Present: Ralph, George, Little Chris, Dave, John R, James, Stacey, (and the group that tried Pipikin, but went round to do Mistral only: Old Al, Old Chris R, and A.N. Other?)
The day dawned cloudy and overcast as our brave adventurers ran to Bernies/Inglethief to buy Harness, Cowstails and Oversuits, before swooping back to the farm in the Van Of Doom to change for the cave. Underground at a respectable time, muggy heads had subsided in the brisk walk across the fell. Down the first pitch – the cave was already rigged – we met Old Al and Chris R on their way out. ‘You’ll not like this next bit’ said Al. ‘Poofter, egh’ we chanted back. But he was right. The reverse handstand off the bar into the squeeze was a twang scary, especially with the next person bumping into you. Stepping out of the squeeze (watching the big hole beneath), its feet first through a hole, before larger cavers (that’s Ralph then) remove SRT kit for the first ‘Technical’ squeeze. Feet First, on the Right Hand Side, staying as high as possible (I think). I forget the best way through the next few. SRT kit back on for a pitchlet, then off for the next squeeze, on for a pitch, off for a squeeze and so on until the bottom was gained. Why can’t I have smaller hips?
Through to Mistral, and the Hall of the Mountain King and its deep, deep mud. We became mud monsters, and no-one went blind, despite minor throwing incidents. Up the Cigarell to the cascades from here, climbing many a waterfall, disappearing into deeeeep pools and ducking beneath stals, we crawled upstream to the cascades. ‘Hmmmm’ said we, ‘there’s foam up to the roof.’ So we looked at the water briefly before cheesing it out. Easier with the stream, we paused at the bit where Little Chris had to hold on to the walls to keep his head up. Bless. Back through the mud (aww, but I was clean!) and up a couple of the slippiest mud slopes ever. ‘Interesting’ is indeed the word, before sliding down another like kids in the park. But faster and scarier. Wiggely Wiggely, Crawly Crawly to the climb out, where James knocked a bit of wood onto Ralph’s head. Home in time for tea (hard not to though, when we cooked it ourselves).
Ralph