Team: Jim / Bog / Dave
In a week that saw metaphorical clouds roll across much of England, the land seemed anything other than green and pleasant. However my countenance was rendered divine via a message from Bog: ‘fancy digging in England’s Green and Pleasant Land, tube off the top?’ Of course I did, and so a long overdue reunion between Bog, Dave and me was a joy to behold in a pleasantly warm Bagshawe car park.
The objective tonight was to reach the big chamber at the top of EGAPL and place a bolt to secure a handline that was looped precariously round a stal and commence digging operations in the tube. Reports from the previous week of collapsing slopes suggested that a secure line would be a sensible precaution so Dave had come prepared with kit and we had a reasonably quick jaunt up the New Series and through a bone dry Pool Chamber. I took Dave’s bag and made an enjoyable climb up to the big block that marks the last bit of solid before moving onto the chossy bit. Shouting behind me, it was obvious that I couldn’t hear them, and they couldn’t hear me, I tried whistling but that was orders of magnitude quieter so I just had to sit tight and hope someone would get bored of waiting. Soon enough, I heard panting and Bog appeared, followed quickly by Dave.
Over the block and onto the slope, I could see where Dave had collapsed a big chunk of it, so opted to stay by the left-hand wall with a view to keeping as much weight off my feet as possible and ready to grab the handline should my sketchy footholds part company. Everything behaved and I ensconced myself by the stal, understanding why Dave had been worrying about it all week.
I got cracking with the bolt and Dave and Bog headed off into the tube to crack on.
I’d been looking forward to a tube that was tube shaped, so making my way into a rocky bedding that appeared to continue as a rocky bedding made me wonder if I’d picked the wrong place to catch them up but I could hear them ahead so carried on.
Pushing on I found myself on a big wide hump of hard mud, quite reminiscent of sidetrack i.e there’s a tube there but you’re at the top of it because it’s full. Not so low as to be pushing tight, but just low enough to prevent any meaningful crawling, and with just too little moisture to prevent adhesion, the mud was sticky, and I dragged myself along for what seemed like ages wondering when the dig face would appear.
Just round the corner I came face to face with Bog’s wellies and got stuck in to an uncomfortable session of kibble emptying. With only enough height to turn a kibble over and not enough space to bash it, this involved clawing the mud out in balls and attempting to get them to the back of the passage like a T Rex throwing a heavy ball, while Dave filled and demanded fresh kibbles at an unreasonable pace. Luckily there was enough shit banter flying about to make it all less minging and I was glad to be there rather than anywhere else.
After a while we all simultaneously decided we’d had enough and hauled shell back to the chamber, where the relief of standing up gave way to something akin to vertigo after an hour lying on my side with my head below my feet. Once I didn’t feel about to fall over down the pitch, I headed down, letting the unwieldy bag try to knock me off balance instead.
An easy dash out and we found ourselves back on a balmy surface at 2330 and had a lovely hour of beers and chat.
Work continues…