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Written by: Victoria Kocher

Published: 26 February 2026

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Oil Drum → Climbing Shaft
Katie, Julian, Ade, Pete, Alan, Chris & Victoria 

The Tuesday Nighters assembled in the triangle. With seven of us loitering about, we split into two groups for maximum efficiency.

Before we ventured underground, Katie was  debating: Is it better to face the muddy puddle at the start of the trip, or save it as a special treat for the way out? I cast my vote firmly for “get it over with early,” and thus joined the Oil Drum → Climbing Shaft trio.

Down we went, squeezing and climbing along. After a bit of classic Hillocks stomping we reunited at the bottom, where—because it’s what cavers actually do—we immediately stopped for a chat. And then some exploring. And then more chatting.

We surveyed the sumped bit, admired the connection to Meccano Passage (never again, thank you very much)

Highlight of the night: a surprisingly handsome frog who had somehow made it all the way down. Luckily Katie is basically the Patron Saint of Tiny Underground Creatures. Without hesitation she crafted a safe frog-transit zone, donated one glove to the cause, and chauffeured the little guy out like he’d booked a premium service.

Eventually we all wandered off toward our respective exits. The climbing shaft did not disappoint—still one of my favourites—and with only three of us plus Katie derigging, we made tidy progress and popped out into a rare Peak District  February evening  no rain, visible stars, and even a quarter moon above. Katie popped the frog out of her glove. He had survived unscathed. I let him go in the small copse of trees. We hope he wanted to reach the surface after all.

We surfaced a bit ahead of the other team, changed while waiting for their lights to bob into view, and then—because tradition matters—headed straight for the Bulls Head. Nothing like a pint by the fire to finish off another excellent Tuesday Nighters adventure.

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Written by: Victoria Kocher

Published: 11 February 2026

Hits: 601

Part One of the Tuesday Nighters’ Red Rake adventures went so well that some of us who missed it promptly demanded a rerun. So—because we’re apparently incapable of saying no to wet holes in the Peak District—off we went again.

Seven of us assembled: Edvin, Ade, Jenny, Chris, John, Pete, and myself..

It’s only a short walk to the entrance, which is the kind of beautiful sough that makes you forget you’re about to spend several hours voluntarily wading through cold water. They don’t call it Red Rake for nothing—the stones lit up red under our lamps.

Katie had insisted we could make it a round trip using the boat. Yes, the boat. Naturally, we decided this sounded like an excellent challenge and went for it.

We plunged straight into waist-deep water. This would have been fine, except it’s been raining for approximately forty days and forty nights, so the water temperature was somewhere between “refreshing” and “why are we doing this to ourselves?”

Photos by Ade Pedley

Dripping but determined, we left the water and entered the mine proper. Handlines, climbs, levels—Red Rake had it all. Stemples in the roof hinted at long-lost passages above.

One particular climb required so much precision that “LAF” was mentioned. the message was clear: anyone below should get as far back as possible as the climb was held by a questionable deviation which barely held back the rubble.

Chris, not satisfied with the normal levels, climbed up to some old ladders whose rungs disintegrated faster than a biscuit in tea. This did not deter him in the slightest. He poked around another level simply because gravity hadn’t slowed him down.

While the group was large enough we eventually herded ourselves downward to search for the boat. Chris and Pete detoured down a lower climb into what they claimed was more mine .We assume they would rejoin us in a bit.

Reunited, we finally reached the clear blue water. With some gentle rope-hauling we coaxed the giant inflatable tube towards us and enjoyed a very dignified float across. No one fell in. No one capsized. A triumph.

Back at the entrance, the snow had started falling… although “slush hurled from above” is probably more accurate. We’d explored so thoroughly that there was no time left for pints, which is frankly the most shocking part of the whole story. I’ll be having two next week to compensate.

Brilliant company, brilliant evening—another Tuesday night trip in the bag.

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Written by: Victoria Kocher

Published: 21 January 2026

Hits: 664

Mandale Mine

Cat, Julian, Brendan, Alan, Pete, Chris, Robert, Edvin, Victoria —  the somewhat older and now slightly soggier birthday human.

It was a damp Tuesday evening (when isn’t it in winter), and the usual suspects had been summoned to neoprene up for what could only be described as a “moderately aquatic expedition.” Jess, bless her, swung by with a birthday card and good cheer — she's nearly cave-ready again, which is excellent news.

We rendezvoused at the lay-by, and headed to the entrance. The gate looked just as it should — locked and undisturbed. Being freshly a year older, I had the brilliant idea of combining a conservation survey and birthday cake.

Cat brought a stunning carrot cake. I, meanwhile, had baked my own offering and lovingly sealed it inside a paper bag, then a backpack. Genius-level waterproofing, I thought at the time.

This being the first survey of the new year, I also planned to take photos of the collapse inside. Naturally, I forgot the waterproof phone case. Thankfully, Robert was  equipped with a Daren drum and patient enough to serve as “Keeper of the Phone.” Each time I needed it, he somehow retrieved it without rolling his eyes (too much).

We reached the water faster than expected, which was definitely deeper than on previous trips— waist-deep, then chest-deep, then “I wished I was two inches taller deep.” Holding my cakes aloft touching the ceiling, we pressed on.

Cat, cheerfully announced that the airspace continued ahead. Encouraged, we all did an awkward sideways shuffle through the passage that involved some helmet-removing, and one very cold ear (mine).

Finally, we reached the collapse. Several feet of mud, zero view of the rumored plastic pipe, and the idea that the mud may be moving a bit forward into  the passage. But hey — we’d made it! Time for cake diplomacy.

Against all odds, both cakes survived! Out came a tea light candle and the world’s most indecisive lighter. We  sang an enthusiastic but slightly damp rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

Then it was time to retreat through the flooded passage, pausing only for a bit of exploring and the classic group photo — in which Pete appeared to be auditioning for a “how hypothermia starts” PSA. Note to self: wetsuit for Pete is now officially top priority.

We all emerged into the frosty night.  After peeling off layers of neoprene that may or may not have fused to our bodies, we made a quick detour to The Bulls Head. A warm fire, a fine pint, and good friends.  Note to self: bring my own daren drum next time.