Illuminated gour pools, Tourtoirac, Dordogne, France. Photo by Linda Wilson.
Yet again, we've gone from 'help, we need stuff for the newsletter' to 'ooh, it looks like we'll need to hold some things over for next time'. So, a huge thanks to everyone who responded to our best puppy dog eyes (yet again) and enabled us to provide another bumper issue!
Linda continues ... "And a very heartfelt thank you from me to all UBSS members, both old and new, who came along to Tony Boycott's funeral on 8th July. The society was incredibly well represented at a lovely gathering that began at Canford Crematorium and afterwards moved to St Monica's Retirement Village. There were between 70 - 80 people present and we certainly did him proud. In the best Mendip caving tradition, the back of Tony's coffin displayed a collection of stickers: from UBSS our own Crest and We are Worm, the BEC's Bertie Bat, Harris the Iron Age dog on the Fishing for Answers logo of the Fishmonger's Swallet team as well as the BCRA's 50th anniversay logo.
The music at the service was by Canadian group Dangerous Dick and the Duckbusters. We entered to the cheerful 'Cavers to the Core', a phrase that could have been written for both for Tony and the majority of those gathered in his honour. After personal tributes from myself and Peter Glanvill, we remembered Tony privately to the lyrics of 'Parys Mountain Mine' while its hauntingly beautiful tune went some way to explaining to the few non-cavers present the lure of the underground world. This was followed by a whistlestop tour of Tony's caving career around the world from Stuart McManus, who had delved deep into Tony's logbooks to put this together.
The final music, 'Banging Bill' reminded us of Tony's longstanding interest in digging and explosives, with its apt chorus ' if he ever gets to heaven he'll be banging still'. The song ends with a loud explosion and the sound of rocks crashing down then, after a long pause, there's a chuckle and the words 'oh shit' can be clearly heard. This ended the service very fittingly with laughter and afterwards we were able to share many memories and take comfort from friends. I don't think I've ever been hugged by so many cavers in my life! Thank you again to everyone who made this a day to remember in all the ways that matter. Tony's legacy will live on in his generosity to UBSS through the Oliver Lloyd Memorial Fund and a full obituary will appear in our next Proceedings.
I've been unable to track down the music to Parys Mountain mine online, but the words can be found here and you can also buy a copy of the excellent Karst Fever album.'
If you want check out previous issues of the newsletter, you can find them all here. You can also find a scanned archive of all our paper issues from 1919 to 2017 here.
Linda continues ... "And a very heartfelt thank you from me to all UBSS members, both old and new, who came along to Tony Boycott's funeral on 8th July. The society was incredibly well represented at a lovely gathering that began at Canford Crematorium and afterwards moved to St Monica's Retirement Village. There were between 70 - 80 people present and we certainly did him proud. In the best Mendip caving tradition, the back of Tony's coffin displayed a collection of stickers: from UBSS our own Crest and We are Worm, the BEC's Bertie Bat, Harris the Iron Age dog on the Fishing for Answers logo of the Fishmonger's Swallet team as well as the BCRA's 50th anniversay logo.
The music at the service was by Canadian group Dangerous Dick and the Duckbusters. We entered to the cheerful 'Cavers to the Core', a phrase that could have been written for both for Tony and the majority of those gathered in his honour. After personal tributes from myself and Peter Glanvill, we remembered Tony privately to the lyrics of 'Parys Mountain Mine' while its hauntingly beautiful tune went some way to explaining to the few non-cavers present the lure of the underground world. This was followed by a whistlestop tour of Tony's caving career around the world from Stuart McManus, who had delved deep into Tony's logbooks to put this together.
The final music, 'Banging Bill' reminded us of Tony's longstanding interest in digging and explosives, with its apt chorus ' if he ever gets to heaven he'll be banging still'. The song ends with a loud explosion and the sound of rocks crashing down then, after a long pause, there's a chuckle and the words 'oh shit' can be clearly heard. This ended the service very fittingly with laughter and afterwards we were able to share many memories and take comfort from friends. I don't think I've ever been hugged by so many cavers in my life! Thank you again to everyone who made this a day to remember in all the ways that matter. Tony's legacy will live on in his generosity to UBSS through the Oliver Lloyd Memorial Fund and a full obituary will appear in our next Proceedings.
I've been unable to track down the music to Parys Mountain mine online, but the words can be found here and you can also buy a copy of the excellent Karst Fever album.'
If you want check out previous issues of the newsletter, you can find them all here. You can also find a scanned archive of all our paper issues from 1919 to 2017 here.
Linda and Billy
PS For anyone who hasn't realised, the blue bits in text are clickable links that will take you to interesting places! Give them a try, we promise none of them will take you to Porn Hub. Or maybe we should promise that ...
NONESUCH
The two extracts above, from the University's publication Nonesuch, were sent to Linda by Bristol SU's chief exec, Ben Pilling, as he found these in the archives and thought of us.
