This trip had been on the tick list for years, as far as i know it is the nearest cave to home and i have heard some rave reviews,
“a great trip”,
“Scary”,
“some hazardous technical moves” and
“glad i had the comfort of my St Christopher”.
Just to add a bit more birthday spice i decided to leave the car at home (the bastard has cost me a small fortune recently, when i received the bill i asked the engineer if he had used diamonds in any part of the repair!). I duly caught the train and set off for cave country. I had with me a small backpack crammed with the necessary victuals and an Inglesport bag for the new birthday caving kit, a 130m rope, a new Scurion 2600 including a new battle hardened BS 5921 helmet (my old one was only 20 years old and in true YSS tradition i was very reluctant to let it go), a pair of Neo canyoning boots complete with winter treads and air con insoles and a brand new state of the art film industry HD camera which includes NODS (night vision system used by special forces), radar tracking, 2000 hours of battery, strapped to the side of the helmet and weighing in at 4oz (113g in new money), i was (as you can imagine) dying to use it.
As i got off the train the mist laid thick, vis was 5m, the terrain a difficult footpath. I quickly made my way to the river. It was knee deep and treacherous with its warp speed current and underlying branches; thankfully i only lost my footing 3 times. By the time i reached the far shore i was soaked to the skin but with dogged YSS determination i dragged the Inglesport bag out of the river and let it drain, all the new kit was intact and ok. I passed a bridge 10m upstream and expelled a sigh of relief for not taking that soft option. The mist seemed to be drawn by the healthy stand of trees that protected the cave and as it evaporated towards the pale sun the gnarly crag, home to the cave became apparent. It stood like a highway, coursing through the woodland, the black malevolent mouth of the cave was barking like the hollow hounds of yore, a mist rising from its dark soulless depths like the breath of death.
It took me the usual 1hour 30 minutes to change in the car park, as i danced around in the usual SRT ritual of comfort, strangers looked at me as they passed and they did not speak knowing that in full caving kit there would be only one place I was heading. A cold and bitter sun was rising as my feet crunched along the cindered path towards the cave entrance i turned a corner and there it was before me like some gargantuan gateway to hell and doom drawn from Mordor in the Lord of the Rings or from Hollywood’s dark primeval mega fest, King Kong.
I was feeling a little anxious.
Last kit check before enter, light on, laces soundly tied in a double overhand figure of 8 supremo knot, mars bars in helmet. My heart begins to race as i stepped over the drip line and into the confines of the cave. As my pupils adjust i let out a horrifying scream, the lone crouched figure in the corner send a cold shiver down my spine...a few seconds later i gain my composure as the Scurion lights up the waxy wart encrusted figure of Mother Shipton.
