passage lived up to its name grabbing at my bag and SRT kit at every opportunity before we arrived at Burnley pitch. At the top of the pitch we removed our gear for the thrutch to follow. While never tight the connection and Birth canal were often snug, at least navigation was straight forward, just follow the shot holes.

Haigh's Bottom pitch (is there a Top pitch or is it purely anthropomorphic?) allowed us to stand once again and also to admire the pitch's rock architecture. Monica's, AC/DC and Buzzy pitches followed in short order (though I did almost miss Buzzy opting for a side trip to the ropes hanging from Big Benn aven). From the pitches it was once again back onto hands and knees with the occasional respite of flat out sections in which to rest in the cooling water.

A solitary frog signalled that the exit was close before a short piece of shoring, a wall of warm air and the foot of the exit ladder. We emerged back into the Dales in the middle of a heat wave and I staggered back to our clothes drying at Corky's, my legs unaccustomed to walking after nearly four hours of crawling. Thirst quenched washing down another piece of banana bread we made our way to sign out at the winch tent. Those about to descend and those who'd just returned determinable by their expression of either anticipation or quiet reflection.

For us too the return to Newby allowed us to begin to contemplate a truely cracking journey through two amazing pots. Even after a few drinks back in the Barn the experience still hadn't fully been absorbed. In NFTFH Cooper states that trips only made it into the book if they left them smiling for a few days after. While far from a Black book trip, where use of prerigging would definitely be eschewed, it's a trip that will definitely keep me grinning for a while.

21st May 2026 - River of no return

It's that time of year when the Bradford pothole club take up residence at Gaping ghyll. As well as setting up the winch into main chamber, they also kindly rig most of the entrances. This allows the visiting caver to choose from a smorgasboard of through trip possibilities all without the encumberment of tackle sacks. It doesn't get much better than this! Despite everything being rigged the recent wet weather limited our choice slightly so Tony chose Stream to Marilyn from the specials board and we headed to Clapham. The village was living up to its name with Fell beck making a thundering entrance into the village and we wondered if it might be too wet even for our 'wet alternatives'.

On the walk up through Trow ghyll we encountered a couple of heavily laden Bradford lads. Mike kindly reduced their load and we chatted about the recent successful climbs out of the main chamber. As we had our own call out and they weren't winching they also suggested we could just crack on with our trip rather than having to head up to their camp to let them know our intentions.

Leaving the main trod we headed directly for the dry valley on the slopes of Ingleborough and at its foot located the tubed entrance of Stream.

Last time we were here I was preoccupied with helping a bird of prey escape the confines of the tube so I'd completely forgotten about the slightly awkward moves between the entrance and second pitches. Once through these though the cave opens up to superb proportions. The pitches that follow are classic Yorkshire caving and it's almost too soon that you arrive at the horizontal part of the cave, a dash past a couple of waterfalls waking you from your revery.

Fortunately Mike has a good memory and led us through to Sand cavern without the numerous side excursions that we went on during our previous visit. At the junction between South and South East passage we dropped our gear for the obligitory trip to main chamber. It truly is a magnificent place and we're so fortunate to have it so close to home.

Retracing our steps to our cache at the junction we followed the trade route to the bottom of the Bar pot pitches before carrying on to South East aven and the drop down into Hensler's new crawl for a refreshing squirm. Despite our earlier concerns the water levels were fine and at the end of the crawl we went on a quick sight seeing tour to Hensler's master cave, passage on a much grander scale than either of his eponymous crawls.

From where the Disappointment water joins the master cave it's just a short distance before the scramble up to the bottom of the pitches and another classic Yorkshire streamway. It's worth noting that the warnings about loose rock should definitely be heeded, I'm really not sure what's holding some of the pitches together.

The distinctive grating cover of Marilyn was silhoueted against the dying light of a perfect Dales evening. Not for the first time this evening we'd missed last orders but once again Casa Brooks came to the rescue. More pubs should definitely serve cake with their pints!

Tony's Blair Witchesque video of New Hensler's:

14th May 2026 - I went, I watched, I wussed

After an amazing trip to King pot I was intrigued to go and have a look at some of the other East Kingsdale classics. With a future Spectacle-Vesper exchange in mind I wanted to make sure I'd get through Splutter crawl. Fortunately Mike was also up for a recce so we headed up onto the moor on a glorious evening.