The one on the left is likely to come from 1924 as it references the discovery of two burials uncovered during the excavation at Aveline's Hole, the dig that directly led to the formation of the UBSS as we now know it, in 1919, the metaphorical phoenix arising from the ashes of the original Bristol Speleological Research Society after the first World War.
The one on the right is likely to be from 1925. The reference to using explosives in Goatchurch harks back to a time when a secretary's report like that could be submitted without causing an immense flap! Imagine if we did that today? It makes our current antics seem rather tame by comparison.
Whilst these are probably very similar to the secretary's reports that appeared in our annual Proceedings, it would be nice to copy a complete set of these for the library. Does anyone fancy an afternoon's work in the uni Special Collections? I can make the necessary connection to arrange this if anyone feels like doing some research into our history.
The two extracts above, from the University's publication Nonesuch, were sent to Linda by Bristol SU's chief exec, Ben Pilling, as he found these in the archives and thought of us.
The one on the left is likely to come from 1924 as it references the discovery of two burials uncovered during the excavation at Aveline's Hole, the dig that directly led to the formation of the UBSS as we now know it, in 1919, the metaphorical phoenix arising from the ashes of the original Bristol Speleological Research Society after the first World War.
The one on the right is likely to be from 1925. The reference to using explosives in Goatchurch harks back to a time when a secretary's report like that could be submitted without causing an immense flap! Imagine if we did that today? It makes our current antics seem rather tame by comparison.
Whilst these are probably very similar to the secretary's reports that appeared in our annual Proceedings, it would be nice to copy a complete set of these for the library. Does anyone fancy an afternoon's work in the uni Special Collections? I can make the necessary connection to arrange this if anyone feels like doing some research into our history.
Linda Wilson
STAN'S SCRAN
Our very own former club secretary Stanley Lewis - known for their great cooking and all round interest in food - has started their own blog and would very much like some subscribers to their Substack publication.
Signing in takes a matter of moments, and Stanley's first blog entry on British food is an entertaining and informative look at whether our native cuisine really deserves its bad reputation. To learn more read on ...
If Stanley gets enough subscribers, we might even persuade them to write up their famous 'caving porridge' that's graced many hungover mornings at the Hut, providing fuel for more caving (or yet more lounging around).
Our very own former club secretary Stanley Lewis - known for their great cooking and all round interest in food - has started their own blog and would very much like some subscribers to their Substack publication.
Signing in takes a matter of moments, and Stanley's first blog entry on British food is an entertaining and informative look at whether our native cuisine really deserves its bad reputation. To learn more read on ...
If Stanley gets enough subscribers, we might even persuade them to write up their famous 'caving porridge' that's graced many hungover mornings at the Hut, providing fuel for more caving (or yet more lounging around).
AN OTTER DELIGHT
Stu Alldred recently undertook an otterly delightful trip near Chepstow, not far from Bristol. Sadly, he wasn't able to entice any other UBSS members along on that occasion, but maybe this will whet a few appetites for future trips.
I have been attempting to spend more time underground recently, following a several year long hiatus due to children - although I have managed the odd trip in the past seven years, some with my kids and some without.. Whilst I probably won't get back to my 3 - 4 times a week caving habit, I definitely want to do more than once or twice a year.
After my phone highlighted a photo from a trip to Otter Hole back in 2012, I checked to see the remaining trips being run this year, only to find out all the remaining over-tide trips had been booked up. Fortunately a week later, the BEC sent out an email saying there were a couple of spaces remaining on their trip, so I eagerly replied. There was some slight disappointment for a couple of weeks as I didn't reply fast enough and ended up on the waiting list, but was soon added to the group.
Gour pools, Otter Hole.
As the day approached, I began to piece together my caving gear (including cleaning off the poo-filled nest some mice had left in my helmet!), and carefully watched my slightly-corroded hand-made battery charger in case it burst into flames. With some last minute faff due to other members of the group dropping out for a variety of reasons and unable to find anyone else to meet the minimum threshold (looking at you, UBSS!), I spent the night before waiting for a message to confirm if the trip was to go ahead or not. After several hours, we got confirmation that there was going to be a trainee leader joining our trip, so we were good to go.
Formations, Otter Hole.
Upon arriving at the car park at 8am, we discovered that the trainee warden was not going to be joining us but, thankfully, Jann Padley, our warden, was happy to proceed with just myself and Sam Richards (BEC). We made it down to the entrance of the cave for 9am, and reached the sump when it was at its lowest point. Sadly, the water levels were still 1cm higher than my wellies! I remembered quite a lot of the formations as we made our way along, but apparently had no recollection of the ‘fun’ stomach crawl to reach the sump. We made quick progress to the back of the cave, and had to take extra breaks and stop for some photos so we didn’t end up back at the sump too early.
