May 2008 - Climbing - Lundy

The Old Light

Flying Buttress

It was a fantastic trip but my 'routes bagged' list is a bit pitiful. The way this spring has worked out I was a lot less prepared than I should have been and as a result a bit of out practice and gibbery. I seconded Battery Rib and the Severe to the right of it at Flying Buttress. I was meant to lead the VD but my partner sent me the wrong way and it was a lot harder, so I abbed back down the handy rope and sent my partner a different way - which turned out to be the right one. Plus soloed Flying Buttress Mod inbetween those two. That was on the Thursday, the day we arrived.


On the Friday I decided my time would be better spent exploring the Island and preparing myself mentally. I went to the limekiln and walked up the West coast stopping in all the little bays, and every time I got to a view I compared what I could see to the book. I walked down and up the Montague steps, and expored the Earthquake. I tried to get down to Antiworlds, but think I was at the wrong grassy rib as it looked like a death trap, and by that point I was dehydrated and had wet feet (had sandals on and some bits were a bit boggy) so thought I might lost my balance attempting it. I carred on all the way up to the New Light, took me 5.5 hours by which time my knees were hurting and I was knackered - walked back down the main track making in back to the Barn in another hour.

St. John's Stone

Sika deer

On Saturday I went off to climb the Devil's Slide with Cara - and failed! I seconded the first pitch fine, second pitch was my lead and as soon as I was on the sharp end my body position went to pot and instead of standing with my bum over my feet I was leaning into the rock and stretching for far off crimps and hauling myself up. I tried giving myself a stern talking to and telling myself that was a dangerous way to climb slabs, and managed to carry on going - but instead of following the obvious line up the slab my body carried me diagonally rightwards towards the gully, up a slanting crack with better holds and gear. Before long though I was in vegetation and still a few metres from the belay block, so on failing to downclimb I abbed back down the ab rope to Cara taking the gear out on the way and gave her the lead. Back on the blunt end again I was fine, until the bit where had to traverse right, and was just thinking this totally wan't the way to enjoy such an awesome feature as the Slide. Luckily another of our party was hanging around by the block and Cara agreed to climb with them, so we swapped over. I delegated myself to chief bag carrier and photo taker. I had planned to climb at the Earthquake in the afternoon but decided I hadn't earned such a treat, so we all went back to the shop and had an ice cream instead. At 5pm 4 of us went to a wildlife talk, which was incredibly interesting. Saturday night was the big drinking might for most of us.


Sunday was rainy, so in the morning I carried on doing the jigsaw that I'd started on arrival (2000 pieces, a bit ambitious, it never got completed). In the afternoon I went for a damp 3 hour walk with Doug and Dan, starting at the South coast to listen to the foghorn and the waves crashing in the sea clag, then walked round the south east tip, up the wooded path through the rhodendrons (which they're hoping to eradicate by 2050), past the quarries, up to the Logan Stone, then back. The ambitious climbing parties arrived back one at a time after aborted attempts on various routes, dripping wet. One party did Devil's Slide in the wet, with another party at the top with emergency ropes just in case! The Tavern was really rowdy in the evening so a lot left early, but some decided if-you-can't-beat-em-join-em and were highly amusing in their antics - table dancing on the balcony to entertain the sailors, as I discovered when I went back in to pay my tab.

Manteling the mantelshelf

Simon and Lizzie on Devil's Slide

I realised that despite my thorough recces of the Island, which were very productive as they mean I'll be really inspired for future trips, my efforts at experiencing the rock and the classics had been pitiful, so I made plans to go and climb Shamrock the next day. My partner was less experienced so I was down to lead the first and third pitches, but Dan and SCC were also planning to do it, and followed us up, so I felt happy about the fact that if I went to pieces there would be others there! Then there was a third party behind us, Colin and David Riley, who hadn't managed their route and had already done the other VS as a warm up, so Shamrock was the next easiest way out of the area. Three parties on the same route on the last day - cutting in fine in the time, had to be on the jetty for the ferry at 4pm. I led the first pitch okay (took me a few goes to do the start which is the crux), but at the base of the third my brain was fried and it looks scary. We sent Dan up it and all seconded on various ropes - it was a little faff but worked, and was probably quicker than two people leading. It was interesting having 5 people on the sloping ledge though, and another waiting to second the second pitch. Our group of 4 made it to the top in just enough time to make it to the ferry early, walking fast. The remaining pair weren't far behing us, but they'd started at a different cliff so their bags were elsewhere. Two others had moved their bags to the top path, but they didn't know where they were so went off to find them, resulting in a highly amusing dash for the ferry while the rest of us watched as they ran down the jetty slope, and they got a humungous cheer as they *just* made it in time.


The company was awesome, and Al Evans is a total legend, really not what I expected from his posts. The social side was great, and only got rowdy on the last day. Al set us some Barn challenges, like manteling onto the mantelshelf which is less than a foot deep, and how many people could we fit in the high up window alcove. DougS was the only one that managed the mantel, I was kind of next best - managed it but lost my balance twice and was 'corrected' by my spotters. Nobody else managed to straighten their leg. I also fed the fish in the Rocket pond with Al and we all went up the Old Light to watch the sunset, and manteled on to the little platform inside it.

Manteling the Old Light

Jigsaw fail

Lundy is awesome, nice to find a place that exists on respect and common sense, not red tape. I saw ponies, deer, goats, sheep, millions of herring gulles, cormorants, a seal, possibly razorbills, a marlin, possibly a falcon, sundew (carniverous plant), etc.etc.

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.

Me at the top of the main chamber, photo by Bridget