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Written by: Jim Thompson

Published: 10 November 2022

Hits: 1681

CDG Qualified Diver:  Rob M

CDG Handbook Owner Diver: Jim T

I uncoiled the rope and continued until I was just above a big, stunningly clear and blue sump pool.  Little blobs of mud fell into the water creating small clouds that scattered my lamp beam, so I had a good look around on full power and was pretty sure that I could see a floor maybe ten feet subsurface. Short of dropping off the rope and going for a swim there was nothing left to do but get into ascent mode and rejoin the others. 

I’d been disappointed that going for a swim in a beautifully clear sump pool wasn’t really an option on my first visit to Glorious Hole, intrigued to know what was really beyond the suggestion of a way on, and being involved in the subsequent discovery dives had piqued a long-suppressed interest in the pursuit of cave diving. The itch that never really got scratched, but merely ignored, as impending parenthood, and other such life responsibilities beginning to share focus with caving in general, placed the oft-repeated stigma of certain death in the category of ‘probably better avoided’.

Following the second push into the GH sump, where I’d been gripped with the excitement of diving taking place and quite disappointed that whatever lay beyond that water surface would remain a mystery, I tentatively broached the subject with Rob by way of a ‘shame it’s not like open water diving where I could go and try it in a swimming pool’ comment. Rather than simply agree with me , to my surprise he was open to further discussion. I told him I just really wanted to have a go; see what it was all about; know for myself if it was something to hate, fear and therefore remain forever taboo; or would I be able to handle it? Either way if it were ever possible it’d be a significant life experience and I’d extract whatever benefit I could. We parted ways for the evening with a loosely non-committal ‘let’s catch up after the summer holidays’.

Fast forward to October, summer fading fast. I was almost content to let my foolhardy keen-ness become a memory, but Rob is in touch with a date and I immediately say I’ll be there. It’s easy to commit to things that are in the distant future, in the pleasant light of a balmy summer evening. November arrives it’s dark by 1600, getting decidedly cold and for me at least beginning to feel like bedtime as soon as work finishes. I may have been ursine in a previous incarnation as I’d quite happily hibernate until April…  Nevertheless, this feels like a precious and rare opportunity so I get my kit together, glad I’d invested in a thick wetsuit; less glad that my gloves are the thin and stitched-through variety, and the hood I have for the odd duck feels paper thin and crucially isn’t connected to my wetsuit. I can feel the cold water rushing down my back and wish I had a better option.

On a beautifully clear evening I drove out to the location, the van chiming a 4 degree C warning just to help me remember I was about to at least attempt to get fully submerged in water that wouldn’t be much warmer, and hopefully stay in it for a reasonable amount of time. I felt nervous the whole way, but on meeting with Rob his confidence and apparent nonchalance about the whole affair put me at ease.

To my delight he’d also brought a bag full of neoprene of the sort more suited to diving, and even better, I was able to fit into a nice 5mm jacket complete with attached hood, super thick diving hood and some gloves that made up in thickness what they removed in dexterity. The game was on.

Rob explained the plan and showed me the survey; we’d be practising drills in an open pool until I was happy, then following the line as far as I felt comfortable with, or until we reached a surface. I'd done some open water dives in the past so was happy I knew what was involved in the drills and wouldn't be learning all this for the first time.

We then went through the process of dressing me as a cave diver – ensuring that I had two means by which to cut line, pegs to mark the way out at any line junctions (and critically was able to reach these with either hand) understood how to read my compass to find the bearing for ‘home’. I also wore a dive computer which although given the profile of the dive wouldn’t be a necessity, was part of the setup and anyway, I might like to see my depth at some point.