Sam Richards in Otter Hole.
We reached the turnaround point at 13:30 and after another break started to make our way back out. On the return journey we seemed to pick up even more speed, with myself occasionally running ahead to take a few more photos. We reached the sump far too early, so went off to look at the upstream sump to kill a few minutes. We then sat and waited for the water to be low enough to walk through the arch rather than attempt the eyehole. The water drained surprisingly fast, dropping over a foot in the 10-15min we sat there. It also made some very amusing glugging sounds as it drained.
Helectites.
Heading back through the crawl to reach the exit, I was cursing every other breath as my arms and legs were starting to seize up, but we all made it out by 17:20. I also discovered that the walk back up the hill to the car park is a lot longer than the way down. We soon got changed and headed to the pub round the corner for a quick drink before departing for home. 
And yet more formations!
For anyone interested in doing Otter Hole, I can thoroughly recommend it. The entrance crawl can be quite exhausting, but the rest of the cave is largely walking with some of the prettiest and most impressive cave formations I have ever seen. Any one chamber or passage in Otter Hole would be the highlight of any other cave, yet it is just non-stop. If you can get onto an over-tide trip, you can get past the (extremely spectacular) Hall of Thirty to reach most of what the cave has to offer.
Before and after. Left to right: Jann, Stu, Sam.
I have also discovered that smartphones can take remarkably good caving photos, without external flashes and tripods. Although I wouldn't recommend taking such expensive devices underground, especially if you leave them in your chest pocket while going through a stomach crawl! Oops...
Stu Alldred
TO THE BEAT OF THE DAREN DRUM
Left to right: Billy and Dan Evans, Dan Hill (and his nice hair). Recumbant: Simon Matthew Payne. Photo (presumably) by James Hallihan.
The masochistic lure of the dreaded Daren Cilau crawl called yet again. Dan Hill and Simon Matthew Payne combine forces to describe the latest through trip. Dan starts off ...
On sunny Friday 26th July, the stars had aligned, a midweek trip was upon us. I set off with Simon Matthew Payne and Evans brothers Billy and Tom from the tackle store (dodging the contemptable film crews, picking up some Screwfix kneepads and some Sainsbury’s essentials) to rendezvous with James 'hardcore' Hallihan outside Ogof Daren Cilau. We had a whole day to kill and had selected a substantial trip: the through trip to Cnwc (however that's supposed to be pronounced!). Simon helpfully overshadowed any nerves in advance of going underground by speeding so madly up the Welsh hills that we thought we might take off. (All within the legal speed limit, of course, no sheep were harmed.)
I had done this same trip six months before with Billy, Dan Rose and Claire Missen and, being the relatively-least-hard caver in that group, had got a bit exhausted, so I was looking forward to a slightly less intense pace. Tom also had some rough history with Daren (the 'evil henchman' incident) and was ready to get his revenge. Billy and James probably had 1,000 Daren trips between them (half of that being Billy in only the last few months) and were ready for anything. Only Simon had not been in the cave before and later evidence suggested he may not have known quite what he was getting himself into...
SMP comments: "I knew I was going into a cave… Suffering was guaranteed, only the flavour of despair was unbeknownst to me."
Of course, the trip started with the infamous Daren Cilau crawl - a gruelling hour of crawling, squeezing and thrutching described by Billy (quoting a line from the late Sid Perou's 1980s documentary) as "doing 1,000 pushups on one arm in freezing cold water". We powered through. My experience was much improved by constantly having James's yellow pvc arse ahead of me, shining like the sun. Midway through, I realised Simon was no longer close behind; investigating, I found him slowed down by his heavy bag, filled exclusively with several gallons of freshly squeezed orange juice. At our next rest stop we all helpfully relieved Simon of his precious cargo, which did indeed make the going easier.
SMP adds, "I would like to emphasize just how unholy awful the first 70 minutes of unabridged sorrow the first part of this cave really was. I struggle to articulate just how dreadful the experience was, elbows and knees took a beating all while being soaked through as most of the crawl, all approximately 550 metres of it, was beset with 3-inch-deep ice cold water. There is no locked gate for this entrance for, you see, the ordeal of getting into the main complex is its own deterrent."
After weeks of crawling (or what felt like it), we at last emerged and could walk again. We pressed on to the Big Chamber Nowhere Near the Entrance and the logbook. Here we did our first bit of route finding. Thankfully, James had printed a copy of the survey which, without a plastic wallet, had half dissolved during the wet crawl. It was however somehow still legible, leading us on to Epocalypse Way. (If we had got lost in that labyrinth, that would have been it, I shudder to think what would have become of us.)
