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.

27th January 2022 - Going with the flow

A rare alignment of the planets meant that both Mike and I had an afternoon off during a prolonged dry spell. As they say, it's not the afternoons in the office that you're going to remember, so 1pm saw us meeting at Devil's Bridge.

The drive across to Kettlewell reminded us that we live in a truly stunning part of the world, swathes of green grass criss-crossed with limestone dry walls shining in the sunlight. Malham tarn, nestling in a moor peppered with outcropping rock. The steep sided valley of Cow Side beck revealing some of its treasures with waterfalls spilling between scars, but hiding the marvellous tuffa pools in its dark depths. Finally we turned into Wharfdale and its archetypal Dales villages.

Parking just outside the village on the Park Rash road to shorten the return walk, our changing was interspersed with supping tea and eating the fantastic banana loaf that Mike had brought with him. Changed, we headed down the hill, a couple of cyclists passing us asking, "Are there any caves in Kettlewell?" The next finger post suggested there were, "Providence pot 1 1/2 miles".

A narrow valley, the kind you worry about being ambushed by Wargs in, led us away from the village, the navigation beginning a theme that would persist throughout the trip, follow the water. The only difference with this part of the journey being that we were going against the flow.

Unlike our recent experiences with Grey wife, there was no missing the entrance to Providence, the walls of the dug entrance shaft raised a few feet above the stream. Once in the shaft I pulled the heavy steel lid back across the entrance. A final glimpse of blue sky, before turning to the way on, illuminated only by the pool of light from my lamp.

It was then straight into what has become a well practiced routine for us, my reading a couple of lines of the description while Mike finds the relevant features and the way on, stopping at the next landmark to repeat the process. 54 Cavern, July Grotto, Terminal Chamber and then up into the Blasted Crawl (choose your meaning and it applies).

In the vanguard Mike had the dubious pleasure of being able to see how deep the water was, but we both had the joy of not knowing how deep the underlying mud was. At one point it was deep enough to allow me to crouch rather than crawl, but it was still a relief to climb up into the Palace. I'm glad the Staircase currently has a banister of a well belayed handline as, without it, the descent into the Dungeon would have felt very committing. Even with its support I was glad we were going down rather than up through this section. Passing through Depot chamber and the short crawl beyond we met the Dowber Gill water for the first time at the aptly named Stalagmite Corner. Once again, we now just need to follow the stream... 

Lovely caving took us through Skittle Chamber before a dosey doe into a parallel rift via a couple of slits in the wall is required to continue forward progress. Apprenticeships in the Ease Gill high level series served us well as we moved over the slippy boulders in Bridge Cavern. Mike pointed out the jammed boulders in the rift above us, but I tried to keep my eyes on the ground in front, Vitalstatistix's fear of the sky falling down on his head seemed all too possible in this chamber.

With some relief we dropped down off the boulder pile and were once again surrounded by the solid, water carved walls of the rift and a return to fun caving: follow the stream until an obstacle then either over, under or round it. Progress was steady until a boulder that looked like an easy climb, but the rift was just a bit too narrow near the top. It looked so doable and I felt like I was wasting significant time on not doing it. Admitting defeat, Mike fortunately said he could see a rising traverse to the top of the block and reversing a few metres allowed onward progress to be made again. 

At every pile of boulders now I started wondering if we were in 800 Yards Chamber. Looking at the Braemoor guide though, Mike noted that we still needed to shimmy into another parallel rift before reaching it. Almost immediately after consulting the guide, the slot appeared and shortly after, the unmistakable chamber. Some of the reports we had read mentioned that this spot had become a bit grim, courtesy of resting cavers enjoying a well deserved picnic. Massive thanks are therefore due to whoever it was that has taken it upon themselves to clean the spot up, there wasn't a single bit of litter.

It felt that we were bound by tradition to have a rest at this spot as countless other cavers must have done and we shared a chocolate bar while eyeing the way on ahead. 

A whiff of steak and black pepper signalled that I had ruptured my Ginsters, the first squeeze after the chamber proving too narrow for the treat stowed in my chest pocket. To compound matters the squeeze was followed by a canal and the expanding packet sucked in the muddy cave water. I was down to a single chocolate bar.

An up and over of another choke brought us to the Brew Chamber climb. Mike made his way, initially over, then up into and finally out of the choke between boulders.  I was glad when I was able to follow him through as the hand lined alternative climb over the choke didn't look too inviting.

