Yorkshire II


Andy Jurd, Arun Paul, Ben Richards, Dave Wilson, James Perry, James Wilson, Ana Teck, Ellie Pizey, Chris Hayes, Jan Kożuszek, Wojtek Sowinski, Astrid Rao, Julien Jean, Valery Kirenskis, Erica Keung, Kevin Sohn, Jergus Strucka, Thurston Blount, Katie Marrow, Mehala Mithran, Italo Costanzo

Minibus arrived at an icy NPC


When I rocked up to stores just past 5, Kevin and the bus were already parked outside. So we swiftly-ish packed the roof while Chris coordinated stores. Ready to leave by 6, we realised that the radio was locked irreparably and failed to locate the speaker. A few music-less hours later we rolled up to the Coventry Tesco Extra. It is a strange store with an utterly baffling layout and a general lack of useful items. Off we zoomed again through the cold fog, graced by the presence of two warning lights and a slightly unusual engine sound. Since we are very familiar with KYW, we chose to google and then ignore all of these. Eventually we played the Withnail & I audio at the max setting on James' phone, which was sadly still only intelligible for those who know the whole script by heart. The further north we got, the more snow and frost turned the landscape into wintery excellence. A surprise road closure diverted us via some icy country lanes, which James navigated at impressively high speed (Jergus: "I trust James as a driver", James: "lol"), to get us to the NPC just past 1am.


We drove away from union as the Kylie Minogue concert papparazzi descended on the Royal Albert Hall. Astrid poured a handful of suspicious pellets into my hand and then proceeded to tell me how little she understood of the ingredients. They had all the tastes at once: sweet, sour, spicy, savoury and very strong. Escaping London we drove through various bus driver protests as I drifted off to sleep, waking up to a random terrible Tesco that had very little food all in the wrong places. We then arrived in Yorkshire in the freezing cold, with a beautiful clear stary night to blame.



Tatham Wife Hole: Andy Jurd, James Perry, Mehala Mithran, Italo Costanzo

No one wrote a report for this trip :(

F'ing Hopeless Pot: Ellie Pizey, Chris Hayes, Jan Kożuszek, Julien Jean, Jergus Strucka

We climbed down into the cave. Scaffolding.

In search of the fourth down-pitch, Chris and I crawled down a mud tunnel to find a small antechamber where we turned around. There was a five meter straw.

Then we climbed out.

Yours truthfully,


Jergus that was an f'ing hopeless trip report.

Yours truthfully,


It was an exceedingly beautiful morning in Yorkshire – cold, crisp and sunny, strongly discouraging going to the dark and damp caverns below. Nevertheless that was what I was there for, and I wouldn’t let my desire for the precious vitamin D stop me. Prior to the trip I had been thinking about learning how to derig: my thinking was, do a big trip on Saturday to explore as much as possible, and then a short simple Sunday one where I could play around with ropes with minimal detriment to others. As I descended to the main room for breakfast, there was talk of several groups heading to Lost Johns’. I’d not been there before, and it seemed to fit my tentative plan, so I ate my breakfast thinking I already knew how the weekend was going to go. I should have known better.

A stunning morning in the dales.

Someplace else around the table, Jergus began to Jergus around, talking about some cave barely anyone had heard of (I’m still shaky on how he personally learned of its existence). To take him at his word, this was the most beautifully decorated cave in all of Yorkshire, if not all of Europe, with ethereal calcite curtains and straws as tall as three men. Nobody believed this, of course, but it was enough to raise general amusement, and with it, interest. Sure enough, soon Ellie was asking me if I mind squeezes and if I’d like to join the group going to the attractively named ‘F’ing Hopeless Pot’, and so my fate was sealed. The trip was to include myself, Jergus, Ellie, Chris and Julien. On the route description the cave looked relatively straightforward, so we optimistically said that we’d try to squeeze in Notts II afterwards as well. Thus the callouts were decided and we piled into the minibus to be taken up to Leck Fell.