Daren is, for the most part, not the prettiest cave in the world, but when it is pretty it is really stunning. Unfortunately, these encounters are separated by hours of muddy boulder walking. One such pretty bit is Urchin Oxbow where a small climb leads to a short dead-end passage dotted with dozens of clusters of bright white, needle-like crystals, each a tiny explosion frozen in time (or indeed like their shellfish namesake). These amazing structures, like nothing I've seen anywhere else, stacked one on top of the other, erupted out of snow-white stal dripping from the ceiling. After taking in the sights, we proceeded on.
The path ahead to Antler Passage required the ascension of the first of a series of in situ ladders, their hinged metal rungs relatively luxurious compared to the wire ladders we are so accustomed to. Early in Antler Passage we came across the titular antlers - bone-white helictites of such huge proportions that they did really look like red-deer antlers mounted along the passage. However my brain more readily interpreted them as the tails of giant prawns.
As we marched on, Antler Passage seemed to stretch longer and longer ahead. We trudged over muddy boulders, punctuated by climbs and more ladders. The anticipated sign for Ogof Cnwc floated like a phantom in my mind before every twist and turn, but the end was always further away than I had thought. By the time we at last passed the sign, situated in a large chamber with imposing stalactites hanging above, some energy levels had begun to run low, but the overpowering smell of the outside world, penetrating deep underground, rallied us for the final flat-out crawl to freedom.
SMP mutters wearily, "The final hour of this cave nearly claimed me, every inch of our crawl in the final halls of darkness was agony. We had delved too deep and for too long and a vengeful god had cried 'torment unto thy elbows and the flagellation of thy knees'. Nothing has persuaded me more to invest in elbow pads, and knee pads that do not slip down.'
Overall, a “great” trip, 10/10. The only thing that could've improved it was the post-cave pub offering a yummy Jamaican dinner at less than £1,000,000.
Left to right: Billy and Dan Evans, Dan Hill (and his nice hair). Recumbant: Simon Matthew Payne. Photo (presumably) by James Hallihan.
The masochistic lure of the dreaded Daren Cilau crawl called yet again. Dan Hill and Simon Matthew Payne combine forces to describe the latest through trip. Dan starts off ...
On sunny Friday 26th July, the stars had aligned, a midweek trip was upon us. I set off with Simon Matthew Payne and Evans brothers Billy and Tom from the tackle store (dodging the contemptable film crews, picking up some Screwfix kneepads and some Sainsbury’s essentials) to rendezvous with James 'hardcore' Hallihan outside Ogof Daren Cilau. We had a whole day to kill and had selected a substantial trip: the through trip to Cnwc (however that's supposed to be pronounced!). Simon helpfully overshadowed any nerves in advance of going underground by speeding so madly up the Welsh hills that we thought we might take off. (All within the legal speed limit, of course, no sheep were harmed.)
I had done this same trip six months before with Billy, Dan Rose and Claire Missen and, being the relatively-least-hard caver in that group, had got a bit exhausted, so I was looking forward to a slightly less intense pace. Tom also had some rough history with Daren (the 'evil henchman' incident) and was ready to get his revenge. Billy and James probably had 1,000 Daren trips between them (half of that being Billy in only the last few months) and were ready for anything. Only Simon had not been in the cave before and later evidence suggested he may not have known quite what he was getting himself into...
SMP comments: "I knew I was going into a cave… Suffering was guaranteed, only the flavour of despair was unbeknownst to me."
Of course, the trip started with the infamous Daren Cilau crawl - a gruelling hour of crawling, squeezing and thrutching described by Billy (quoting a line from the late Sid Perou's 1980s documentary) as "doing 1,000 pushups on one arm in freezing cold water". We powered through. My experience was much improved by constantly having James's yellow pvc arse ahead of me, shining like the sun. Midway through, I realised Simon was no longer close behind; investigating, I found him slowed down by his heavy bag, filled exclusively with several gallons of freshly squeezed orange juice. At our next rest stop we all helpfully relieved Simon of his precious cargo, which did indeed make the going easier.
SMP adds, "I would like to emphasize just how unholy awful the first 70 minutes of unabridged sorrow the first part of this cave really was. I struggle to articulate just how dreadful the experience was, elbows and knees took a beating all while being soaked through as most of the crawl, all approximately 550 metres of it, was beset with 3-inch-deep ice cold water. There is no locked gate for this entrance for, you see, the ordeal of getting into the main complex is its own deterrent."
After weeks of crawling (or what felt like it), we at last emerged and could walk again. We pressed on to the Big Chamber Nowhere Near the Entrance and the logbook. Here we did our first bit of route finding. Thankfully, James had printed a copy of the survey which, without a plastic wallet, had half dissolved during the wet crawl. It was however somehow still legible, leading us on to Epocalypse Way. (If we had got lost in that labyrinth, that would have been it, I shudder to think what would have become of us.)
