Present: Bec, Anthony, Chris R, Chris S, Tim “Barber-Bell” Hewson
The Marton Arms couldn’t have been a warmer place with good friends, familiar faces, new cavers and the perfect pint. After a cold and some what gassy night, Ant turned on the correct gas supply (for a change) and cooked us all a superb breakfast. After the customary faffing about which will hopefully become obsolete under Anthony’s regime, we finally got in the car to go to Ireby Fell. I at first refused to go any where near the cave as it is most definitely cursed as far as D.U.S.A is concerned, but when I heard they were doing County again, I had no choice.
For some bizarre reason the words Stirling Moss and Lada became inextricably linked as Ant bombed through Yorkshire in a supreme effort to keep his temperamental vehicle in motion. Once Chris and I spotted the thick cloud of black soot we knew we were near the cave.
After the customary two mile walk through sheep shit and over the stile, we got to the huge pit which is the entrance to Ireby. Once down the now partially hysterectomised re-birth experience, we soon got to the pitch where Ant rigged a very sporting piece of string (shadow route), that worked out to be inch perfect. The traverse was less than comfortable, and the re-belays were not impossible because of various footholds and ledges. The final deviation proved to be a little tricky but the reward was a pleasant descent down a very attractive pitch. Once we were all at the bottom our group of five explored the passages up to Well, returned and free climbed Pussy pitch.
The most challenging aspect of the day was attempting to find the cars. We failed with style and due to a certain amount of luck we stumbled into the Water Board territory and from there found our way.
After a storming chilli back at the caravan, the Marton Arms was the natural pilgrimage followed by a general piss-up back at the campsite, helped along by Al’s special brand of cigarettes. The next day due to severe hangovers and bad weather all of us decided to doss around in Yordas for a bit before we all dispersed to our own corners of the country. It felt abnormal not to return with D.U.S.A. to Durham.
Ah well, roll on DINNER MEET is what I say
Chris Sheasby (DUSA drinker 1994-97)