Present: Al, Zara, JC, Chris Moylneaux
A fantastic day all round. A late start followed by a trip to Wilkin’s Cider Farm, complete with tasters all round of Dry, Sweet and Perry. Zara kindly asked what the difference between Sweet and Dry, and gave old Wilkins the benefit of explaining.
Returned to hut and on the advice of GD (?) and others elected to go down Singing River. GD helped me recall where the cave was, helped loan some rope to descend, and off we set, intrepid and raring to go.
Pulled into the village just as a couple of kitted up cavers were sauntering out toward the cave. Just as we got out of the car, the heavens opened, as usual. Packed up and sauntered up to the cave to change, just as cavers dropped down the pitch, Al noticing on the way that it was possible to lock the entrance, preventing getting out again. “Hmmm” though Al, that would be a bad thing to happen, it being New Years Eve, call out at 10 pm and all that palaver. “But surely they would have told us if we needed a key…oh what the hell.” All duly arrived at the bottom of the pitch, de-kitted and promptly started getting lost in the 3D maze. Found our way into the dead ends and squeezed into the small chamber at the end. Then ran off back to the pitch to go past the other way. Met the other group getting kitted up to go out. Lively banter ensued, during which we subtly ascertained that the cave does, indeed, get locked, and that would be their cunning plan on exiting. “Er, could you not do that please, as we don’t have a key… we, err we’re from Newcastle…no, honest.” Thus it was found out that we were effectively pirating the cave, and had admitted it to possibly the worst people possible. CSCC members with the email address CandA@cscc. “That’s C and A for Conservation and Access…” Bugger. Still, they were OK about it all anyway and gave us some suggested route-finding ideas.
Following this somewhat embarrassing episode, we tramped around a while getting lost, getting found, and lost again, eventually finding the big chambers with huge pools, and a fantastic borehole going both up to the surface, and continuing down though the floor, by which time all agreed it was time to fuck off and start drinking.
More fun was had at the entrance pitch, with big black bulbous spiders, arse spiders and Zara (see log book for illustration).
Al