Daren is, for the most part, not the prettiest cave in the world, but when it is pretty it is really stunning. Unfortunately, these encounters are separated by hours of muddy boulder walking. One such pretty bit is Urchin Oxbow where a small climb leads to a short dead-end passage dotted with dozens of clusters of bright white, needle-like crystals, each a tiny explosion frozen in time (or indeed like their shellfish namesake). These amazing structures, like nothing I've seen anywhere else, stacked one on top of the other, erupted out of snow-white stal dripping from the ceiling. After taking in the sights, we proceeded on.
The path ahead to Antler Passage required the ascension of the first of a series of in situ ladders, their hinged metal rungs relatively luxurious compared to the wire ladders we are so accustomed to. Early in Antler Passage we came across the titular antlers - bone-white helictites of such huge proportions that they did really look like red-deer antlers mounted along the passage. However my brain more readily interpreted them as the tails of giant prawns.
As we marched on, Antler Passage seemed to stretch longer and longer ahead. We trudged over muddy boulders, punctuated by climbs and more ladders. The anticipated sign for Ogof Cnwc floated like a phantom in my mind before every twist and turn, but the end was always further away than I had thought. By the time we at last passed the sign, situated in a large chamber with imposing stalactites hanging above, some energy levels had begun to run low, but the overpowering smell of the outside world, penetrating deep underground, rallied us for the final flat-out crawl to freedom.
SMP mutters wearily, "The final hour of this cave nearly claimed me, every inch of our crawl in the final halls of darkness was agony. We had delved too deep and for too long and a vengeful god had cried 'torment unto thy elbows and the flagellation of thy knees'. Nothing has persuaded me more to invest in elbow pads, and knee pads that do not slip down.'
Overall, a “great” trip, 10/10. The only thing that could've improved it was the post-cave pub offering a yummy Jamaican dinner at less than £1,000,000.
Dan HIll (with Simon Matthew Payne)
A TITANIC EFFORT
Photos copyright Mark Burkey and used with his kind permissions. (Not UBSS models.)
BIlly Evans, Stanley Lewis, Daniel Rose and Ben Morgan recently rounded off a week long SRT adventure by tackling Titan in Derbyshire. Billy tells the tale ...
We left Bull Pot Farm on Friday night and set off Saturday morning as the effect of five days of drinking caught up with us. We were joined by Zac Woodford and all enjoyed a pleasant walk up tthe hill. There, I was forced to confront my childhood fears. Not the daunting challenge of the deepest discovered cave shaft in the UK (145 metres), but the herd of massive cows that met us at the entrance. After taking my fair share of vegetarian flavoured flak we dropped down the first 50 metres of dug shaft.
Meeting the others at the bottom while Zac rigged the main hang was nice. We shot the breeze with our feet in the pool and discussed various degrees and PhD’s until our feet got cold waiting. We then realised just how large the cave was. With the stoicism of a thousand brick walls, we each, in turn, dangled our quaking arses over the precipice and joined Zac at the bottom. We cuddled up in a Bivvy whilst waiting for the rest, and when Stanley was down we ventured through the boulder ruckle and down to the through route to keep warm.
As I set off up, Dan and Ben did the same. After half an hour of Prussiking I was out of the main shaft, and after another 15 minutes of slightly more tired prussiking I was finally out. As I was first out, I went back to the TSG to pack up the car as the others de-rigged. This was quickly done so I had time for a guilty stop at the chippy while the others grafted away.
When everyone was out, we said our goodbyes to Zac and the rest of us set off back down to Bristol. On very little sleep and having done Titan the morning before, it was precarious to say the least. After we’d dropped our ropes off in the tackle store cages we made the group decision to power ourselves back to London to sleep the same night. It was an excursion of Kerouacian proportions. As we rolled into Mill Hill at 3:30am, relief that we hadn’t crashed and excitement to sleep washed over us. Stanley took his own bed, as we were at his house, while Ben, Dan and I all cuddled up in Stan’s spare.
It was an exciting and lovely end to the week.
Photos copyright Mark Burkey and used with his kind permissions. (Not UBSS models.)
BIlly Evans, Stanley Lewis, Daniel Rose and Ben Morgan recently rounded off a week long SRT adventure by tackling Titan in Derbyshire. Billy tells the tale ...
We left Bull Pot Farm on Friday night and set off Saturday morning as the effect of five days of drinking caught up with us. We were joined by Zac Woodford and all enjoyed a pleasant walk up tthe hill. There, I was forced to confront my childhood fears. Not the daunting challenge of the deepest discovered cave shaft in the UK (145 metres), but the herd of massive cows that met us at the entrance. After taking my fair share of vegetarian flavoured flak we dropped down the first 50 metres of dug shaft.
Meeting the others at the bottom while Zac rigged the main hang was nice. We shot the breeze with our feet in the pool and discussed various degrees and PhD’s until our feet got cold waiting. We then realised just how large the cave was. With the stoicism of a thousand brick walls, we each, in turn, dangled our quaking arses over the precipice and joined Zac at the bottom. We cuddled up in a Bivvy whilst waiting for the rest, and when Stanley was down we ventured through the boulder ruckle and down to the through route to keep warm.