At this point I feel like I should mention how F’ing Hopeless was discovered. The whole story is detailed on the UK caving forum, but the main gist is simple: someone had noted that upon overlaying the map of known caves over the map of Leck Fell, there was a conspicuous gap exactly below a shakehole. No more encouragement was necessary, and a zealous dig began in summer 2021.

A short walk from the bus, extended slightly due to some gate-related confusion, brought us to the dig site. There was a wooden crate covering a scaffolded shaft, with no holds to make the climb down easier. We descended one by one, cursing aloud and looking frantically for any protrusions where we could place our feet. At the bottom of the scaffolding we were greeted by another dug out hole to the side with yet more scaffolding, at the bottom of which we found a dug out hole reinforced with scaffolding. This all came with a sprinkling of loose rocks, several of which fell down below my feet into the awaiting mouth of the cave. This would hardly be the last time I’d need to shout ‘rock’ during this trip.

Finally the scaffolding came to an end in a small chamber with passages going to the left and right. The latter apparently sumps, so we went left, where after a short crawl we found ourselves over the first pitch. Chris rigged speedily and soon we were on the move again. Imagine our surprise when only a couple of steps after descending, we found ourselves over a dug out hole, reinforced with scaffolding. Here the exact order of events becomes a little shaky in my head. There was a simple second pitch (perhaps more easily climbable than the scaffolding at the cave’s entrance). There was a rift filled with loose boulders, one of which almost gave me a heart attack as it fell into the unknown darkness below, sending out loud, echoing thuds. There was a deceptively comfortable-looking corridor, whose muddy floor almost managed to swallow my entire size 11 wellie. At this point we were starting to understand where the cave’s name might have come from, and the hope for the promised 5-metre straws, shaky to begin with, was melting away.

But then we entered into a crawl and found ourselves surrounded by gorgeous straws, clear as ice. Was there some truth to what we were promised after all? It was hard to believe. The cave took away what it was willing to show for now almost as quickly as it had appeared as we made it to the third pitch. It was the shortest of the three, though its top was a little narrow. No problem for now, but could prove annoying should a larger-than-average caver attempt to climb out while hauling a tackle sack. But why would something like that happen?

At the bottom it wasn’t obvious where to go: at first glance, I was in a closed off chamber, surrounded by solid walls. But no – the wall on the right did not quite connect with the floor. I dropped to my stomach and entered the rocky crawl, cursing the capricious cave and my shitty knee pads, feeling every stone pressing against my shins.

But then the crawl ended, and I stood up. And there was a curtain of thin calcite, falling down in intricate folds as if it was fabric. And there was a cascade of creamy stone joining in from above. And then we found the Apostles, thick and sturdy stalagmites bunched together in a chamber, below a ceiling of straws like an inverted field of grass. Somebody had even left a spray bottle there, in case we got some mud onto the formations, to let future cavers have the same experienced we had.

We had to reluctantly agree that the cave was beautiful: Jergus had been right. Or had he? The straws were incredible, yes, but were they 5 metres long? Far from it. But then we hear Jergus shout from somewhere in front: ‘Oh my God! Somebody take a picture of me with this!’. After emerging from around a corner, Ellie and I were overjoyed to find him standing next to a long, white, straight… in situ rope, disappearing somewhere above. Much laughter ensued, which is perhaps why we didn’t ask ourselves where the rope actually led.

Passing by a conservation sign we descended into another chamber and were frozen in place. The aptly named Speechless Grotto is probably the most beautiful bit of cave I have ever seen: a smooth, calcite-lined chamber adjoins the passage from the right, leading up to thick formations hiding just out of reach, all of it lined with a forest of straws, so clear that you can easily see their growth patterns. We just stood and stared, refusing to believe what our eyes were seeing, refusing to believe that all these dugs we passed actually somehow lead up to this. The pot had ceased to be hopeless.

Julien and Chris in F'ing Hopeless.

