16th August 2026 - Well met at Hensler's

With a loud crack the first staple, from my brand new high powered staple gun, pierced the wood of the chair frame. My initial foray into upholstery then stopped, almost as soon as it had begun, with a phonecall from Julie. She explained that with AJ, they'd set off on a Hensler's themed trip around the Gaping gill system. They'd rigged Hensler's pot, set off down Wet Hensler's but after 15 minutes of crawling through cold water had become unsure of the way on and so had retraced their route. After half an hour, in energy sapping cold, they'd headed straight to the main chamber and been whisked to the surface by the winch. This left their SRT kit at the bottom of Hensler's High aven and Hensler's lot rigged. Would I like to join a trip to recover their kits and derig the pot? After being beasted by my wife on a brutal, but beautiful, run around Buttermere I wasn't feeling my strongest but, with another chance to descend Dihedral, I was definitely up for it.

Parking the car I said to Julie that it was going to be slow walk up to the gill. She was feeling pretty battered from the previous day too so we began our slow trudge up onto the moor. At the pot we met AJ and began to put some flesh on the bones of the plan. AJ and Julie were to get the winch down while Max, who was also joining us, and I would head down Dihederal and meet them at the bottom. Unfortunately, with public winching taking place, we couldn't use the pitch so Max and I headed to Marilyn, planning to meet the other pair at the foot of Hensler's aven.

At the bottom of the Marilyn pitches, Max found the krab attahed to his Stop would't open. A little gentle tapping, a little WD40 saliva, but it wasn't budging. Only opening his central maillon would allow it to be removed. We dropped down into the streamway and the junction with the master cave. At this point I know the turn for Hensler's aven is either a little way up or down stream, but can never remember which, so downstream we headed. Realising fairly quickly it was the wrong way, we u- turned and soon found the step up into the required passage, just upstream of where we had initially been.

Hearing other people ahead I wondered if it was the pair we'd been following down Marilyn but no, it was AJ having a good stomp down the passage having come from the main chamber via Mud hall and Mud Hensler's. It would have been tricky to time both our arrivals any better. At the bottom of High Hensler's (please have a listen to this incredible recording of Eric Hensler describing the measurement of its height) another attempt was made on opening Max's krab. While he pulled one way on it, AJ pulled the other and I tried turning the lock on the gate. Nothing, it wasn't for budging. 

Having heard of the joys ahead in Hensler's pot, Max headed for Small Mammal via Mud Hensler's and I began my way up the pitch. I appreciated a bit of a lie down at the top before, all too soon, Julie joined me and I moved on to Burnley pitch. With having had a bit of a 'mare at the pitch head when I was last here with Mike, I opted for a different tactic, ignored the sling which had pulled my into the vice of the rift, and went for a direct belly flop onto the ledge on the right, much easier. By the time I'd my SRT kit off for the struggle's to come, Julie was at the bottom of the pitch and I could haul up the first bag. All reunited, I began my mental and physical battle with the tackle sack. By the time we reached the short climb up into the rift a judge would probably have declared a draw between us. Sacks though are in it for the long game and my limited reserves were already being eaten into.

AJ passed the sack up to me and I tried pushing it ahead of me in the rift, it immediately pulled a blocking move from its repertoire and I was left with no choice but to vary my attack. Clipped to my belt and dragging now, I tried once more. Initially I thought this was going to work, despite it jamming at every move, AJ was behind me to release it and we slowly udged forward. Due to the length of the tether though, the bag lay on my lower leg, my only source of forward propulsion and we ground to a halt again. I called a time out. Laying in the rift I could hear AJ behind me enacting plan C. Shortly he told me to start moving again, I was free, barely able to feel the rope he'd tied round my ankle. At the first widening I was able to turn, look my nemesis squarely in the eye and haul. The knock out blow had been delivered. Any last, futile, resistance was soon countered by a quick flick from AJ and I knew we'd be through the rift.