Next came the horrendous and somewhat amusing task of attaching 7l cylinders to the sidemount harness I had on. They’re fairly heavy and unwieldy beasts and trying to hold them up with one hand and locate a D ring behind my back and clip an open krab to it was awful. I was keen to do everything unaided because I’d seen Rob do it with such ease and knew that independence is an essential attribute but I had to give in. Rob clipped me in and I managed to get the bungee round the pillar at the front and clipped on. I got the regulators clipped onto an elastic necklace and made sure I could find them and get them into my mouth which took a bit of harness adjustment, ensured I could reach the cylinder valves with both hands, and we moved on to the gauges and calculation of thirds. The gauges, having been used for cave diving, were not exactly flawlessly polished and were in fact more akin to looking through a bathroom window. Coupled with my worsening reading eyesight, a mask, and a weird angle of view, I could see the sum total of fuck all. I could make out the needles though, and the relative divisions on the gauge, so a quick bit of mental arithmetic, taking off 10 from the starting pressure to account for the last bit of unbreathable gas, I could determine where the needle would be once a third of the air was consumed. That would then leave another third for the return trip, and a third in reserve just in case. We then discussed the process of ‘jumping’ between any broken sections of line, navigating junctions, finding the way out, how and when to swap regs, mask clearing, ear clearing, how to follow, but not pull on, the line and never to lose it - loads of information I’d certainly read about, but never practised. It all felt like quite a mental load but I made sure I took notice and went through everything in my head - I felt incredibly reassured that I’d be there with Rob who told me I had loads of air and things would be straightforward underwater. He’d be watching me closely the entire time but I knew I couldn’t just blithely disregard my own responsibilities and expect him to just immediately transport me to air, or make me breathe water if anything happened. I was here of my own accord and although I was placing trust in Rob, he’d have to trust me try to be competent and not do anything stupid.

Everything set, we headed into the adit carrying fins and in a couple of minutes reached the open water pool. I was in control, I could turn around at any point if I felt like not proceeding, and this entire time I’d been aware that I was still nervous and the lure of a warm pub did cross my mind, but I was still fine, not even wet yet so had no reason not to proceed. First job was to fully open my cylinders and ensure I could breathe through both regs, followed my sticking my head in the water whilst still standing to ensure they worked underwater and my mask remained sealed… All fine, although the water at this stage was painfully cold on my exposed face!

I was wearing a couple of lead blocks at this stage and needed to ensure I wasn’t too buoyant, so I would sink to the bottom of the pool to get comfortable in the water, make sure I could clear my mask in case of flooding, get my ears clear and practise swapping regs without choking on water. It was hard to sink, so we added a couple more blocks of lead. That ensured I could sit on the bottom and just do some breathing. I was still getting orientated so flailed around a bit at first, but managed to do everything without too much fuss and soon felt quite comfortable and began to enjoy a sense of elation at being under water, yet breathing, and totally fine with it.

With that we headed back to the shore and pulled on fins, Rob told me to follow the line, and see how I got on. I headed down and began kicking my legs and travelling along the line. I felt a tug on my fin so turned round and followed Rob back to surface… ‘just take it slowly, no rush!’ and as I descended again, I realised I’d been powering along like it was a race. This time I swam along gently, although I was a bit heavy so had to keep myself off the bottom at times. The water was crystal clear, and I realised I felt absolutely calm, warm, and really enjoyed just being underwater in a blue glow, marvelling at a pin sharp thin line of silt hovering at eye level. I ensured I swapped regs early on so it became a regular habit, and realised I needed to clear my ears when I felt myself going deeper. Waiting for the pressure to build was painful and made it harder to do, I was surprised at the amount of pressure I had to generate and gripping my tiny nose through a mask and gloves was hard, but the satisfying crackling and bubbling sound in my ear canal soon came and I had one less task to concentrate on.

I made sure I observed everything, knots, markers and belays on the line, pipes, walls, wooden stemples in the water and apparent deviations from the course we were on. I almost forgot Rob was there just behind me but I saw the reassuring sweep of his lights through the water often enough. I took time to view my compass and computer along the way and did my best to look at my gauges, which was a good exercise as I could quite easily have become absorbed on just the swim. I was loving it, utterly calm, in no discomfort whatsoever, and somewhat in awe of myself and the fact that I was here, I was diving in a mine and it’s amazing and bloody hell everything looks stunning and I never thought I’d get a chance to do this. I was really taken by the fact that, through the prism of water and refracted LED light, the mine did look beautiful. I suspected it’d just be another dark, muddy shithole had it been dry. It’s really hard to grin from ear to ear with a regulator in your mouth, but I think I was.