And that was not the end, as immediately afterwards we entered another chamber, looking almost like a museum room, an exhibition of straws that you walk around to continue your journey. It was hard to move out of fear of destroying them, but we did move, and at the exit of the chamber found a few straws which, while still not five metres in length, were possibly closing in on the two metre mark.

The cave had a sense of humour, and the most beautiful section of underground decorations I’ve ever experienced was followed shortly by a dug out hole, reinforced with scaffolding. But then there were even more formations of flowstone, so large one had to squeeze past them. In this unceasing excess, there was a flowstone wall with a little hole, protected by stals, housing a small crystal pool.

Finally, with our jaws still dragging on the floor, we made it to a simple, sandy chamber. There was a streamway going off into a tight corridor – too tight, according to Chris’s quick reconnaissance. But we still had not found the fourth pitch, which was supposed to house yet more pretties, so there had to be a way forward. Time was getting tight on the Notts II plan, but we decided to stay and keep trying. Chris went back into the streamway, followed by Jergus, Julien and me. I didn’t make it far – I didn’t even see the water properly – before a shout came from the front that we were turning back. We plopped back out, one by one, but Chris was taking a long time, having clearly wriggled his way as far as he could. Finally he emerged, with despair in his eyes, and collapsed onto the chamber floor. He had pushed too far, the walls squeezing him from all sides, and both his body and his mind were still in disarray.

The situation was not helped by the fact that we didn’t have the cave directions with us: the sheet of paper holding a few scribbled sentences copied from someone’s phone back at the hut had by now disintegrated. Nevertheless, we found another crawl forward, leading into yet another streamway, with passages going both up and down stream, and both leading nowhere. Then Jergus finally remembered he actually took his phone all the way down, and he had downloaded the navigation document on it. And so the truth was (re-)discovered: the fourth pitch was supposed to lead up, not down, and it was meant to have an in situ rope. We looked at each other, remembering the rope mistaken for a straw, and realised it was time to head back.

The way out wasn’t short or simple, much like this report. I volunteered to derig the first pitch and had a wonderful time dragging the tackle sack through the long crawl leading up to it. At some point I thought I was dragging a rock, tangled in my kit, but no – it was my hand jammer, completely covered in thick mud. In the pitch itself, I got a little stuck making my way through the squeeze at the top, but eventually prevailed, and left the other two pitches to be derigged by Julien, who also wanted to practice. My first ever derigging – and I suppose it could have gone worse. Big thanks to Chris for bearing with me, especially considering the ordeal he’d just been through. Right before the entrance we did a bit of waiting in a bothy, remarkable only because my face at this point was described as so covered in mud to look consumed by some horrible disease.

At the bottom of the entrance scaffolding I saw soft white petals falling from above: it had begun to snow. In fact, it was snowing quite heavily, and we tried to make it back to the bus as quickly as possible (I only slipped and fell on my ass four times, not bad). We waited for the final Lost Johns group who showed up around 8pm. Kevin, for whom this was his first weekend driving the minibus, was tasked with the unenviable task of driving down from the fell in the snowfall, but managed wonderfully, and we made it back to the hut, where I took a shower that felt cleansing and had some great pasta bake. In the end, we did not find the 5 metre straw, but perhaps the real 5 metre straw was the friends we made along the way.


Arun, James and Ana with Valery behind the camera.

New Rift Pot: Arun Paul, James Wilson, Ana Teck, Valery Kirenskis

On the drive up last night, James and I were discussing how dry the weather would be and that this weekend would be a great opportunity to go to some of the flood prone caves. Thus we formed a nearly tart trip for New Rift. After the mandatory team reshuffling over breakfast and rope packing, James, Arun, Valery and I headed to Masongill in the Arun mobile. Having made the sensible choice to put on my thermals and furry at the hut, my change was quite pleasant. We saw another group of cavers headed to Ireby: once at the cars, and then again as we had to retrace our steps to find the right cave entrance. The second shakehole we inspected turned out to be correct. It's the one to the right of the path before reaching the dip that leads to Marble Steps.