We found the big pile of stones that acts as a distinctive way point for pots in this area and located Vesper before retracing our steps back to Spectacle. The entrance didn't quite match the CNCC description but after a pitch and a couple of short drops we found a crawl that did match in all but one way. While the description mentioned shallow puddles of water, this crawl sported continuous and deeper than I'd have liked water.

I sat and looked for a bit before deciding I definitely wasn't up for it before letting Mike have a closer look. I'm pretty sure he'd have gone for it but I was almost back at the pitch by this point and so he (reluctantly?) followed.

From the comfort of an armchair I think the CNCC description is making the most of the constrained space and throwing the word tight in early, describing the entrance pitch, is probably just forewarning of things to come. NFTFH with a bit more space gives, as ever, a spot on description.

9th May 2026 - CPC X TNC

Before the trip report begins, just to acknowledge that this is the 300th Thursday night club post on a blog set up almost 20 years ago by Tom. While he doesn't spend as much time underground he's still adventuring as hard as ever. There's loads of inspiring stuff on his website here and on his YouTube channel here.

Club caving. I've had a fantastic caving "career" spanning 20 odd years, going on trips with mates and eschewing the club scene due to not wanting to spend hours waiting at the bottom of cold, wet pitches for 20 people to ascend before you. A few years ago though, I attended a few of the truly excellent CNCC training events (see here) and was chatting about how fortunate we were as Dales cavers: free high quality topos, safe well bolted caves and massively subsidised training. With being a recipient of all of these things I'd mentioned about it feeling a bit wrong not to be giving anything back in return. The trainer, Ian Patrick, suggested signing up to the CNCC volunteer list (here) and joining a club. The club in question was the CPC and soon after I'd paid my subs and joined up.

Weekends tend to be busy with work or family commitments (thus caving on a Thursday night) so, with the exception of a terrific trip to the sump in Whitescar, I hadn't managed to make it on any club trips. A free Saturday though coincided with a trip to a cave I'd wanted to visit for a while, King pot. With the recent passing of the legendary Geoff Yeadon I'd been rewatching the fantastic Sid Perou films on YouTube about the record breaking dives in Kingsdale and wanted to see the King pot downstream sump for myself.

Friday night my bed time reading was the trip's entry in Not for the faint hearted, followed by a chapter of Pete Boardman's Sacred Summits to put everything into perspective. Saturday morning felt strange, no ropes to sort, no laminated description and a panic over what to wear. This wasn't due to caving being a particularly stylish sport but more not knowing how fast we'd be moving and whether we'd be taking on some of the more aqueous parts of the trip. I threw a number of options into the van, drove youngest to work, picked up some mini pork pies and Snickers from Lidl and headed over to Kingsdale. 

Arriving at the layby by Braida Garth I was warmly greeted by the trip organiser AJ and the rest of the team, Jay, Mick, Simon, Julie and Toby began to assemble. With the team fully present it was time to get changed and as others seemed to be getting into neofleeces I followed suit, putting a balaclava in my pocket to ward off the cold if necessary. AJ had split the tackle between 7 small bags so we each had a small load and no single cumbersome tackle sack.

The walk up the hill provided a chance to start to get to know my fellow club mates. Currently the news is even more doomy and gloomy than usual and I spend most of my time at work with kids who seem hell bent on making life difficult for other people. It's extremely refreshing therefore to meet new, great people who actually reaffirm your faith in humanity.

The angle of the hill relented as we moved out of the woods onto the open moor and Julie, with the coordinates of the pot in her watch, soon had us at the entrance shake hole. Knowing it was going to be a fair while before I saw it again, I took a moment to take in Kingsdale in all its glory before following down into the shake hole and the rocky slit at its base.

Oh! King pot has a reputation but I wasn't expecting it to rear its head so soon. The 2 or so metre climb down looked awfully narrow. I couldn't call it a day here though, so slithered down, reversing this manoeuvre being the first item on a growing list of things I'd have to worry about on this trip. In the small chamber that followed AJ was quickly changing my mind about club trips, the handline was already rigged and folk were rapidly passing through the squeeze. Tackling this obstacle with SRT kit on a slither of confidence returned, it wasn't particularly squeezy, though these things are often different on return, especially when tired.

