Going Underground

by Katharine Bagshaw

One novice caver had some trepidation at the start of this meet. Five club members had chosen a particularly wet weekend, which meant that going underground seemed at first like a nice change from the mist and rain. Two of us had been kitted out in mining outfits in Ingleton so at least we looked the part.

An easy abseil down into Calf Holes was followed by yomping down an underground stream, much head-banging where the roof got low and some valuable instruction as to how to avoid this by walking with your head to one side, with the added benefit on account of you can see where you are going. This is an awkward and ugly gait to maintain for any length of time and I began to wonder if anyone could do this with any kind of grace or style. Then came the contortionist tricks: the best way to get down and round one particularly tortured rock involved twisting and turning like an eel, feet first, and the only way to get through another was to insert yourself horizontally, sandwich-like, in between two plates of rock just inches apart, and wriggle.

The body is more plastic than you think it is but this sort of exercise is tiring for those who have never done it before and are less than wholly relaxed, and I have to admit that at one point, I lay there for a moment thinking, 'just because these rocks have probably not moved for the last ten thousand years does not mean that they are not going to now and squash me big-time. What am I doing here?' Daylight at the exit, Browgill Cave, came as a bit of a surprise.

The next day we descended into Kingsdale Master Cave, another short abseil down and then a wade, there and back, along a stream. Water is a weird medium and water in caves more so, partly because of the noise it makes. Two of us were fascinated at the glooping sound of the water hitting the walls as we moved through and the rock itself could have been created by a man in the special effects make up department. it looked like sickly bad skin.

It was raining heavily outside and the water, it seemed to me, was rising. "Oh yes", said our leader as he carefully sorted the ladder for us to get back up again, "sometimes the sump down there fills this cave right to the ceiling. See those bolts over there near the roof? They're for the cave rescue people".

For some, caves are quite frightening. Admit that they drag up some fairly primitive fears, and you can live with it. I'm not going underground again next week but I will go again because caves are quite fascinating places to be and I would encourage anyone to give it a try.

We all owe a great deal to Mel Owen, a confident, seasoned and enthusiastic caver who took it upon himself to take the five of us down there. He answered our questions on the technicalities of caving, many of which in substance amounted to 'what do you think the chances are of us getting stuck here?' with great patience and charm.

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