Leaving Brew Chamber I thought we were making good progress at first through the narrows but then Mike stopped. He normally never stops so when he does I worry. Lying in the cold water I knew I needed to be moving to keep warm and I started a reverse shuffle back to the last foot looped rope I'd seen dangling from higher in the rift. At the top of the climb, on quite a pleasant traverse line, Mike soon joined me and we were moving forward again. Meeting another boulder obstacle, I took the over route and the guide book suggested dropping down to the streamway at the earliest opportunity. The only problem was the stream way looked an awfully long way down.  I hesitantly began descending, alternating thinking thin and fat to control my speed. Below me the rift narrowed and I brought myself to a halt.  Further ahead the rift widened and after a few metres of traverse I recommenced my descent. It was with some relief I dropped back into the stream with a solid floor under my feet. A short distance ahead a lovely knotted rope hung from the rift offering a much more pleasant means of dropping from the traverse level and to add insult to injury this was closely followed by another.

Rapid progress again through pleasant rift until my light reflected back off mounds of foam at what at first sight looked like a terminal sump. Focused on the dead end it wasn't until I was right next to it that I noticed the Rock Window, once again a parallel rift offering the way on. Sitting on the window shelf we had a read of the description before dropping into the dark, Stygian canal beyond. The water lay still, absorbing both light and sound and we edged forward taking care not to disturb what must lurk beneath. After another obstruction we came to the jammed flake and had only our second wonder about the best way on. Once again the Braemoor guide filled in exactly what we unsure of in NFTFH and we ducked beneath the block and carried on until an easy climb out of the water brought us to the bottom of two ropes. One "clean" offering an easy abseil descent from the Gypsum traverse above, the other knotted in all the right places affording a straightforward ascent.

Enjoyable caving along the traverse was interrupted only by Mike's discovery of a stick that looked like it had been left by a dog on a lovely afternoon walk. It must have left some mushed dog biscuit on it too as it sprouted fine white tendrils of fungi. A pair of ropes once again offered aid to parties travelling in either direction, but below I could see a huge void between boulders. Surely we needed to stay higher for longer to avoid this abyss? Staying at this level didn't seem to be an option though and so I lowered myself down onto the boulders. Edging slowly towards the bottomless pit, I hesitantly peered down into it, to be met by my reflection just inches below. This was no entrance to Hades, merely a reemergence of the black watered canal. Embarrassed, I stepped across and fortunately Mike was more taken with the lovingly engineered rungs up into the continuation of the roof tunnel than my making a chasm out of a puddle.

Dropping back to stream level again, once more on a drop I was more than thankful for a rope on, I stopped to read the guide. "15 minutes of easy caving to Dow Cave entrance". Had we really passed all the major obstacles. I missed out the first sentence, surely we couldn't be nearly there could we and skipped to the detailed instructions as I read aloud to Mike. Progressing down the canal the rift suddenly opened out and once again sounds reverberated around us. Looking up the Buddhist's temple towered above us and lower down our view was dominated by possibly the largest flowstone formation I have ever seen. At it's far left corner we ducked under and after a little more wading we popped out of a small hole into the expanse of Dow Cave. How the lofty Dowber Gill rift can end at this tiny exit I couldn't comprehend.

The change in scale brought with it a change in mindset too. The pent up doubts over whether we would be able to complete the traverse, pressed deeper into me by the towering walls of the rift, suddenly evaporated into the yawning space around us. The vacuum left behind quickly filling with elation. The stomp along the streamway a fitting finale to an incredible trip.

Approaching the entrance to Dow, an eerie glow appeared. Not a reflection from our lamps, but the last glimmer of day. Completely absorbed with each obstacle and the next part of the description, I'd given no thought to time and I couldn't have told you whether we'd been underground 3 hours or 10. The sky suggested closer to the former.

With a spring in our step we began the return journey to the car, unaware of a final obstacle not mentioned in the guide. Crossing the style onto the Park Rash road, the tarmac disappeared beneath us into the gloom, no mention had been made of the need for a rope to descend into the village. As we side stepped down the road my heart went out to any tired cyclists that had found themselves at the bottom of this wall of tarmacadam.

With the red lights of the car reflecting in our torch beams we decided that any true round trip should bring you back to the car from the opposite direction to that which you left it. I also decided that Mike's packing of a flask of tea, sandwiches and banana loaf was also a terrific idea.

After last week's trip we'd found ourselves in Kirkby too late to be served in our usual haunt, this week I was worried that at just after 7 pm, the pub might not be open. Fears were soon allayed and it turns out that arriving earlier also meant that the fire is still properly lit too. The earlier tea meant that our pints could be enjoyed rather than downed and with each sip we began to replay what must be one of the finest trips in the Dales.

Arriving home at the most reasonable time ever for a Thursday night and still buzzing from the trip I opened my monthly beer delivery that had arrived earlier in the day. It seemed that the planets' alignment had one last surprise in store, a can of Yorkshire Parkin stout, tasting notes: ginger and custard. I can't think of a finer way to end such a perfect day in God's own County.

As always, thanks to Mike B. for the adventure and to Mike C. (NFTFH), Terry Trueman and Ian Watson (on the Braemoor site) for the guide.