I’d passed the 100m marker a way back, and eventually came upon a restriction – insofar as the passage had been massive and wide open until this point, whereas here I had to at least make a cursory effort to pass between boulder and roof / walls. I was just through it when I felt a hard tug on my fin. Assuming that this was the end I turned around and looked at Rob. It was really odd as I was fully expecting him to just start talking to me and I wanted to talk to him but of course the only language for a submerged diver is sign language and I wasn’t really fluent. I just followed him and was surprised to reach an air surface where we both popped up. I spat out my regulator and, pulled by the lead, immediately sank back underwater trying to speak, swallowing a massive gulp of water as I did. I managed to grab something and find a place for my feet and felt like a lumbering mess trying to coordinate myself in air again. Rob hadn’t pulled my fin and thought I’d had enough – it must have been stuck in the ‘squeeze’ - he explained that there was an air surface from here onwards and we were nearly at the end; so I elected to turn around and head for home. I was quite pleased when he told me my cylinder contents were OK and well balanced, so even though I’d just been swapping regs when I though to do it, I’d done OK.

The way home was even nicer, totally relaxed and even more so as I returned to points on the line I’d noted on the way in. I spent time slowing right down and looking around and didn’t want this to end. However, after no time at all it seemed, the line began to rise and I was back in the open water pool. I stumbled around, now unsupported by water and neoprene, and got my fins off to ease the transition back to terrestrial movement. A quick stop for a photo and it was time to go.

Whilst I hadn’t really noticed the weight of my cylinders pre-dive, they seemed to have doubled in weight in spite of containing less air than before. Rob shot off in front of me and I trudged to keep up, hips burning under my burden.

A chilly de-kit ensued and by the time I was dressed and ready, I couldn’t feel my feet. We agreed to head to the pub for a chat and debrief and although it is close, the choice wasn’t exactly a caver’s pub. The well-heeled and glamorous were enjoying meals in intimate candlelight and I elected not to even bother asking for pork scratchings.

After some discussion of the possible next steps, I reluctantly agreed that, although at this point it was all I wanted to do, time commitments and those required of others in support of a trainee diver are not something I can possibly consider at the present moment, but I foresee that itch – now scratched, will return and require more than a little tickle….

With HUGE thanks to Rob for his kindness, patience and taking the time to allow me such an amazing opportunity.

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Written by: Jim Thompson

Published: 21 October 2022

Hits: 1729

Team:  Jim, Rob, Jon, Luke, Vic, Hal, Lexi, Dylan, Bob, Dave, Ernie, Miriam

This weekend saw a big team assemble at the YSS hut in Helwith Bridge for the kind of weekend that makes being in a club like the Eldon worth it…

I’d missed the previous Yorkshire weekend due to an unavoidable pre-lockdown commitment inevitably being rescheduled for the only weekend in the year when I’d really rather be somewhere else, so I was determined to make the most of it. To that end I’d rearranged my Friday off packed early and set off to the Dales at lunchtime to give myself plenty of time to arrive. I also seem to have been thinking in a parallel universe that week, or at least had forgotten what an Eldon weekend was all about, as I had intentions of taking advantage of the peace, relaxing in a cosy hut and even doing some study… more on that later.

Friday Night

Upon arrival I had a scout about the place and picked the biggest bunk in the least smelly room, and shortly after caught sight of two skinny old men outside, none other than Bob Toogood and Dave Gledhill… henceforth my plans to relax/study were replaced with a couple of hours drinking tea and chatting before an early trip to the pub for tea. Eventually assorted reprobates started turning up at the pub and we were soon a full complement of Eldon cavers there for the weekend, and all headed back to the YSS for the compulsory drinking and banter.