As I set off up, Dan and Ben did the same. After half an hour of Prussiking I was out of the main shaft, and after another 15 minutes of slightly more tired prussiking I was finally out. As I was first out, I went back to the TSG to pack up the car as the others de-rigged. This was quickly done so I had time for a guilty stop at the chippy while the others grafted away.
When everyone was out, we said our goodbyes to Zac and the rest of us set off back down to Bristol. On very little sleep and having done Titan the morning before, it was precarious to say the least. After we’d dropped our ropes off in the tackle store cages we made the group decision to power ourselves back to London to sleep the same night. It was an excursion of Kerouacian proportions. As we rolled into Mill Hill at 3:30am, relief that we hadn’t crashed and excitement to sleep washed over us. Stanley took his own bed, as we were at his house, while Ben, Dan and I all cuddled up in Stan’s spare.
It was an exciting and lovely end to the week.
Billy Evans
THE CAVE THAT TIME FORGOT
'The only thing missing was a pterodactyl' is not a phrase generally associated with caving so we're delighted to welcome it to the UBSS Newsletter in Billy Evans' write up of a Dolly Tubs/Alum Pot exchange.
After a brief wobble in the tight entrance of Large Pot in the morning, an afternoon of fun was needed.
Dan Rose, Stanley Lewis, Ben Morgan and I set off to the chasm of Alum Pot in the Yorkshire Dales in good spirits, but had trouble finding the parking place. After asking directions from a female driver who couldn’t have been more than 15 (and who was letting it roll backwards down a hill) we found the right place.
After getting changed and setting a call out, we headed off up the hill. Dan and I were to go in via Dolly Tubs and Stan and Ben intended to abseil off the main hang. We left the others and entered swiftly, managing to skilfully avoid a soaking in the Tubs. Before long we came to the Cheese Press, a very tight squeeze that we tackled with a sense of fun and adventure, and then we were at the first nice,easy pitch, ten metres down.
This was my first time in the cave and nothing had prepared me for the amazing view from the balcony. The phrase “the land that time forgot” echoed in my head as we got closer to the moss-covered blackness and the Bridge. The only thing missing was a pterodactyl.
Nope, no prehistoric critters of any kind.
We had parted from the others about 20-25 mins ago, and yet we couldn’t see them at the bottom, so we naturally wondered if they had pulled some elaborate prank and left us to fend for ourselves in Alum Pot. We began rigging the rest of the route - the traverse across the greasy slab, and the pitch down to the second traverse along the wall - when we caught a glimpse of Stanley’s red oversuit hanging over the very top at the rebelay.
Words were shouted to the effect of “get an expletive ridden wiggle on” before we saw Ben descend next to them and start talking. We now understood that something had gone a bit wrong - but no fear - there was a lot of trust between us to know that all would be fine.
As we rigged the last pitch off a dodgy bolt and a snapgate, we saw Stanley finally float down in front of us like a mad, endorphin-fuelled spider and met them at the bottom, shortly followed by M.C.C.B extraordinaire Ben Morgan. We realised as Stanley got off the rope that perhaps it might have been a bit too short - so we had to tie it to a big rock at the bottom to stop it from pinging up and out of reach.
We did the final one together to look at the sump before turning around.
Unpinning the rope, I began my Prusik home. I was grateful for the length of time the big pitch gave me to work on my technique - and by the top it really felt like a highly efficient art. I reached the surface and straddled a tree. Dan Rose followed swiftly afterwards, his speed due to a newly devised prusik technique whereby you attach your hand jammer to the neck strap of your helmet and with the aid of a Pantin you can just walk up the rope. With only the small downside being that if your chest jammer slips you will suffocate to death. I’m sure this innovative technique will soon catch on. [Editors' note: we're equally sure this won't be featuring in Jess' Top Tips, but has provided an idea for a Things Not To Do column ...]
Dan derigged and we walked back to the car. Eventually the others emerged after some navigational difficulties with the Cheese Press and its bypass. A great time was had all around.
'The only thing missing was a pterodactyl' is not a phrase generally associated with caving so we're delighted to welcome it to the UBSS Newsletter in Billy Evans' write up of a Dolly Tubs/Alum Pot exchange.
After a brief wobble in the tight entrance of Large Pot in the morning, an afternoon of fun was needed.
Dan Rose, Stanley Lewis, Ben Morgan and I set off to the chasm of Alum Pot in the Yorkshire Dales in good spirits, but had trouble finding the parking place. After asking directions from a female driver who couldn’t have been more than 15 (and who was letting it roll backwards down a hill) we found the right place.
