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Lost John's Pot, Saturday 16th November, A view from the other team

After three hours of sleep and a ninety-minute drive, I arrived for the first time at my first caving meet with the YSS to a stellar greeting and a quick question: What caves have you done? 

The intermediate group was decided for me by Dave. A flurry of people were moving around, sorting gear. Greetings all around. Hands were taken and names were shaken. Dave it seemed had done the logistical hard work already, noting on the whiteboard each team and their routes. I would be with Sam, Phil, and Andy. 

Who is Andy was asked? He'll be meeting us there was answered. Okay then!

Half an hour later, with parking spaces at capacity, twelve cavers changed into gear on a rather wind-free Leck Fell. The Andy was located, and the team was set. Phil would be rigging, and being the new git I got to carry the bag for him to the first pitch.

Straddling the rift traverse above the streamway, we made our way down the first few pitches until we encountered a problem at Cathedral. Phil shouted up that he had run out of rope and didn't have enough to reach the bottom. We decided to unrig Vestry and leave it as a free climb, and after prusiking back up, Phil re-rigged the pitch with the extra length.

Phil, who set a blistering pace with the rigging, cracked on. The rest of us descending in turn barely keeping up.

Dome pitch was next and involved a delightful swing into an opening in the adjacent wall. I was last in line at this, and unbeknownst to the group, I spent several minutes grappling with my new Kong Descender. Despite being rated for 10-12mm rope, the damn thing was struggling with the diameter and refused to lower me when I pulled the lever. Hanging alone in the chamber, I swore and forced the handle to release the rope, elbow tendons protesting at the effort. I gained just enough descent to swing and gain a foothold on the edge of the opening. 

The group rejoined, and the thunder of flowing water growing, we continued, soon hearing laughter over the din and discovering Dave's group chilling at the bottom of Shistol pitch. Forgotten words were exchanged because it was onwards to Battleaxe traverse. 

One by one we climbed into the rift, thrutching and flexing for footholds until halfway was reached and progression seemed limited to how hard you can press your body into the walls. We made ourselves the filling to this rift sandwich, reaching and pressing until an inviting column of rock presented itself to stand on just before the pitch head. A slight constriction before the Y-Hang presents as a suitable likeness to the gate to Valhalla. 

The Valhalla pitch is splendid. A 45 metre straight line pitch to the bottom. Simply stunning.

We reached the master cave. Phil marked our route with his Simple and we journeyed upstream and over boulders to find another group high above us, it was the Battleaxe riggers. Andy went up to inspect the upper ledge and discovered that the party was already full and we weren't invited. We checked our route progression and decided to make the return journey.

Several members relieved themselves into the master cave stream, Sam shared his water, and the ascension commenced. Andy and I remained in the master junction for a while to allow Phil and Sam a head start up the pitches. Andy had stepped forward to derig, and I would be his backup mule to carry the extra rope bag after reaching Battleaxe.

The ascending went well, and we caught up to the other two at the base of Valhalla. Sam suggested he might be a little slow, and we responded with not to worry. At the top of the pitch, Sam rested at the top of Valhalla and several minutes passed before Rope Free! was yelled.

Upon ascending Valhalla, it became clear why Sam had rested. The gate to Valhalla, or minor constriction, looked far more intimidating from the opposite side, clearly requiring a decent amount of upper body strength to haul yourself up and through the narrowing. It looked difficult for someone with a broader chest; Sam later confirming this is why he took a short rest before committing.

I then ascended and sat in the rift, waiting for Andy to ascend the rope so I could pack it in the bag and set off. What followed was what can only be described as a thorough introduction to the future of my caving adventures: hauling a heavy ass bag through an awkward rift traverse. No moans here though; cant wait!

Next was the ascension of Centipede, then Mud. While waiting for Andy atop Mud pitch, I heard him shout something about rope and bag. The poor bugger had to re-descend Centipede pitch as the rope had become trapped at the bottom and he couldn't haul it up. He relayed all this without even a hint of annoyance. Fair play Andy!

Phil and Sam were waiting for us in a rift, and with the team back together we set off towards the surface, wondering if there would be any daylight left waiting for us.

Rejoining the upper caves where we began, we shimmied along the upper traverse above the streamway, passing our initial descent, only this time we weren't alone, there was another group heading in the same direction in the streamway directly below us. We climbed down to join them to discover it wasn't anybody from the YSS, and attempts at communication fell flat. It seemed there might have been a language barrier between us.
 
And so our group of four became a single-file convoy of eight folk stomping up the streamway, a slower pace set by a member of the other group who was at the head of our pack. Even in a cave, it wouldn't be the UK without a queue.

We left our underground others at the junction, offering advice that left was the correct way out, but again received no response.

One hundred metres later, we passed an alien-looking foam object swirling in the water by the exit. I stopped for a picture then ascended the streambank, aware that two other members of the group would like to get changed and I had the key to the car. 

We changed with haste in the dark, the last vehicle left in the layby, bid farewell to Andy, and in turn Lost John's. 

On our way down from Leck Fell, we saw headlights and moving figures at the roadside. Assuming again and again wrongly that it was another YSS group, we stopped the car next to four semi-naked bodies changing in the lower layby. It was the uncommunicative other group. Without a word of exchange between any of us, we wound the windows back up and drove away from Leck Fell, murmuring between ourselves that there was nothing at all odd about that.

With 20 minutes left on the clock before the emergency call out, we received a phone call from the club confirming our safety, and the promise that they'd put the kettle on.

I understand now why Lost John's has such a vocal reputation as a classic. It was banging trip with good company.

Trip time: 7 hours
Casualties: 1 water bottle, a foot ascender strap, and the index finger of a glove