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 we pulled on the rest of our gear and opened the heavy metal portal to Providence. Julie seemed happy with the plan of her leading while I read the description and it didn't seem long before we were at Stalactite corner and its junction with Dowbergill passage. I was quite pleased that, even though I kept the description close at hand (actually mainly at mouth as I needed both my hands), I could remember the general jist of the route and kept passing familiar landmarks.

Though I took my helmet off in anticipation, the stream level squeeze after 800 yard chamber didn't feel as bad as it has in the past, perhaps the lack of pasty in my brest pocket helped. At the next boulder choke we scrambled up from the stream and I tried to describe the esoteric little squeeze, that avoids the slimy climb above, to Julie. With my limited view from below she seemed to be in the right place and began a battle between hip bones and jammed blocks. Perhaps the choke had moved making it tighter? If Julue was struggling, glide as she does through most narrowings, then I didn't stand a chance. Was I fated to the grim looking rope climb over the choke? With a final wiggle she was through and I moved up to look at the gap she'd managed to get through. I had absolutely no chance. Fortunately a larger squeeze lay above the boulder she'd squeezed under and, with only limited acrobatics, I was also through.

Descending back towards the stream we came to a traverse level and, hoping this would preclude a thrutchy little rope climb we'd used in the past to avoid the narrows, carried on along it. Sure enough after a few metres we encountered the top of knotted rope and kept on at the same level. In my mind, previously we'd then just carried on until we'd met another rope to take us back down to stream level. Julie, ahead, was starting to wonder if it was possible to carry on at this level and so I made a recce down into the rift. Though I could see the streamway, the rift was far too narrow to descend, and it was an anxious few moments as I tried to move back up to a wider section in which I could keep moving forward. Providetially, after just a few metres the rift below me opened out and I could slither, unceremoniously, back down to the stream. Julie followed, pleased that she didn't have to find another way around my jammed body to go and get help.

Fast caving then followed and, warming up, we toyed with staying in the streamway for the rest of the traverse. The water really isn't that warm, even at this time of year, and so at the point the stream level route ducked under a boulder, we climbed up into the Gypsum traverse. At its end and and back down in the streamway we had a look at the sump below Hardy's Horror. Julie, having climbed onto the boulders that form it, could see my hand if I reached my arm through but neither of us fancied full immersion. 

The water at the Buddhist Temple duck was favorably low and after popping out from the end of the Dowber gill into Dow cave we enjoyed a blood warming stomp to the entrance. Enjoying a picnic by the babbling brook below the entrance a number of t-shirt and short clad walkers were trying to find some shade from the sun and we felt quite out of place in our neoprene and wellies.

It's a lovely walk back to the car, initially through a lush valley with its grazing cows, before dropping back down the Park Rash road to the car, giving ample opportunity to reflect on one of the finest underground journeys in the country.