Bar Pot - 17 Jan 2009

Saturday January 17th 2009

Members present: Chad B,  Kevin Francis,  Lucy Dablin,  Matt Gosling,  Mike Rippon

'They see only their own shadows or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave' - Plato

Why you'd be standing outside the container at 7:15 AM on a Saturday morning I don't know, but if you had been you would have seen 'Team Rhythm' (Me, Mike, Matt, Chad and Kev) looking damp and excited in the darkness. I'm terrified of the idea of potholing, yet that's what I'd signed myself up to in a momentary lapse of judgement. Matt 'rigging machine and legend' G had promised to come tree climbing if I went on this trip (AND TO GIVE ME A CREAM EGG); I felt I had little choice but to explore this crazy underworld that YUPC is a part of.

As dawn rose over the Yorkshire dales we zoomed onward towards, then away, then towards, then away, then towards our destination (Matt was navigating). After time we rocked up, cramped and in style, to marvel at the equipment on sale at Bernie's and eat as much as we could. While we were stuffing ourselves some crusty-but-benign caving-types showed us a game they'd made of snakes and ladders, but for potholing! It included gems such as 'wet and cold, miss a turn'. When we later parked up at the site and ditched our clothes in favour of the sexy potholing outfits (at the same time church was chucking out) I thought about the 'wet and cold' aspect with a touch of dread. We began the ascent to the hole.

Instinct is a funny thing. It tells us clearly what we shouldn't do. Crawling under some rocks to get to an underground hole, which you then descend with a piece of metal and afterwards sliding, creeping and weaving your way into the belly of the earth is definitely one of the things instinct tells you not to do. But instinct is for pussies, so in we went.

The first pitch was a squeeze. I watched in horror as the rest of the team disappeared into the darkness between two narrow shifts of rock, giggling and mashing themselves down the hole like lemmings jumping off a cliff . If it hadn't been for the promise of the cream egg I would have been tempted to have called it a day then and there, escaped from that rabbit-hole back up into the daylight and press my face into the wet grass and kiss it. Instead I loaded my rack and pushed myself into the stone.

After the first pitch came the excitingly named 'greasy slab'. The clue's in the name and that slab's got gradient. A steep descent over rocks and rubble, followed by some crawling, stooping and sliding bought us to the traverse line leading to the main pitch. Any fears I might have had at this stage about being underground, miles from help, in what seemed to me a very unnatural environment for humans were immediately assuaged when I saw the rigging for the drop. To this day (today) I think it is quite possibly the most beautiful rigging I have ever seen. With complete confidence I descended the pitch and carried on a now very-tight-indeed crawl to gaping ghyll.

The roar from the main chamber could be heard from the passageway. Kev patiently explained to me about caves as we slithered along on our bellies and elbows. I had always thought potholing hats were in case boulders fell from the ceiling (apparently they don't 'that often'), but after a hundred metres of neck-cramp and dragging myself along the floor I got the picture. Lying in the main chamber with my light off, getting soaked by the mist kicked up by the waterfall, I began to understand the draw of the caves.

The whole way to the main chamber Kev had been carrying a bag with my lunch shoved in the top on a load of tackle. I'd made the newbie error of bringing a ton of food. Mike had just laughed at me when I crammed a satsuma and a packet of hula hoops into the bag; yet here they were, the satsuma was less crushed than me and the hula hoops were perfectly intact! I'll have to try a cake sometime.

Chad was just clipping into the traverse line off the main pitch on the way back out when he got a shock. Another headlight appeared from the darkness... Yet... The rest of us were at the bottom of the pitch. Matt, being Matt, called out 'who the bloody hell is that�. Andy? '. The sinister figure replied 'Yes'. Turns out there was a crazy joker down there at the same time as us, and even better, his name actually was Andy.

The greasy slab on the way back out was difficult, fair play to the boys who made it look like a breeze. I sort of... got Matt to pull me through... We were all knackered when we got to the top and squished our way through the gap to freedom. By 'freedom' I mean cutting hail, wind, rain; the full force of the dales lashed down on us as we walked back to the car in high spirits. The clock struck nine as we hit the car. We loaded the sopping wet gear into the back of the Mikemobile and drove to the pub where we dropped Kev off (hardcore, going for another day's caving, that's dedication!) and compared stories; then on for the traditional takeaway. When we got back to the car it turned out Mike had parked in a taxi bay. That's how Team Rhythm roll.

With Mike at the till we rode the long road home (Matt was navigating again), and the sky was as dark as those damn caves were and all I could think was 'Wow, there was magic in those caves,' and the early hours seemed like the wrong time to sleep. So I when I came back to the University I went to the quiet place and watched the sun rise, just to make sure I wasn't underground anymore.

What a fantastic trip! Thanks to all the team for taking me, looking after me and not pushing me down a big hole :D !