After getting changed and setting a call out, we headed off up the hill. Dan and I were to go in via Dolly Tubs and Stan and Ben intended to abseil off the main hang. We left the others and entered swiftly, managing to skilfully avoid a soaking in the Tubs. Before long we came to the Cheese Press, a very tight squeeze that we tackled with a sense of fun and adventure, and then we were at the first nice,easy pitch, ten metres down.
This was my first time in the cave and nothing had prepared me for the amazing view from the balcony. The phrase “the land that time forgot” echoed in my head as we got closer to the moss-covered blackness and the Bridge. The only thing missing was a pterodactyl.
Nope, no prehistoric critters of any kind.
We had parted from the others about 20-25 mins ago, and yet we couldn’t see them at the bottom, so we naturally wondered if they had pulled some elaborate prank and left us to fend for ourselves in Alum Pot. We began rigging the rest of the route - the traverse across the greasy slab, and the pitch down to the second traverse along the wall - when we caught a glimpse of Stanley’s red oversuit hanging over the very top at the rebelay.
Words were shouted to the effect of “get an expletive ridden wiggle on” before we saw Ben descend next to them and start talking. We now understood that something had gone a bit wrong - but no fear - there was a lot of trust between us to know that all would be fine.
As we rigged the last pitch off a dodgy bolt and a snapgate, we saw Stanley finally float down in front of us like a mad, endorphin-fuelled spider and met them at the bottom, shortly followed by M.C.C.B extraordinaire Ben Morgan. We realised as Stanley got off the rope that perhaps it might have been a bit too short - so we had to tie it to a big rock at the bottom to stop it from pinging up and out of reach.
We did the final one together to look at the sump before turning around.
Unpinning the rope, I began my Prusik home. I was grateful for the length of time the big pitch gave me to work on my technique - and by the top it really felt like a highly efficient art. I reached the surface and straddled a tree. Dan Rose followed swiftly afterwards, his speed due to a newly devised prusik technique whereby you attach your hand jammer to the neck strap of your helmet and with the aid of a Pantin you can just walk up the rope. With only the small downside being that if your chest jammer slips you will suffocate to death. I’m sure this innovative technique will soon catch on. [Editors' note: we're equally sure this won't be featuring in Jess' Top Tips, but has provided an idea for a Things Not To Do column ...]
Dan derigged and we walked back to the car. Eventually the others emerged after some navigational difficulties with the Cheese Press and its bypass. A great time was had all around.
Billy Evans
LA GROTTE SAINT-MARCEL
One of Saint-Marcel's many stal-filled chambers.
Jess Brock describes one of the highlights of her summer trip to France.
The Grotte Saint-Marcel lies in the Ardeche gorge and is one of the largest caves in France with a network of 64km of passage. It is primarily a show cave, well lit and magnificent, but more importantly to us Spéléo Amis it harbours dense formation filled passages, chambers and high hallowed halls.
Access to the wild caving was fairly straightforward, we picked up some keys from the Marie just outside Bidon and drove to the showcave. We parked nearby in a large gravel lay-by and made the perilous descent to the cave. Not for the faint of heart, the narrow gravel track soon has us wishing we were in a Land Rover and not low clearance cars. The path itself curves down the side of the green valley and was just as easily walked down.
As we got to the wide gaping mouth of the entrance we were doused in gusts of cold air, a stark contrasts to the constant 35° heat we’d been out and about in. Through the black gate we threw our bags down and stooped for a short while before breaking out into a tall wide chamber to which we soon became accustomed.
Large dripping flowstone formations spotted the cavernous walk a winding passage left smooth and curved by the erosion of water.
We saw pictures of boats made of smoke and encountered a ladder nearly 10m tall that we free climbed.
On and on we walked in the hot dry passage. Graffiti smothered the walls and even the ceiling when it stooped down to us. There were dates ranging throughout the 20th century. Many of them were made from smoke but there were hundreds of others cut into or spray painted onto the rock.
Eventually our cavernous passage popped out into the bottom of a series of monstrous chambers – the bottom of the show cave. Luckily for us the lights had been turned on and we stared in awe at the splendour of massive formations.
Looking up at the bottom of the show cave that we didn’t go up to on this visit.
Through La Trappe, a metal door in the rock, we entered the wild caving part of Saint-Marcel. The chambers shrunk but the volume of stalactites was overwhelming. You could not blink without seeing the thousands of rocky tips.
After many small stal-filled chambers, we popped out into larger, smoother passages that wound and curved through the belly of the earth.
Our eyes could not comprehend the sheer volume of formations. Each chamber had stalactites and stalagmites of every colour. Columns, flowstone, empty gower pools and even glittering frost-looking calcite. It is an easy thing to be a caver and go underground but it takes another part of you to fully look at your surroundings and appreciate what a privilege it is to see what others do not.
