Present: Ian, Ralph, James Carlisle
Phrase of the trip: ‘This doesn’t meet criteria seven, Ian.’
This cave was a dismal hole; I doubt any of us will return in the near future. Separated from the cars by a walk of a mile across windswept moorland, this cave met all expectations. In the bottom of a shakehole a stream runs into a small hole, which the caver is required to enter. The passage is small and a lot of hands-and-knees work is needed, all the time in the stream’s bitterly cold waters. Every now and then there appears a welcome, short opening, probably 4 ½ feet tall and not much wider. But at least they allow respite from the stinging cold of the stream. Keeping going, we reached a fork junction, both passages joining again at a sump a few yards further on. Without a way on, we went back: cheered on by the easier going in the uphill direction and the thought of us getting closer to the shakehole rather than farther from it, we made good progress. To my astonishment, I actually enjoyed most of the return journey. Nevertheless we were all happy to be back in the shakehole, stood once again with the satisfaction of a completed cave, the active body not being chilled by the waters, but warmed through with movement. And how we moved on the way back to the cars! A bitter wind made for a quick change and we were off.
New Year celebrations began immediately and there was the usual mix of drink and explosives. Everyone enjoyed their night, and we awoke in the (late) morning to make a mighty cooked breakfast, envied by all who saw it, chatting merrily away about the exploits of the previous night. Packed and ready to go, Ralph boobied with his keys, locking them out of reach, but not out of sight, in his car boot. Once Ralph had retrieved his car keys from his car boot, we were all ready to leave. We set off home having had a most brilliant holiday.