We've just come back from our summer holidays so the weather is now once again gloriously settled and I've still a bit more time on my hands allowing trips further afield from home. This combination meant that a trip to the Eastern Dales to visit a cave requiring dry weather was on the cards.
Sleets Gill seemed to fit the bill and so after some very fine strawberry cake at Mike's (his daughter has obviously inherited her mum's baking genes) we headed towards Littondale. It always feels a little strange donning layers of neoprene on a sunny afternoon in a dry valley, but fortunately the cave entrance lies only a few minutes from the car. It is though uphill and it's worth wandering up the right hand side (river left) of the gill to avoid the obstacle course of barbed and electric fences.
A small bag and walking pole at the entrance signalled that we weren't to be alone in the cave and we bumped into our fellow explorers at the foot of the peculiar scree slope that leads down into the darkness. One had been caving for over 50 years and the last time he'd been here was assisting with the infamous rescue in the early 90s. Where we were sat chatting would have been metres under water on that occasion though.
Mike and I are both fortunate still to be on our first set of knees so we left Phil and Richard to their photo trip and headed towards the main gallery. The Wharfedale sump seemed innocuous enough, a fair length of the dive line lay dry on the beach. Phil had said that on the day of the rescue when the two cavers had entered the water was knee deep at this point. Slightly reassured we carried on into the gallery, ticking off features as we went. The Bottom Connector and Boireau's passage were passed and noting the climb down to the lower levels, the sudden end of the chamber reached.
Backtracking 20 m from the choke we came back to the short climb down and the way on to Hyperthermia and Hydrophobia passages. Initially it was just run of the mill caving until we came to a junction at which water was flowing from a small drain. This was the way on.
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| Mike contemplating Hydrophobia passage |
8-10 minutes can feel like a very long time and while in the past I've contemplated the difference between a 'hands and knees crawl' and a 'flat out crawl', I now fully comprehended the difference. My legs didn't seem to be able to do anything other than bob along behind me, my shoulders doing the lion's share of propelling me forward. It was ag this point I began to realise that something wasn't quite right. I wanted to take a photo of Mike in front of me. My camera was easily accessible at the top of a small tackle sack I was pushing in front of me, but for some reason it was just too much effort and I just kept on crawling. While never tight at all, it was a bit disconcerting that whenever I tried turning my head it seemed to involve putting my face through the water.
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| Reading the description for the '68 series |
Before I had time to dwell on things though, the passage enlarged and we were once again confronted by another bizarre feature, The Ramp. While feature naming can be somewhat obscure and is often the result of in jokes, or needing to have been there at the time, the original explorers had it spot on with this one. If ever there was a need to bring crampons or ice axes into a cave then, forget high altitude abysses in the alps, this is it. While Mike confidentiality remained on his feet, I lay down and made like a worm hoping that one part of my prostrate body would stick long enough to make progress.
The top of The Ramp saw the first formations we had seen in the system and jolly fine they were, their pristine white a stark contrast to the water washed mud below. The descent of the slope was significantly easier than the ascent, the only thing required being to moderate your speed.
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| Mike at the top of the aptly named Ramp |
Reacquainted with our bags which we'd left at the foot of the slope Mike read the next part of the description. It was time to don our hoods and have our masks at the ready. The black book describes the following sump as "an easy, 4 1/2 m long, free dive". In Rowten we'd dived a sump nearly twice as long so surely this couldn't be a problem, especially with it's reputed gin clear water.
I began my 'sump routine'. Helmet off, spit twice in each half of my mask, wipe, splash my face with water, mask on, then breath in through my nose to check the seal. Happy with my mask, helmet back on, turn on my secondary light and then head into the water. Content, I resurfaced, took a couple of breaths and dived. For the second time on the trip things didn't seem quite right. The Rowten sumps have a simple, almost tube like, geometry. You just pull on the rope and and through you go. There almost seemed too much to see here as you navigated through the flooded passage. The friction between the roof and my positively buoyant body wasn't helping either. There it was though, the exit mirror. I tried smashing through but was held back. Fortunately my head made it through into the thick air but the rest of my body was now held. Somehow a loop of rope had formed round my ankle. It took a good few seconds before I had the presence of mind to slip back down into the water, allowing the loop to slacken and for me to free myself. Released and relieved I fumbled to get out my camera to record Mike's traverse of the sump. On surfacing Mike too questioned the definition of an 'easy' sump before continuing through the neck deep water.
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| The ducks beyond the sump |
With the unlaminated description having been left prior to the sump we were now reliant on our memories. I was pretty sure that we needed the right fork, but after a couple of muddy puddles it choked. Right, we knew that there was another duck involved so we tried the left fork. Not to happy about this 'duck', Mike tried a muddy slope. Nope. It was back to the 'duck'. The water now muddied by our suits that had been used as brake pads on The Ramp, I felt forward with my feet. There was absolutely no way I was pressing on down here. Befuddled we returned back through the sump. On rereading the description it transpired that the way on had been a low airspace duck through one of the muddy puddles.
Ordinarily I'm sure we'd have made the 2 minute return through the sump and carried on but, without any discussion we headed back towards Hydrophobia. At its start Mike asked if I was OK to carry on. I replied, 'what if I'm not'. I didn't catch his reply and once again we were flat out crawling.
At the end of the crawl Mike was sat with the description. He began reading, stopped and then tried again in a more upbeat voice. I think we've caved enough together now that there doesn't need to be any protracted discussion, indeed there doesn't need to be any discussion at all, Hyperthermia passage was going to be saved for another day, we were heading out. It was only at this point that the C word was mentioned. We were both cold. Despite our neoprene we were losing heat to the surprisingly cool water. No wonder I hadn't felt like taking my camera out, let alone return through the sump or continue to Hyperthermia, I could barely feel my wool and neoprene clad toes and hypothermia was much more in mind.
Both Mike and I have ascended our fair share of scree slopes in our time. We don't though normally go up them laying on our fronts, to exit Sleets Gill there's no other option. Nearing the top of the slope light became visible. As well as the light from the entrance Phil and Richard's head lamps were also shining. We asked how they'd got on and then about the rescue. If you watch the fantastic Sid Perou film (
here) and are utterly blown away by the skill of the rescuers, go and visit the passage and your reverance will be taken to new levels. Half an hour to traverse 250 m, the rescued never having dived before. I'm told it was joked that one of them burnt through nearly a full tank of air. They'd have had to have staged multiple tanks for me.
Despite being overcast, the warmth from the sun was unmistakable and I felt life coming back to my toes as, aside from some frisky bullocks, we made our way back to the car more easily than on the approach.
It's not often we're lost for words but it had been an odd trip. Not only are there a number of unusual physical features in the system, but the surprisingly cold water had definitely affected my impressions. As we rewarmed chat began to return and arriving back in Kirkby a visit to The Barn was unquestioned.
I'd like to say it was on purpose but Tony we've left quite a bit to go and look at when we return with you (though possibly after another Warmbac neoprene order).
