Topic

Newby Moss Pot, Not For The Gluteus Maximus

We all have many firsts in his world, and only on this day could I claim to be attempting my first Black Book trip. Several group members have bottom'd a couple of Black Book trips, but from my reading of trip reports, there is often one or two members that are turned back by the challenge of the cave; be it the cave's crux, or perhaps the mental state an individual brought with them on the day, Black Book trips have a reputation. What would today's trip bring? Would being six foot four hold me back?
An ominous, almost portentous weight hung in the air as the six of us, James, Dave, Phil, Ade, Lukas, and myself, ascended the flank of Ingleborough, seeking the massive shakehole housing Newby Moss. The day had a gloom, typical of moments before sunset but not typical of ten in the morning, and as we neared our destination, a thick layer of cloud enveloped us. Arriving at the shakehole, and perhaps the most dangerous part of the trip, we descended the steep, slippery wet slopes to the entrance.
Time to cave!
Before several of us had even finished getting ready, the words 'he's not fitting' sounded across the shakehole. James couldn't get through the entrance slot, and he's not a big fellow.
One down!
Phil had already gone down first, and I decided to attempt next. With arms above my head and a little wiggle, I inched downwards, committing at chest level to a little exhale to fit through. I felt like a two pence piece being forced through a ten pence slot, but I was in, and already concerned with the exit through the thing.
In the chamber below the entrance, cave spiders adorned the surface, the arachnophobia tempered by the prospect of what the cave would bring.
The small chamber offered little comfort or space, and with no small effort, we exchanged positions and clambered over one another, Phil, followed by Lukas, moved through the left hand boulder choke, progressing to and beyond the first pitch head just below. Dave entered the cave and was watching my progress. I tried several times, even removing both boots and my insulating layer, but the choke was denying me access. I could get my legs, but not my bum through. I tried crawling into a rift to the right of the choke but even if there was enough room to manoeuvre, it would have been a two metre head first drop into the chamber below.
Was I going to be the next green bottle to fall?
With Dave waiting on my next move, I reevaluated the rift to the right of the choke. If I went in there feet first and performed a backwards crawl traverse above the rift, would there be enough room to lever my legs downward and into the pitch room? The answer was a yes! All I had to do was breathe out again at chest level to progress, yet assured footing on the chamber wall offered some security for the return trip.
I asked Dave to pass through my gear, and in his own words, "Nobody has ever asked me for their shoes in a cave before."
While the drama and deliberation had been occuring in the first chamber, Ade had made a decision. A voice from outside boomed his intent, he would not be joining us on this trip.
Two down!
With Phil and Lukas down in the cave somewhere, it was Dave and I, both north of six foot in height, both clearly wondering how our massive frames were going to cope with the rest of the cave if the entrance series was proving so troublesome.
Dave tried the choke, then my rift method, but not fancying the commitment to the drop from the rift, went through the choke again and met success. The first pitch immediately followed and featured a rather rotten constriction at the top. Easy enough to descend but another mark of consternation for the return trip.
At the bottom of the pitch I found enough room to re-dress. Dave passed onwards and met a rift squeeze at floor level. While tussling with space to re-dress, I thought I heard a fell voice: 'I'm not doing that!'
One four metre sideways shuffle later, and I was reunited with Dave who had made a decision: The next obstacle was a blind hole in the floor where you had to sit, find the way forward with your feet, then progress blind into who knows where. Lukas and Phil were not around to suggest anything, but this was the crux for Dave. The balance between pain and pleasure had been crossed and he would be returning to the entrance.
Three down!
I sat in the hole and discovered the way on which was more straightforward than the hole suggested. Feet first progression allowed a natural lever of the hips for easy access. I shouted how accessible it really was to Dave but he had already gone.
Another blind feet first progression followed the water through another slot to enter Guillotine Chamber, the floor of which is loose and unpredictable, but to get there you have to commit through the slot, dangle precariously and trust in the in-situ line for a moment as you find the correct footing to descend. Sporting indeed!