Due to complete apathy from all competent riggers, I ended up rigging the entrance pitch. Arun did point out a few icicles that were looking a bit threatening above my head, but that's what helmets are for. Instead of looking for the two traverse naturals that are supposedly very obvious, we decided that the fence post (the fat one at the edge, attached to the rock) was perfectly bomber. It wasn't too slippery, so the entrance rift was easy enough to down climb, without fully loading the rope, but the naturals would have made it more efficient. The first pitch was much shorter than expected and had a lot of step-like scaffolding; in Wales this would be considered totally free climbable. I immediately missed the deviation tat and followed the in situ rope, which James fixed on his way down (in my defense our old rigging topo is wrong in many ways). James led the way on through a mostly decomposed sheep into the crawl. It was mildly wet and pretty flat out, with the occasional grove to get the tackle sack wedged in. This is the section that floods to become impassable in wet conditions. Maybe 10-15min later we reached a fun little down climb, which led to some tricky crawling with squeezy down climbs. The first one of these is best done feet first, but it is impossible to see anything ahead so it is useful for the first person to sacrifice themselves by going head first and then letting the others know where the foot holds are. James rigged the next pitch, which starts off quite awkwardly tight, but opens up just below the pitch head. To go on Route 66 (instead of the Direct Route) we followed the traverse around to the right. While I thought this traverse was perfectly fun, rigging it looked a little challenging due to a complete lack of foot or hand holds. We should also have added a sling to stand in to make it easier for Valery, but Arun fixed that on the way up. Switching around again at the last rebelay, I rigged the final pitch, which didn't look that big, but was pretty bouncy on the rope. From the traverse to the bottom is apparently 42 meters, I read afterwards.

Blurry evidence from the bottom of Large.

In Coates Cavern, James and I explored the different onward routes while waiting for Valery and Arun to descend. Our aim was to get to the bottom of Large Pot. The correct way for that is turning back underneath ourselves, leftish behind the rope when facing forwards on the pitch, down the clean wet rocks and up a mud bank into a short crawl. The forwards leftish way on the opposite wall supposedly leads to the very fun sounding Temple of Doom extension, while the climb up towards the right lead to a traverse over some holes (no clue if it goes anywhere interesting). After refuelling on chocolate, cheese, and tea, we dumped most of our SRT kits. On we headed through the crawl, past various pretties, via much slimy muddy chamber, past the scaffolding on the right to get to the end of the chamber. The way on is NOT up the hand line, but to the left of it part way up the slope from the bottom of the chamber, through some muddy crawling. Crawling between two very district fat stalagmites, we slid along the left hand wall to reach the Mousehole down a somewhat unstable looking pile of rocks. The duck had enough air space, but we did not have any desire to fully lie in the cold muddy water. So we headed back up to Grime and Punishment bypass. At this point Valery was fed up with crawling, so he and Arun headed back to Coates Cavern to take photos, while James and I climbed up into the bypass. What followed was a fair amount of slightly wet muddy crawling. At this point my hair had escaped my buff, and was regularly wipping me in the face to deposit ever thicker layers of mud. Soon the crawling became a squeeze through water. Last time James was here, there was more water but less silt, which meant that this time it was so narrow he had to breathe very shallowly for multiple meters while squished against all surfaces. If he hadn't gone ahead, I'm not sure I would have dared to find out if the passage was indeed human sized. Some more flat out crawling led to an awkward climb down, but a convenient in situ rope with a foot loop made it less of a free fall and also made it surprisingly easy on the way back up. Down the vertical squeeze we turned the wrong way. The correct way on is to the right. [To the left, and then right through an even tighter flat out squeeze (requires careful breathing and some manoeuvring of the hips while wearing a harness) led to the other side of the mousetrap duck. To the left, left and left again led to a loop back to the vertical squeeze.] The way on was more flat out crawling (but not squeezing) through shallow puddles, to a downwards squeeze at a scaffold bar, through a boulder choke (careful of the route finding for the way back) into Necropolis. Walking along Necropolis, via a good spot for hanging out in a bothy, we reached the bottom of the final pitch of Large Pot. This only carried a few streams of water along the wall and some continuous drips. We took blurry photos on James' cave phone for evidence, drank lots of water, and turned around for a high speed return crawl.