While there's still a lot of crawling to go, there's nothing as snug, and I began to really enjoy the caving. AJ trucked on with the first bag, while I began to fill the second one for Julie. The plan was that I'd then put the final rope in the smaller, empty bag I'd been carrying my SRT kit in. Almost before we knew it though the duck appeared and was past and the bottom of the entrance ladder visible, our keeping up with which pitch we were on having gone completely to pot. I don't know if it's due to the extended warm weather we've been having, but the moor smelled particularly sweat as I exited the drum and stepped down onto living plants once more. The tackle sacks must have an agreement with the tussocks and they put up a valiant rearguard action but, enlivened by the sunlight, nothing was going to stop us now. Earlier Julie had suggested going on a second trip but there was absolutely no chance of that, I was spent.

At the sink hole life was bustling on, members of the public heading to or from the winch and club members on their way to duties or enjoying a cuppa. Max had made it safely out too and we decided on a working brew while washing the ropes in Fell beck, energised by some quality cake. My face also had a good scrub before getting changed for the walk vack down the fell. Unfortunately for Julie I'd left my dry t- shirt in the car so only had my very chic, new AV fleece vest to wear. Fortunately we only met a solitary dog walker on the way down and her 11 year old dog was much more interested in ear scritches than what dapper Yorkshire cavers are wearing these days.

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, the light green canvas of the toilet tent reflecting the unrelenting sun, clearly marking our destination.

There was calm activity down in the shake hole and we both wandered over to chat with people we knew. Unfortunately I didn't realise Ian was working at the time with a journalist  - sorry Ian. We changed and signed in on the board and headed down towards the winch. Huge thanks to Paul and the young lady, sorry I don't know your name, who directed us to the Jib tunnel entrance saving us the mortification of wandering aimlessly under the watchful gaze of the numerous onlookers. Thanks too to Paul for his sage advice on getting out of Flood, "Just follow the water", worked a treat.

We ducked under the wooden pole with its warning sign, declaring a deep hole beyond, and clipped into the traverse line. At the pitch I was blown away. You don't normally get weather in a cave but here I was looking down on a cloud of sunlit mist. As the descent continued poor Julie was hit by an increasingly superlative ridden barrage of commentry. This is an incredible pitch. At the rebelay ledge I shouted up, "rope free", and quickly readied my camera. Apologies to Nick who was following us down for my photo faff.

Julie enjoying the first pitch of Dihedral route

Nearing the rebelay ledge

After what had seemed a long first pitch I was convinced we must be close to the chamber floor, but at the next rebelay I realised we were probably only half way down. The chamber bathed in both natural and flood light a truely awesome sight.

Almost on the floor of main chamber

The scramble up at the end of the chamber was helped by both the in situ lighting and handline at its top we both paused to take in the view again before disappearing along the heavily draughting tunnel that was our way on. Familiar landmarks passed we entered the, awkward for me, last section of passage to South East pot. I hardly ever get this bit right and, as ever, turned right too early meaning a slight descent onto, and longer traverse of, South East. At the low point, where the passage we should have taken emerges, a rope hung from the gloom above. I clipped in, held my breath, and swung out, the vastness below me now matching that above.

As I climbed what I thought was the top of the pitch caught my torch beam, but no it was just a deviation, the pitch continuing to soar above. Julie's been experimenting with her SRT rig and was hoping for simple pitch heads while she fine tunes it. In Flood they just couldn't be any better, high anchors allowing a straightforward step off the rope onto wide ledges.

Returning up the Flood pitches

All too soon daylight was visible and Julie let out an audible sigh. This is a magnificent route into the Gaping gill system and was over far too soon. Emerging jnto daylight it's always nice to find a sign post declaring that you are where you thought you should be, and just a short walk back to our start point.

Flood (Wade's) entrance

Normally there's still the walk off the moor before we can treat ourselves to a well deserved pint, but on this occasion I wasn't even out of my suit before an impromptu barman at the Trenchfoot Arms served us our drinks. A careful wipe with the hand of the plastic mugs they were served in fitting perfectly with my newly discovered sophisticated lifestyle. It would be far too easy to while away an evening with good company here. As it was we had to pack up our bags and wander back across the moor, taking in the vista of peaks in Lancashire, Yorkshire and Cumbria, after a truly quality trip.

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: