I set off with a mixture of trepidation, nerves, and fear. Okay, and a degree of excitement too. 18 months ago I did a Hillocks to Whalf exchange with some friends, and before ascending Steve and I went exploring for something he'd heard of called Meccano passage. After a couple of dead ends we found it, and went down a little way until coming to a body sized tube at the bottom of a short drop in the floor. I tried to look in head first but dropped myself on my neck which hurt. Steve went in foot first for a body length but came back when he hit water, then we left it for a future day since the others would probably have finished prusikking out by now.
A bit of reading up on the internet told us it was the connection to Knotlow, and it sounded scary but interesting without being dangerous, so it prompty got added to the wishlist. Steve has been back to do the trip another time but I wasn't available, so I jumped(ish) at the chance when I heard of a TSG/KCC trip this week.
Sitting at the top of Knotlow climbing shaft, feeling the fresh air as the beautiful day dropped into night, I watched down the Chapel Dale engine shaft as Wayne rigged a rebelay at Chain Passage, while out of the corner of my eye Glyn, John and Eszter disappeared one by one down the climbing shaft. I bounced down the springy new 9mm rope towards the sound of whooping, and we reconvened in the start of Meccano passage. A couple of short sections led to a downwards slope to a lowering in the roof, which was the start of the flooded coffin level. Wayne went first having been here before, and after a short while sounds emitting back down the passage that sounded like he was being attacked by some kind of sea creature. Thankfully this was followed by a shout of "I'm out of the water", and John followed on down. Some mumbled voices, some more splashing, then the splashing appeared to be getting louder, and John popped back out again. It turns out the dry end of the passage is a little restrictive to get through with SRT kit, so John came back to take his off in the larger passage, and somehow Wayne stripped off in situ. I felt glad I'd anticipated this and had already stuffed my kit into a bag, although unfortunately this meant I was instructed to head down the passage next while John de-kitted!
Being with strangers I didn't really have the option to procrastinate while composing myself like I usually do, so I posted myself head first into the passage and just started crawling, one hand and one elbow in the water, with head just clear of the ceiling. After not very far my bag started to get jammed between my thigh and the wall, so I hooked it over my bent knee and dragged it along behind me. Then the roof lowered and I transitioned automatically to lying flat out, and the bag strap went sliding down my leg, and I just had to hope it stayed hooked over my welly. What with the weighlessness of my body in the water negating any need to crawl, my legs motionless in order that I didn't lose my bag, and enough room to turn my head and look around me, my elbows propelled me down the passage with very little effort and surprisingly little fear. It was quite peaceful in there and I relished my unique situation. I think it would be a different story if I'd been first down, as most of my feeling of being at-ease came from Wayne waiting at the end and reassuring me that I was nearly there, and that despite the fact that the roof was still lowering it was always possible to breathe.
The lowest part comes when you still can't see the end, with a smooth flat block of rock forming the ceiling meaning you have to turn your head, but that's the end and then the whole passage tilts up a little taking you out of the water, and kinks to the left which helps you to turn onto your back for the exit. Fortunately when I dragged myself out of the water like the dinosaur crocodiles that beached up to land and stood up as humans (that's how we evolved, isn't it?) I could feel the weight of my SRT kit hanging off my foot so didn't have to worry that someone else would end up crawling over it and getting stuck. When exiting the passage on your back you have to lie in all the water you've acumulated and you realise how cold it is - I hadn't noticed when entering the passage as I had been so absorbed by the situation. On exiting into the larger passage I felt a little sick (strange how one's throat can dry out so much with so much water around) but happy, and I knew from here I'd done the rest so there were no surprises. I had to just trust that the CO2 problems in this area are no longer an issue, as I'd remembered to bring a lighter for the first time, but the pocket I'd put it in had filled with water rendering it useless. The other three popped through with no fuss and we started working our way back to the surface. Despite thinking I'd remember the way back to the main chamber I didn't, in fact I was convinced it went up a gravel slope rather than through the crawl to the left, so Wayne had to put up with a succession of calls of "are you sure it's this way?", "are you sure you're sure?", "are you really sure, because i'm positive it's… oh sod it, I'm coming".
I must say the company was great - despite only having met Glyn before and none of the others they always seemed to be there when you needed them, either when you wanted a bit of reassurance or when you weren't sure of the way. I couldn't remember much of Hillocks at all (18 months seems to be enough to wipe the memory) but did manage to recall the location of the parallel passage so we could climb out in tandem (although later on I encouraged John down an incorrect squeeze). Back at the surface I volunteered to go back down the Knotlow engine shaft and de-rig Chain passage as nobody had come out that way. I wanted to try out my footloop as I've recently shortened it and wanted to see if it's better like that - it isn't (if it ain't broke, don't fix it, should be my motto next time). Then all that was left to do was debried liquidly at the Bulls Head and say a longer hello to the group we'd passed in Hillocks travelling in the opposite direction.
Showing posts with label caving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caving. Show all posts
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
October 2009 - Caving - Nettle Pot
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| Steve descending The Narrows |
Three of us met in the layby at 6:15pm and were heading down the first pitch about an hour later, I rigged it to practise rigging in a confined space that I at least knew I could get up and down.
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| The Flats, avoiding blind pots |
That part was quite straightfoward, easier than crawling past the pots in the floor and trying not to slide off the muddy ledge into them, which came next.
Steve rigged the next pitch, with a quick check of the rigging guide half way down to make sure we didn't descend too far and Catherine levetated at the bottom.
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| Rigging the Levitation pitch |
After a bit of route finding (all we had to do is carry on in the same direction, but we were never entirely certain which way that was after ascending or descending a rope) we headed on along the Far Flats and found the final drop down towards Freeze Squeeze, picking up rather a lot more mud on the way, not that we needed any. I led on here having rediscovered my adventurous side, and rigged the last pitch whilst cementing myself firmly into the mud opposite the oldish bolts, trying to ignore the rust seeping through the mud.
We regrouped at the bottom of the rope then Steve led the way on into the tunnel and towards the squeeze, which went surprisingly easily, especially with helmets pushed on ahead.
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| Cath by the handline over Suicide Pot |
I retrieved the camera and captured a couple of photos of Steve and Catherine returning through the squeeze, which I found a little tricker on the way back, but fortunately never came to a complete standstill so didn't get a chance to worry too much.
I think the lens had muddied up by this point (hardly surprising, everything else had) as the disposable camera picture quality went downhill. Or it's possibly we were panting hard and filling the tunnel with condensation.
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| Steve in Freeze Squeeze |
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| Steve in Freeze Squeeze |
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| Cath in Freeze Squeeze |
How many times did I mention mud? Not enough probably!
December 2008 - Caving - In The Footprint Of Titan
We kit up at the car and walk in through snow drifts. We lose one of our party of four half way there, as he's not feeling well and suddenly takes a turn for the worse, creating some colourful snow. The remaining three of us arrive at the shaft and peer over the top, my torch doesn't even illuminate to the bottom, and this is just the access shaft!
I'm descending first despite my desire not to be first or last: Bridget's supervising and Rob's gone for a wee. The initial few metres are terrifying, the rope's bouncing every time I feed some rope through the Stop (the descender) and the rope's only attached to one karabiner at the top. I wonder, too late, if this is such a good idea. It's only my second SRT trip, down the longest natural rift in the UK and I can't even imagine how hard it will be to prusik back up. Going down is hard enough, my elbow tendons are hurting from squeezing the lever on the Stop. But the discovery is the part of the challenge and the fun, and it's too late to back out now, so I block out any qualms, no place for second thoughts in a hole this big. I unclip the braking karabiner to gain more control over the rope and I discover I didn't have the lever of the Stop fully depressed, and with that corrected suddenly my descent smoothes out and accelerates, down past the wooden rings then the excavated rock walls, to the tunnel 45m below the surface.
The others join me and we wade through a puddle in the bedding plane towards our first view of the cavern. What a sense of awe, it's unfathomably massive, whoever would have thought that was sitting under a hill in the Peak District. We shine the torches out and down, illuminating such a small portion with each beam. Rob eagerly attaches to the belay then the rope and heads off down, after a while 'rope free!' echoes its way up from 65m below, then it's my turn. I'm clipped in but reluctant to teeter on the slippery stalactite knobs in clunky wellies in case I swing out unexpectedly over the void. I balance out until I'm free hanging and so feeling calmer, attach to the rope, then down I go.
As I descend I'm less disquieted by the bouncing, a smooth control over the rope comes quicker and I can take in my surroundings. I'm surprised by the features, the flowstone, the limestone ribs and mushrooms, this is more than just a big hole. I reach the half way ledge, the Event Horizon, and ab past its edge to reach the rebelay on its side wall. I transfer to the lower rope but for some reason am unable to take my weight off the cowstail to unclip it. I realise my mistake: instead of attaching to the second rope I've attached to bottom of the first, because the first rope disappears into the gloom, then rises again and the end it attaches to the bolts, making it look like a separate rope that heads off down the pitch. I'd wondered why there was only one attachment plus a loop, I was worrying that a karabiner had snapped and had been wondering what to do about it! Fortunately the correct rope is clipped into two points as expected, so I'm relieved to discover my mistake rather than alarmed. My new situation isn't unsafe, but isn't going to get me where I want to go - to the bottom! It takes a few minutes to reclip and correct, by which time my thighs are complaining about taking all my weight so I'm happy when I'm ready to carry on down.
The third pitch (65m) has quite a lot of spray from the waterfall which is disorientating (and dampening), a sense which is heightened because I'm slowly rotating round the rope and every time I look down Rob's light is in a different location, although he hasn't moved. The disorientation is welcome though, not scary, as it effectively reduces the dimensions of the cave. I feel a lot more professional and in control as I descend this last pitch, I don't feel the need to clip the rope from the Stop through a braking karabiner, instead I just accelerate down until at the bottom. Rob welcomes me with an exhuberant handshake and half a mars bar.
I decide not to look around so I can be the first to ascend. I start back up to join Bridget waiting at the Event Horizon. Rob holds the end of rope to help it run smoothly through the chest jammer while I work the hand one, the first few pulls only take in rope stretch and I try not to kick him as I swing around in mid air. It's hard work after only a few metres. My ascent starts erratically but I eventually get into a rhythm. During rests I shine my torch up and eventually I can see the Event Horizon. I decided I must only be 30 pullups from the bolts, so put my head down, do 8 pullups, 12, 10 more, and look up again I'm maybe on a quarter closer than I was before, it's deceptive. As I draw closer I don't look up so that I'm not deceived again.
I pass the free hanging rebelay with only minor confusion, then am on the ledge, albeit attached to the upper rope. It's sensible to keep the rope tight so that I don't have to pull all the stretch back through the jammers when I'm ready to ascend again, but it's very uncomfortable and pulling at my harness, so I release a bit of slack with Bridget's help and have a rest and tighten my chest strap. It's still not particularly comfortable though, so after an inadequate pause I start on up the pitch.
The tighter chest strap allows me to stay more upright which makes me more efficient, and I find my rhythm quicker. I find 8 pullups then a rest to be a good pace, sometimes 5, sometimes 10 or 12, depending on how puffed I am. I realise I'm using bounces to my advantage - as the rope bounces down I slide up. Resting gives a good opportunity to look round, more so than on the way up. I try to imagine the feat of the 6 day aid climb that initially discovered the west gully, but the walls look so slippery it just seems unreal. Sometimes while resting I contemplate my position - free hanging on a rope, relying on some teeth in the metal cams of the jammers to prevent me sliding uncontrollably and finally back to the boulders on the Event Horizon. Fortunately fear and adrenaline cancel out and I feel happy, at home, natural almost.
The walls bell in and come within reach and I'm nearly there. Thankfully I haul onto the ledge and sit down, taking my weight off rope for first time in 130m and no idea how long timewise. After a chocolate snack and some readjustment to sit in a position that doesn't twist my knees or back (both aching) - legs round a stalactite, close to the edge and out of the puddle behind me - I turn my torch off and enjoy the complete darkness. I look down and see torchlight, which soon comes closer, casting shadows on the walls. The shadows flicker and sway, never still - in front of me equal light and shade, over to the right a large dark patch cast by a lip. As the caver comes closer the torch creates an eerie projection of his hands and jammer onto the walls. The image fills the cave, a giant Titan rising out of the depths, slowly clawing its way upwards. I marvel at the uniqueness of the sight: one's own torch illuminates but a small patch in front of you, but the light of another interacts with the entire space, creating subterranean art. It's not Rob or Bridget, but one of the riggers, shortly followed by the other, both making impressively short work of the pitch.
Rob arrives and I'm starting to get cold. 'I almost wish I hadn't given you half my mars bar!' Rob says. 'Good thing i've got this then' and say and hold up the half a twix i've been clutching ready for a what seems now an unfathomable amount of time. I hand it over and navigate the foot deep puddle to get moving again and warm up. I retrieve my gloves from inside the velcro of my oversuit, and smell of warm sweat rises and fills my nose. My fingers are blistered, but I start back up the manmade shaft, past the blasted rock, past the big rings, past the ladder, and to the surface and the snow. The wind howls and I huddle in the partial shelter of the scaffolding to maintain warmth. It's so cold, dear god it's so cold. I slowly stamp my feet as the other two inch towards me one by one, then between us we close up the shaft - shut the hatch, lay the planks and fasten the scaffolding. With fingers numb it's a complicated chore, but accepted without question as were the rest of the components of the trip.
We start walk back to car, back through the snow drifts and biting wind, and my heels go numb. The walking gets warm blood pumping though, and I start to defrost, at a glacial pace but warming nevertheless. One toe comes back, then three and a heel, then all 10.
It's too late for the pub, too cold for a debrief... we go our separate ways, but despite the rush to head home to warmth, despite the desolation of the cave, despite the brief encounters on the ledges, there was still a crucial team element, all looking out for each other.
It was a memorable trip, in many ways, in the footprint of Titan.
I'm descending first despite my desire not to be first or last: Bridget's supervising and Rob's gone for a wee. The initial few metres are terrifying, the rope's bouncing every time I feed some rope through the Stop (the descender) and the rope's only attached to one karabiner at the top. I wonder, too late, if this is such a good idea. It's only my second SRT trip, down the longest natural rift in the UK and I can't even imagine how hard it will be to prusik back up. Going down is hard enough, my elbow tendons are hurting from squeezing the lever on the Stop. But the discovery is the part of the challenge and the fun, and it's too late to back out now, so I block out any qualms, no place for second thoughts in a hole this big. I unclip the braking karabiner to gain more control over the rope and I discover I didn't have the lever of the Stop fully depressed, and with that corrected suddenly my descent smoothes out and accelerates, down past the wooden rings then the excavated rock walls, to the tunnel 45m below the surface.
The others join me and we wade through a puddle in the bedding plane towards our first view of the cavern. What a sense of awe, it's unfathomably massive, whoever would have thought that was sitting under a hill in the Peak District. We shine the torches out and down, illuminating such a small portion with each beam. Rob eagerly attaches to the belay then the rope and heads off down, after a while 'rope free!' echoes its way up from 65m below, then it's my turn. I'm clipped in but reluctant to teeter on the slippery stalactite knobs in clunky wellies in case I swing out unexpectedly over the void. I balance out until I'm free hanging and so feeling calmer, attach to the rope, then down I go.
As I descend I'm less disquieted by the bouncing, a smooth control over the rope comes quicker and I can take in my surroundings. I'm surprised by the features, the flowstone, the limestone ribs and mushrooms, this is more than just a big hole. I reach the half way ledge, the Event Horizon, and ab past its edge to reach the rebelay on its side wall. I transfer to the lower rope but for some reason am unable to take my weight off the cowstail to unclip it. I realise my mistake: instead of attaching to the second rope I've attached to bottom of the first, because the first rope disappears into the gloom, then rises again and the end it attaches to the bolts, making it look like a separate rope that heads off down the pitch. I'd wondered why there was only one attachment plus a loop, I was worrying that a karabiner had snapped and had been wondering what to do about it! Fortunately the correct rope is clipped into two points as expected, so I'm relieved to discover my mistake rather than alarmed. My new situation isn't unsafe, but isn't going to get me where I want to go - to the bottom! It takes a few minutes to reclip and correct, by which time my thighs are complaining about taking all my weight so I'm happy when I'm ready to carry on down.
The third pitch (65m) has quite a lot of spray from the waterfall which is disorientating (and dampening), a sense which is heightened because I'm slowly rotating round the rope and every time I look down Rob's light is in a different location, although he hasn't moved. The disorientation is welcome though, not scary, as it effectively reduces the dimensions of the cave. I feel a lot more professional and in control as I descend this last pitch, I don't feel the need to clip the rope from the Stop through a braking karabiner, instead I just accelerate down until at the bottom. Rob welcomes me with an exhuberant handshake and half a mars bar.
I pass the free hanging rebelay with only minor confusion, then am on the ledge, albeit attached to the upper rope. It's sensible to keep the rope tight so that I don't have to pull all the stretch back through the jammers when I'm ready to ascend again, but it's very uncomfortable and pulling at my harness, so I release a bit of slack with Bridget's help and have a rest and tighten my chest strap. It's still not particularly comfortable though, so after an inadequate pause I start on up the pitch.
The tighter chest strap allows me to stay more upright which makes me more efficient, and I find my rhythm quicker. I find 8 pullups then a rest to be a good pace, sometimes 5, sometimes 10 or 12, depending on how puffed I am. I realise I'm using bounces to my advantage - as the rope bounces down I slide up. Resting gives a good opportunity to look round, more so than on the way up. I try to imagine the feat of the 6 day aid climb that initially discovered the west gully, but the walls look so slippery it just seems unreal. Sometimes while resting I contemplate my position - free hanging on a rope, relying on some teeth in the metal cams of the jammers to prevent me sliding uncontrollably and finally back to the boulders on the Event Horizon. Fortunately fear and adrenaline cancel out and I feel happy, at home, natural almost.
The walls bell in and come within reach and I'm nearly there. Thankfully I haul onto the ledge and sit down, taking my weight off rope for first time in 130m and no idea how long timewise. After a chocolate snack and some readjustment to sit in a position that doesn't twist my knees or back (both aching) - legs round a stalactite, close to the edge and out of the puddle behind me - I turn my torch off and enjoy the complete darkness. I look down and see torchlight, which soon comes closer, casting shadows on the walls. The shadows flicker and sway, never still - in front of me equal light and shade, over to the right a large dark patch cast by a lip. As the caver comes closer the torch creates an eerie projection of his hands and jammer onto the walls. The image fills the cave, a giant Titan rising out of the depths, slowly clawing its way upwards. I marvel at the uniqueness of the sight: one's own torch illuminates but a small patch in front of you, but the light of another interacts with the entire space, creating subterranean art. It's not Rob or Bridget, but one of the riggers, shortly followed by the other, both making impressively short work of the pitch.
Rob arrives and I'm starting to get cold. 'I almost wish I hadn't given you half my mars bar!' Rob says. 'Good thing i've got this then' and say and hold up the half a twix i've been clutching ready for a what seems now an unfathomable amount of time. I hand it over and navigate the foot deep puddle to get moving again and warm up. I retrieve my gloves from inside the velcro of my oversuit, and smell of warm sweat rises and fills my nose. My fingers are blistered, but I start back up the manmade shaft, past the blasted rock, past the big rings, past the ladder, and to the surface and the snow. The wind howls and I huddle in the partial shelter of the scaffolding to maintain warmth. It's so cold, dear god it's so cold. I slowly stamp my feet as the other two inch towards me one by one, then between us we close up the shaft - shut the hatch, lay the planks and fasten the scaffolding. With fingers numb it's a complicated chore, but accepted without question as were the rest of the components of the trip.
We start walk back to car, back through the snow drifts and biting wind, and my heels go numb. The walking gets warm blood pumping though, and I start to defrost, at a glacial pace but warming nevertheless. One toe comes back, then three and a heel, then all 10.
It's too late for the pub, too cold for a debrief... we go our separate ways, but despite the rush to head home to warmth, despite the desolation of the cave, despite the brief encounters on the ledges, there was still a crucial team element, all looking out for each other.
It was a memorable trip, in many ways, in the footprint of Titan.
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| Me at the top of the main chamber, photo by Bridget |
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