It took us 25 min from the bottom of Colossus to Coates Chamber without stopping. Arriving somewhat out of breath and sweaty, we were grateful for a little break as Arun and Valery finished prussiking up ahead of us. I derigged on the way up, which meant I got out of carrying the heavier tackle sack through the climbs and crawls. Then the top of the second pitch briefly trapped Valery. He was especially frustrated with his ties, which after some clarification turned out to be his thighs - a less baffling fashion choice for caving attire. At the top I saw Arun again for the first time in a few hours – Rift is not a particularly social cave. After a chilly wait at the bottom of the first pitch, I ascended into a stunning winter wonderland. Thick falling snow, a fluffy layer of snow on the moss, and beautiful ice patterns and icicles made for an enchanting exit.

We walked, slid, and fell back towards the car, for a quick snowball fight and an even snowier change. We had about 2cm of snow on the road at that point, but Arun drove back expertly, if at snail pace. An owl decided to land right in front of the car and have a nap in the middle of the road, so we ooh-ed and aah-ed at it for a bit, until I chased it out of the way. We had received many concerned messages about getting the minibus off Leck Fell, but Kevin did an amazing job without snow chains and, as it later turns out, also without any tire thread as one tire was worn through to the textile. Merry pasta bake cooking consumed a terrifying number of cheese blocks, and yet we could have used more. After a nice chat to Clive reminiscing about the Berger, and the fact he had done it on ladders (:O) when he was 19, I curled up in the comfy armchair next to Chris sleeping on the sofa. To celebrate Kevin's birthday, partially cooked apple crumble was created, which was a delicious midnight/1am snack.


Lost Johns': Ben Richards, Dave Wilson, Wojtek Sowinski, Astrid Rao, Erica Keung, Kevin Sohn, Thurston Blount, Katie Marrow

The day began with Erica ferociously whacking a pan, an effective method in rousing everyone from their slumber. The morning was greeted with a hearty breakfast. Amidst a flurry of activity, various caving expeditions were hastily organized, with participants being shuffled around in the typically chaortic manner, and I signed up to finally go to Lost Johns'.

Entering Lost Johns'

Our group to Lost Johns' eventually set off, plunging into the depths by 1 pm. The morning was very frosty, and the low winter light looked incredible against the fell. We had two teams going in for an exchange: myself, Kevin, Katie and Erica in one team and DW, Astrid, Wojtek and Thurston in the other. Determined to reach the bottom pitches first so that we could rig battleaxe and beyond, we decided to swap our initial routes with Dome, opting instead for Centipede. This strategic move, however, turned out to be somewhat unnecessary, as we ended up reaching the bottom simultaneously with the other group anyway. Along the way, we seized the opportunity to capture some cheeky photos, immortalizing our subterranean journey in the website forever.

The triumphant discovery of a dead Astrid (?)

The descent through Lost Johns' was more impressive than I was exacting actually: grand pitches, winding streamways and we took extra additionally special care to remember the one key turning, having had warnings about how easily it can be missed from DW, from the description and I even read aloud the written warning to turn around and check you can remember the way back. Definitely can't see that going wrong on the way back in any way.

When we reached battleaxe, having joined the other team, our progress slowed considerably. Kevin, tasked with the challenging rigging, rose the the challenge and headed off while we waited behind. After a lengthy wait, a collective decision was made to bail on the traverse and head back. A few of us, out of sheer curiosity, ventured further to explore the end of the traverse. This section presented an intense and laborious challenge, reinforcing our decision to turn back but Erica, Katie and I had a good time swinging around the passage.

Exiting into the snow.