In my parallel universe I’d decided it’d be freezing in a hut in October, so to ensure maximum comfort through the night I’d packed my Christmas pyjamas and furry boots, which I duly changed into as soon as possible in the interests of maximum efficiency at bedtime. Amongst friends I had no problem sitting there looking like an oversized hairy toddler.. but not long after that the door was kicked open and in swaggered what turned out to be Glasgow Uni’s answer to Bruce Lee, followed by 15 of his fellow students. At that point I began to regret my sartorial choices, but stayed put and styled it out…

Being a caving hut, within seconds the lounge turned into party central / a sauna / the Tower of Babel with nigh on 30 people boozing and shouting at each other, and GUPA’s squeeze machine made an appearance. As I wasn’t drinking I was way past when I would normally be asleep so retired to the bunk for a boiling hot attempt at sleep, the regular sounds of cheering breaking through my earplugs. Reports the next morning revealed that the trick to success in the squeeze machine is nakedness and liberal amounts of washing up liquid…

Saturday

A late start was of course on the cards today after what turned out to be an 0400 bedtime for most. Jon had brought huge quantities of food and rustled up a superb breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausages and beans and over this and plenty of brews, we discussed the day ahead, settling on Alum Pot as the objective. One team to rig route(s) in the shakehole, another to tackle the Long Churn route to the balcony. It was a glorious day as we kitted up on the track so we were in no rush, but eventually we began the stroll up the hill, where Rob, Luke and I headed over to the top of the hole to seek out the belay tree and the others continued to the Long Churn entrance.

A likely looking tree full of 6” nails was identified by Rob as definitely the right one, on account of the nest of rusty nails being the right place for the rope to get an optimum hang. I tied the rope on, backing it up to one behind, and then noticed that Luke was no longer wearing EPC’s latest essential equipment acquisition, the ‘SRT Dildo’ after I’d less-than-sneakily clipped it to his harness earlier. He’d managed a far sneakier job than I had, and it was dangling from my harness ready for deployment when needed.

The abseil into the hole is amazing. I took my time slowly taking in this massive space filled with the noise and spray of falling water, covered in greenery and lit by daylight right to the bottom. From the ledge below ‘the bridge’, I looked up to observe a tiny Rob now rigging down the airy NW route and continued to rig the handline, placing Luke and I searching for the next P bolts at the end of the bridge, but quite clearly out of rope for any further descent. Fortunately Rob wasn’t too long in appearing opposite our stance, so he was able to swing over to us where we dragged him onto terra firma and were able to use his remaining rope for the drop to the bottom.

I’m not sure what I expected down here, other than not much given the agreement to ‘go and visit the sump’ but whatever it was, what I actually got was way better than I’d have imagined – an enormous roofed canyon with water crashing into it and a mega climb down towards the sump, above which Diccan Pot crashed water down. The whole place was alive and just awesome.

By this time it was clear that some of the ‘churnettes’ were beginning to cool down a bit more than was good for anyone so a bit of regrouping took place and I headed back to Rob’s rope to make the least technical exit and get round to the other rope to be on hand to offer any support needed to those navigating the rebelay and exit off the top of the pitch. It didn’t look too far from ledge (the rope is now belayed at the opposite side to where descent started, remember) but jumping off felt a tad counterintuitive so I got my jammers on, sat down on the ledge and shuffled myself forward until gravity took over and whooooa! Flew through the air in an exhilarating swing where the rebelayed rope slowed me down just before I reached the opposite wall. Just fantastic! I got my wild swinging under control and started prusiking, all the while within spitting distance of the guys on the balcony but not really able to chat, although it felt like I could, over the sound of water. So I just cracked on, making rapid progress and feeling really glad I’d found my Pantin in the bottom of my kit just as I put it away.

It was a long way up and as the comforting bounce in the rope stopped, I looked around and felt like I was in the middle of nowhere, just me and my jammers holding me way up in the air on a tiny 10mm rope. Momentarily feeling really exposed and slightly unnerved, I reasoned that this far up the rope wasn’t any different to the place I was 10m ago, and relaxed back into the rhythm. I was soon at the bolts, just one quick movement to shift my Turbochest onto the next strand was needed so I stood up and released the cam… with the rope now detached the ridiculous plastic zip pull that forms the release tab on that ascender decided to protest and snapped off, unbalancing me as it did. I had a futile attempt at hanging on and doing a one arm pull up before gravity took over and I gently let myself hang on a cowstail. Laughing at the momentary panic and the ease by which I managed the manoeuvre, I reached the top and ran round the shakehole just in time to see Miriam at the rebelay. No support needed, she joined me at the top, closely followed by Vic, and we made our way back to the truck to dekit and wait for the others. Before we could get changed attention turned to a now very cold Lexi with a very stiff D maillon that I struggled to undo, but eventually we had her out of wet kit, in my Buffalo and another jacket, and in the warm car. After an age, during which Dylan made friends with some inquisitive calves, the others joined us and we headed off to the hut.

