Topic

Bloody hell fire!
Woken by the alarm after an uncharacteristically solid six hours of sleep at the YSS, I could have, for a moment, leapt up out of bed and kissed the sun were it not for the fatigue in my limbs reminding me of the previous day's exertion. I peeled my carcass away from the mattress, grabbed what I needed for a shower and made my way to the cubicles. Paul was sat in shadow as I passed through the common room and we exchanged some sort of guttural mimicry that could be translated as ‘morning.’
Washed, fed, and caffeinated, I joined the growing throng in the commons.Conversation grew but there seemed little drive towards making a plan. One could analyse these languid moments as folk lacking motivation, or inspiration, or liken us as sheep waiting to be shepherded to our destination. But maybe it’s in these moments, with a brew in one hand and a conversation in the other, where toils cease to exist: no crawls to grovel in, no burdens to answer; devoid of economic taxation, nothing to declare no mail to answer, in this moment there is nothing to do but exist and be free…
Or maybe everyone was just a little slow that morning because they hadn’t yet shaken off the tendrils of Klaudia’s homebrew from the night before.
Dave Chadwick arrived and conversation turned towards caving. Much was deemed too wet, or too far, or too hard, until at last we deliberated down to Lost Johns, and almost at once, with perhaps an abundance of expediency the bags were packed and we were jetting off. I followed in hot pursuit of the first vehicle to depart, leaving a bewildered handful at the YSS wondering what the plan was.
For the time of year, Leck Fell was clement, though you wouldn’t know it by the pace being set. I met no resistance at asking to rig Dome and at that, the Centipede team were off, moving as if a blizzard nipped at their heels. Again I was in hot pursuit and by the time an entrance selfie was taken they were long gone. 
The frontrunners who left the YSS first, who took point descending Lost Johns, continued on trend in the lead as they made their way down Centipede route. Dome junction would be their impasse. They could progress no further without the remaining bags, and unknowable to them it would be delayed, so they pulled up a pew and waited.
Meanwhile, I was chasing echoes of the first team as I made my way down the streamway, finally catching sight of the Centipede team just as I met the first bolt in the traverse that would take me down towards Dome. I watched them disappear around the corner, perplexed initially as I thought we were all heading down the Dome route.
Alone, I lowered the pace, rigging the first ten metre pitch from the traverse. Next was Vestry, a pitch requiring 10 metres of rope but in the bag I discovered 40. Reaching the bottom I ran the rope out to the next pitch, linking Vestry to the traverse towards Cathedral. I wondered if anyone would follow me down this route, or see it rigged and proceed to the next one. Would they assume this route to be full?. Would I be rigging alone down Lost Johns?
As I dangled near the pitch head, Paul appeared, followed by James and then Bernice, a team at last. We tweaked the traverse line and I descended. All was going well until I reached the knot at the end of the rope. I hovered six inches above the floor, unable to dismount the rope as it would have sprung away and become unreachable.
I'm going to have to come back up, we need another six feet of rope!’
Feeling frustrated and a little weary, I ascended to the pitch head where we together tweaked and tightened the rigging to gain the length we needed and I tried the descent again. A few feet of excess sat coiling on the floor.
‘Rope free!’
Moving on, I had a mini epic with the rope bag as I dropped through the fissure towards Dome pitch. The bag got tangled around my legs and then wedged at the lip of a three foot drop. This was taut enough that I couldn’t turn, twist, or climb my way out of it and had to use an extended arm to coax the bag free. This took several moments and I didn’t swear at the bag once. I debated waiting to be freed by the next person to follow me down but after a small wrestle the bag and I became friends again.
Dome next, and some fun penduluming ensued as I attempted to reach a red sling at the window directly opposite the pitch. This approach produced an unacceptable amount of rope rub from above as it became caught between two downwards blades of rock. This did not feel like the correct way on, and as I threaded the rope away from the rock and swung away back to base, I looked down to my right, spying a mallion shaped window with a shiny CNCC anchor just on the inside.
One last smaller swing and I landed in the window. Paul continued offering advice about the correct way from above, but he couldn't see what I saw, and of more importance, he couldn't hear what I could hear: a chorus of obvious disgruntlement from a few bends ahead; the other team, who unbeknownst to us, had been sat waiting, unable to proceed as the final bag of rope was at the back of our group. Oh, to have a plan.
Reaching Dome Junction we discovered Stu, who promptly set about departing the cave; Damien and Lucazs accepted the final bag and set off towards Battleaxe; Dave and Klaudia had already ascended their ropes to come and find us; Lucas sat studying the rigging topo; and Martin, silent and solemn, a victim to deja vu on this cobbled together trip.
I set off after Damian and Lucasz. Everyone else would be exiting the cave leaving just three of us to head towards the final pitch. 
I find it hard to absorb my surroundings when moving with haste through a cave, soon discovering myself halfway through Battleaxe Traverse before registering where I was. Damien and Lucasz were just ahead, about to drop the pitch as I hung from an anchor. There was no fear today on my third trip through Battleaxe, though I had found it difficult on this occasion to wedge myself in at the right spots and struggled to find footholds; I was glad of the rope.
When it was my turn to descend Valhalla, a light appeared in the traverse preceding the arrival of Dave. He declared his intent to not descend Valhalla and promptly turned around and set off out the cave. 
From Valhalla to the pitch was reached without a significant incident. A gear bag tried to drag me down the streamway, and Damien had some choice words to say about the bolted traverse towards the last pitch. While waiting for Damien to finish rigging the last pitch, I tore open an energy gel, squirting it into my mouth, missing, and spattering it all over my lips. There was an exclamation of eurrggh from Lucasz as I think some of my gel landed on him; I remained silent.
We had a moment to regroup in the final chamber, deciding our order before setting off on the outbound journey, de-rigging and hauling as we went. I opted to take out the 80 metre rope bag and had a truly great time dragging it out. Not once did it get stuck, wedged, or prove to be any sort of burden on the way to the surface. It didn't get caught in my pantin, or swing uncontrollably during my pitch ascents, though we did share a tender moment at the head of Hammer pitch where I rested my weary head on the bag for a spell as I awaited the other two to catch up. 
Once I confirmed the final two were nearby I made the last march out the cave, remembering to head left at the junction, where I soon met the little foam monster that swirls around the entrance.
And that was it, we were out after a classic trip. Streamways and traversing, shimmying and exposure, plus some rope swinging goodness to top it off; cardiovascular caving at its finest. I think most folk had an enjoyable trip… mostly.
Later I would learn that the misadventures on rope were due to the missing Vestry rope.
Later, later, after the arrival of Josh, we would deduce that he same rope was missed and a similar incident occurred on the YSS does Lost John’s trip back in late 2024. We consulted the topo and deduced that the adjacent ten metre pitches pictured on the image likely contributed towards one of them being overlooked or conflated. A forgivable and comprehensible sin, though I daresay we owe it to Martin to sort our logistics and do better next time.