Exiting the cave, we switched routes given the exchange and began derigging. Erica undertook the first pitches as her first-ever derigging, at which she did very well, while I handled the later pitches for the sake of time. In an inevitable twist that no one could have possibly foreseen, despite our earlier attention to the route and all four of us desperately looked into every hole we passed, we immediately missed our turning on the way out and carried straight on past it. We even paused to look at the yellow tag which marked the correct way out and discussed what it might mean before carrying on down the passage none the wiser. The realization dawned on us only after we had explored every possible wrong turn, and coming to the conclusion that surely none of these squeezes were the corect way in. This was somewhat frantic as we were getting closer and closer to callout, which is presumably why we missed the turning given we were rushing to get out the cave.

Our emergence was greeted by a blizzard, transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland as the snow stuck to the bushes and rocks, coating everything in a beautiful white fluffy icing. Crunching through the thick snow on our way back to the bus was a lot of fun. Concerns about the minibus's ability to navigate the snowy conditions were quickly allayed by Kevin's exceptional driving skills, ensuring our safe return in typical Canadian style.

Everyone was very tired in the evening, and a delicious pasta bake served as the perfect conclusion to our adventure, unanimously preferred over the unbelievably faffy burritos of the previous trip.


Editor's Note: In a twist of irony, Ben, with a single misguided click, managed to obliterate the original, splendid rendition of this trip report. This tragic error unfolded as he navigated back a page in his browser, inadvertently overwriting two hours of literary brilliance in two seconds. Yet, from the ashes of frustration and despair rose a phoenix of progress: this fiasco spurred a much-needed update to the club website, ensuring that such editorial disasters are relegated to the annals of history. Thus, Erica's trip report earns the bittersweet distinction of being the final narrative to ever fall into the abyss of the unsaved. It stands as a rewritten yet indelible monument - a martyr in the pantheon of trip reports, remembered for its sacrifice in the pursuit of technological perfection.

Went to a fun cave, did some crawls and pitches, did half of battleaxe, de-rigged half of the ropes and was very tired.


Astrid crawling around in Lost Johns


Sell Gill: Ben Richards, James Perry, Jan Kożuszek, Erica Keung

Ben giving Jan a rigging lesson.

An objectively simple trip to Sell Gill, elevated to memorable status by Ben and Perry teaching me how to rig, which again turned my humble weekend plan on its head. I could write a lot about this, but I already wrote too much about the Saturday cave (and I’m sure Ben will write about this as well…). I can, however, happily say that nobody died as a result of my rigging, though Erica did get rather cold waiting. It all felt fairly easy, no doubt as a combination of my excellent teachers and the cave not being particularly complicated.

Some highlights must still nonetheless be included. In particular, in the corner of the cave furthest away from the bottom of the second pitch, decorated with a few mud figurines and a mud octopus, Perry found a tight squeeze looping back on the way we came from. This would be unremarkable, except having come out, he says ‘I think you should challenge yourself Jan’. Obviously I was left with no choice, and a lot of loud grunts and curses later managed to squeeze myself through the passage. No biggie. Didn’t even have to take off my kit, so it’s no problem. Didn’t hurt at all. I’m not being sarcastic, why do you ask?

Jan looking professional.

On the way out we bumped into a group from Leeds who inadvertently became part of Ben’s photoshoot, as he positioned Perry and Erica with his new fancy flashes and commanded me to dangle from a rope and look professional. Hopefully the photos turned out ok – I assume they can be seen next to this report, so judge for yourself.

We emerged back in good time, but then got delayed at the hut, as one of the minibus wheels had to be changed. It turned out that Kevin had somehow driven down from Leck Fell in a blizzard on a tire with not even the faint memory of traction remaining.

The snowy walk back from Sell Gill.


Got really cold while Jan learnt how to to rig, conversed with Perry in a bothy, got snowed while de-rigging, proved the farmer wrong and came back alive.