Some athletic but not challenging caving ensues to the very bottom. Choices of upper or lower traversal present themself. Pitches without p-anchors require spits and creative approaches to rig. The cave followed free climbable water shoots, dry today but erosive evidence shows their potential to be tricky. Old ladders and ropes, rusted and wretched beyond use lie abandoned high in the rifts, and one pitch, rigged to an ancient rusted anchor, overly bent spit, and a measly inch lip of rock for the backup sling tested all our resolve to commit
While the caving after The Guillotine chamber is more straightforward, there are still the phreatic tubes of Rakes Passage to navigate. Entered from a flat out crawl at the base of the free climbable water shoots, you follow murky water until it veers right into a delightful S bend. I went through this first, contorting and sideways shuffling, one arm forwards, with helmet off and srt kit in tow, several times becoming snagged by my size twelve clod-hopping boots. Phil and Lukas followed, making it look stylish and simple with Phil making the trip both ways pushing the tackle sack.
I was already contemplating the return through rakes, but the cave had a party trick up its sleeve.
Decorated chambers await your arrival to the lower sections. Untouched, pristine formations of pearly white hang from above. Stalactites harbouring helictites; calcified waterfalls; rooms seldom navigated remain free of interaction, sitting delicate and untouched. An ouroboros trail snakes through chambers as if scripted to be a tour, with windows in the rock inspiring creative angles for wholesome cave photography.
During a quiet moment of reflection in the decorated chambers, Lukas drew a comparison to Spectacle Pot, another Black Book trip he had completed a few weeks before. "If Spectacle Pot came from The Black Book, then this cave (Newby Moss) must have come from the book of doom!"
A short journey to the final pitch, rigged again with spit and a more robust natural anchor than before marked the end of our journey; three of us had made it to the final chamber.
We discovered tools and other metal apparatus, long past their usability, laid to rest between opposing, abandoned digs. While we offered admiration to those who carted tools and material to the digs, there was a bittersweet edge to them, a melancholic ode to defeated ambition.
Lukas stated no time to celebrate yet as the journey was only halfway through. I elected to de-rig, pushing thoughts of Rakes and the entrance passage away.
Phil and Lukas made good progress through the whole outward journey. Not easy, but perhaps not too hard, it was hard to tell. Perhaps their resolve was harder than steel.
I had a few issues on the return, either from my size or relative inexperience. I envied Lukas' capacity to re-orientate in Rakes passage where I spent several concerning moments unable to move in the S bend. A moment of learning was had in the floor level sideways rift where instead of removing my srt kit I tried to jam through, with progress eventually stalling preventing exit or escape. Phil's knife would have been getting to work on my gear if I hadn't managed to unhook a shoulder strap at the last minute.
The exit from Guillotine Chamber favoured my long libs as I pushed off the rear wall, and the same again at the near-entrance rift, however, while Lukas and Phil made prompt exits through the opening slot of the cave, with Phil nonchalantly stating without any prior grunt or fanfare that 'he's out!', my size prevented contortion and required a handline assist to exit the cave.
Before we could celebrate, there was one final issue. During removal of my helmet for the exit attempt, my headtorch detached, laying to rest at my feet. The literal coin slot prevented contortion, I had to go either up or down, so I asked Lukas if he would kindly enter the opening with the promise that I had the strength to pull him back out; thanks Lukas!
The last of daylight was retreating behind the horizon as we scaled the shakehole with our gear. Perhaps not as straightforward on the day as The Black Book implied, mostly due to us larger folk having issues, with the right team and psychology, I can see how a return trip could be accomplished in less than a handful of hours.
The physiques and psychological temperament from both Lukas and Phil were very impressive today and I suggested that they form a team and eventually write a sequel to Not For The Faint Hearted; The Black Book 2 is theirs for the making.
Despite the ominous dread on the approach journey, we all agreed that today was a good day to cave!

Total trip time: 7 hours 46 minutes
Casualties: One dry bag, one spare head torch, three cavers, and one bent spit