Once again arriving at the first, Perfect, pitch the rope was already rigged and a couple of people already down. Ahead I could hear calls for rope bags to be passed forward, this was definitely not AJ's first rodeo. Our tackle sack was hung at the start of a traverse over a pit as the in situ rope appeared sound and we were soon at the second pitch with its slightly constricted start. Once through I was able to pass my bag forward and enjoy the rare delight of tackle free caving.

A section of crawling followed with a couple of junctions. As well as being able to swiftly and efficiently rig it transpires AJ's also a dab hand at impromptu dry walling, the direction to go at each junction never therefore being in doubt. Before long we started what was, for me, the trickiest obstacle yet. A bedding plane traverse over an awkward width slot. Any appendage that slipped down from the horizontal plane was immediately grabbed by this rift and I began wishing for core muscles that I don't have to keep me out of it. Towards the end of this crawl a left and then right hand bend in quick succession add a further twist. Fortunately helpful advice was forthcoming from those who'd successfully negotiated these turns (lay on your right for the first and then swing your legs down to allow you to lay on your left for the second). The sense of relief at passing this point was as sudden as the 4 m drop that followed. Without the in situ rope this would be a heart in mouth moment, but with it perfectly manageable.

In the chamber at the bottom of the rope we regrouped, Simon with bag number 7, the last bag, bringing up the rear. It was at this point I discovered that not all the bags were equally light (heavy?), Simon's contained not only the longest rope for the final pitch but a large first aid kit and other group paraphernalia. I suddenly felt very guilty at my unladen passage through this bit of cave.

The way on follows Queensway (personally I'd say more to the right rather than the "directly ahead" in NFTFH). Now I'm not sure about this bit of passage, I think it probably says more about the high quality of the chat on the way out that it passed in the blink of an eye whereas on the way back, mainly solo, it seemed indeterminable.

Emma's pitch intervenes and Anne's is bypassed before the vast King Henry Hall. Bloodaxe follows, then Victoria before Elizabeth. This has to be one of my favourite pitches. I don't want to give spoilers, just go and enjoy it! With nothing to better it, removal and caching of SRT gear seemed more than appropriate and we once again regrouped, Simon now finally free of his burden.

The slippy up and over of Jane's pitch was assisted by the in situ ropes and a couple of additional slings before the final bit of crawling and short drop into the East Kingsdale main drain. We stomped up to the upstream sump, possibly the most inviting sump pool I've ever visited before retracing our steps and following the stream to the more traditional, brown and murky, historical sump.

The Black book describes the journey on from the sumps through the Grasshopper series but the general consensus was that we were more than happy having reached this point and the upward journey beckoned. Once again AJ's organisation was a master stroke and though it felt wrong at some points ending up bagless, his insistence that full bags kept being passed forward worked superbly. While some bits of passage seemed significantly longer than on our way in, we steadily ticked off obstacles and arrived back at what I felt to be the hardest, the crawl-traverse.

Keeping my bag at right angles to the rift and passing it through a couple of short cuts meant that its transportation wasn't too bad through the t-shaped passage but unfortunately Julie's bag chose this moment to disgorge its contents leaving her Stop just beyond even the longest arms reach at the bottom of the rift. Fortunately some next level thinking from those behind turned a krab on a tether into a very effective hook and line and the day was saved.

Entrance fever now gripped us and the pace seemed to significantly accelerate with this obstacle behind us and we were soon up the last couple of pitches. With elation over riding any fatigue even the last rift climb onto the moor passed without issue and we were once again on the sun drenched slopes of Kingsdale after about 7 hours underground. The walk down to Braida Garth was a lot less sweat soaked than the climb up from it though the gentle rise from the farm back to the road caused my muscles to point out that they'd been working pretty hard.

Huge thanks to AJ for his planning of the trip, to Mick for nobly volunteering to sort all the ropes out post trip and everyone else for the quality company - my previous ideas about what a club trip would be like have been blown away.