The 12 of us occupied most of the room and the food was ace, and welcome after a fantastic day out caving. The literal icing on the cake appeared when the landlady brought a massive chocolate cake, complete with candle and Petzl helmet decoration, to our table – it turned out to be Hal’s birthday, and was Bob’s the day after.

Sunday

A slightly earlier start with fewer sore heads, Jon once again did the business with an excellent fry-up and the keen amongst us headed to Horton for a trip into Sell Gill. It was such a glorious day as we walked up the track to the cave, and whilst Dave rigged we lounged in the sun for a bit before making for the entrance. I was smitten with the cave before we’d even got in it, the lovely open entrance gulley just had a lovely feel to it, but the best was yet to come.

Having entered via the dry route, the wet route into the cave was thundering down into a huge chamber creating a wind that literally took my breath away. I took big gulps of forced air and couldn’t not laugh and feel overjoyed at being in such a fantastic place.

We all climbed down the slope and had a crawl into the short wet bit, inevitably sumped after not far at all, before turning round. Hal took great care of the SRT Dildo on the way out, and Jon, Rob and I hung around for a while whilst I posed for Jon in various places en route. The prusik out was uneventful and after a short while we were back out in glorious Dales sunshine and heading back to the car park whilst Kestrels hovered overhead. Jon pointed out the various landforms in the distance.

A quick change, a bit of repacking of kit to make it all fit into my now, seemingly tiny, van and we were on our way home to Derbyshire.

 All photos by Rob Eavis

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Written by: Super User

Published: 04 September 2022

Hits: 2430

Katie, Victoria, Hal and Fabian

On tonight's agenda was the Cliffstile shaft which would drop us into Moorwood Sough. I remember Moorwood Sough from one of the Cussey Pot Trips with Rob. But tonight Katie would take us into the opposite direction and explore an incredibly engineered Sough level with some amazing cartgate sections.

Meet up was near to Stoney Middleton Church where kit up occured. This is the point where Hal noticed that he had forgotten half his SRT gear and quick thinking was required to improvise. The idea was to piggy back down the pitch with Hal in tow and feed a Stop up to him by the means of a spare rope.

After a steep walk up the hillside inclusive of a little history tour about Eyam by Katie, we reached Cliffstile shaft. "I forgot to bring my helmet!"... A sentence you don't really want to hear just as you are about to enter the depths of the local hillside.  I gave Hal my spare headlamp and started to descend down the shaft. The piggy back idea was quickly out the window as the spare rope reached only 10m into the 30m first pitch. I shouted up that it'll be problematic but needed to continue downwards as Victoria was hot on my heels.

Victoria and myself reached the bottom shortly followed by Katie and Hal who did the whole 80m pitch on an Italian Hitch! Can we claim this as a Derbyshire record? We quickly took off the SRT kit, stowed it in our bags and headed into the sough level. This was certainly lower than I remembered.

Katie in Moorwood Sough

Progress was easy enough in ankle deep water but up ahead you could already hear a couple of giggles followed by high pitched moans - water levels must have reached sensitive parts. And yes. Sure enough we'd find ourselves in waist deep water now.

Katie showed us the ladders up towards Rock Cottage but we continue onwards into the further extents of Moorwood Sough. This would be Katie's first explore as well so she exclaimed that she cannot be held responsible.

After various S-bends, roof levels which made awkward progress for Hal and myself and roots pertruding through the walls creating some very big bulges in the pack walls we reached crawling levels now. Everyone anticipated coming across a couple of Rats but rather we saw a lot of their 8 legged colleagues.

After one last right bend we ended up crawling out of the sough level and into Dale Brook we retraced our steps to the cars where we changed into warm clothes. Refreshments were enjoyed with a lovely chat at the Moon Inn. Another lovely trip in Derbyshire ticked off!

Fabian