Jan already wrote the highlights of the trip. Other notable points include the local farmer as we were walking up who asked if we were coming back from the cave or we'd die in there, amusingly he was still there when we walked back and congratualed us on surviving. The walk was also very pretty as everything was covered in ice and snow, with views across the snow covered valley below us.

Jan did a great job rigging, and was even complemented by a member of Leeds for the impressive rigging for someone just learning. He rigged the entire trip and Erica derigged the whole way out, despite Perry's best attempts to disrupt by throwing snow from up above.

Italo in Jingling

Driving back we watched Doctor who and were collectively shocked at how terrible knutsford services smelt, with an overpowering smell of mould filling the bus as soon as we stopped there. We frantically opened the windows for breath only for one of them to break and not shut afterwards. At one point Jergus also pulled out an A3 poster of Romanian singer Elena out of his trousers, who was then contered by Thurston whipping out an A2 geological map of Bristol.

Ben R

Jingling: Ellie Pizey, Chris Hayes, Julien Jean, Valery Kirenskis, Italo Costanzo

Jingle Bimble! We wanted a chill trip, so where else would we go? had a great walk up in the snow, small snowball fight, then a steady rig downwards with Julien. an epic Tri-Hang was used for the final pitch - it was sooooo cool! as we ate cheese at the bottom (dig was not rigged, 'hyphen sadness') who was to appear? Dave! We turned around and made our way out, Ellie end Valery had made a snowman, so Valery, Italo, and I gave it arms! finally, we all wandered down in good time to wait for the Yordas team and looked worriedly at the bus tyre.


Yordas: James Wilson, Astrid Rao, Kevin Sohn, Thurston Blount

Thurston posing in Yordas

The snow from last night made the walk very scenic, going up to the top entrance we were attacked by NPC members and a snowball fight ensued with them taking the highground. Rigged down the first two pitches which are either freeclimable or could be bypassed down a freeclimb, why did we even carry the ropes up then. Tried and took some proper cave photos as Kevin rigged the ceiling traverse. Was half way down the traverse when I noticed Thurston has been caving with two long cowtails, how did this happen.

The agreed turn-around time, 2:00pm, was reached and passed, and we were still descending, nothing would stop us from reaching the bottom. We were a bit late but we arrived back at the minibus to see the Jingling ppl still in their PVC. Their reasoning was that they knew we’d be late, fair.

Dozens of vehicles and a cave and mountain rescue one were parked by the gate up to Yordas, turned out it was an incident around Yordas. Hum, we met two hikers with a dog down in Yordas Cave, hope it wasn’t one of them. The only information revealed was “she fell and was unconscious”, no wonder they were carrying strechers up the hill.

Had some mystery fruits, one was quite good.

A beautiful walk to Yordas


No Cave

After a particularly unrestful night, I woke up to Chris talking about cave options and Perry falling out of bed. I decided not to cave due to feeling ill and the fact that I had been to all the suggested caves many times already. Ignoring the porridge, I chose crumpets for breakfast. I then spent a good hour standing outside the hut chatting to DKP, who avoided the indoors to not infect everyone with the variety of cold that he was incubating. Once everyone had left for their respective caves and the cheese shop, I made myself second breakfast, while DW was fishing various stuck items out the spin drier with a mangled coat hanger (a lot of stuff apparently fall between the drum and the casing). I gave up on the idea of going for a walk in the snow, because the routes near the hut are just not enticing enough - oh what freedom a car would provide. So I did some packing, some cleaning, some sorting of ropes, and some fun jigsaw puzzling with Mehala and Katie. Kath and Tiger showed up at some point to significantly increase the number of actual NPC members on this supposed members weekend. Keith and Joe (?) then showed off their new oversuit creation, which may (for better or worse) exist in hot pink in the future. DW returned from having joined the Jingling group to report of a concerned caver and ambulance outside Yordas, which had us a bit worried, but luckily we found out later that it had nothing to do with our group there. Just as everyone got back from caving, we left in the Arun mobile to get the long long coach back to London from Manchester. The only exercise I did today was jumping the turnstile to the coach station toilets.