Every chamber we popped, had people saying ‘wow’ and pointing at a different thing, while some of us were stunned to silence. It was truly magnificent to see what we saw. I wish my eyes had been ten times the size just to comprehend some of the thousands of stal I saw.
Stalactite core from beneath.
The navigation was fairly straightforward with the help of some fabulous notes, and within the cave were little reflective signs and green arrows that sped us up a bit, although as with all new caves the route-finding took a while.
Stunned by the continuous formations and stal, we struck gold – helictites. Some of the stalactites were yellowish-brown and had helictites srouting from odd places like salt stuck to a pretzl.
We climbed through empty gour pools a foot deep and several feet wide in this remarkably dry cave. The only moisture came from our sweat. Caving in the south of France in summer is hot and tiring work. Many shook off the top half of their oversuits and showed their bare skin to the cave.
Half the group lounging in empty pools and looking at the map.
The following week we returned to Saint-Marcel and this time went up into the show cave and beyond. Equal in its enormity, the main chamber echoed up like segments of honeycomb until it settled into large passageway.
Like ants we wove amongst rocks and concretions and sparkling calcite. The walls were curved and it was clear the see the path of the ancient rivers that had made the cave.
Within the show cave was a waterfall of gour pools. The water glittered as it trickled down the pale dimpled rock. We just stood there entranced, watching the water and listening to its gentle sound.
I fiddled constantly with my light thinking it was on a dim setting but in actuality the ceiling and walls were so far away my usually overpowering Fenix struggled to illuminate the cave.
We walked on in continual awe at the sheer enormity of the passage until the ceiling started to stoop and we found ourselves in formation ladened chambers once again. Walls were plastered in what looked like frost but on closer inspection it was hundreds of thousands of pristine calcite stalactites and helictites.
We walked and walked and chatted and whistled and sang and listened as our voices echoed beyond us until we grew tired and had our chocolate stop, (pain-au-chocolate stop for a lucky few). Saint-Marcel is an incredible cave and well worth the trip to see the splendour!
One of Saint-Marcel's many stal-filled chambers.
Jess Brock describes one of the highlights of her summer trip to France.
The Grotte Saint-Marcel lies in the Ardeche gorge and is one of the largest caves in France with a network of 64km of passage. It is primarily a show cave, well lit and magnificent, but more importantly to us Spéléo Amis it harbours dense formation filled passages, chambers and high hallowed halls.
Access to the wild caving was fairly straightforward, we picked up some keys from the Marie just outside Bidon and drove to the showcave. We parked nearby in a large gravel lay-by and made the perilous descent to the cave. Not for the faint of heart, the narrow gravel track soon has us wishing we were in a Land Rover and not low clearance cars. The path itself curves down the side of the green valley and was just as easily walked down.
As we got to the wide gaping mouth of the entrance we were doused in gusts of cold air, a stark contrasts to the constant 35° heat we’d been out and about in. Through the black gate we threw our bags down and stooped for a short while before breaking out into a tall wide chamber to which we soon became accustomed.
Large dripping flowstone formations spotted the cavernous walk a winding passage left smooth and curved by the erosion of water.
We saw pictures of boats made of smoke and encountered a ladder nearly 10m tall that we free climbed.
On and on we walked in the hot dry passage. Graffiti smothered the walls and even the ceiling when it stooped down to us. There were dates ranging throughout the 20th century. Many of them were made from smoke but there were hundreds of others cut into or spray painted onto the rock.
Eventually our cavernous passage popped out into the bottom of a series of monstrous chambers – the bottom of the show cave. Luckily for us the lights had been turned on and we stared in awe at the splendour of massive formations.
Looking up at the bottom of the show cave that we didn’t go up to on this visit.
Through La Trappe, a metal door in the rock, we entered the wild caving part of Saint-Marcel. The chambers shrunk but the volume of stalactites was overwhelming. You could not blink without seeing the thousands of rocky tips.
After many small stal-filled chambers, we popped out into larger, smoother passages that wound and curved through the belly of the earth.
Our eyes could not comprehend the sheer volume of formations. Each chamber had stalactites and stalagmites of every colour. Columns, flowstone, empty gower pools and even glittering frost-looking calcite. It is an easy thing to be a caver and go underground but it takes another part of you to fully look at your surroundings and appreciate what a privilege it is to see what others do not.
Every chamber we popped, had people saying ‘wow’ and pointing at a different thing, while some of us were stunned to silence. It was truly magnificent to see what we saw. I wish my eyes had been ten times the size just to comprehend some of the thousands of stal I saw.
Stalactite core from beneath. The navigation was fairly straightforward with the help of some fabulous notes, and within the cave were little reflective signs and green arrows that sped us up a bit, although as with all new caves the route-finding took a while.
Stunned by the continuous formations and stal, we struck gold – helictites. Some of the stalactites were yellowish-brown and had helictites srouting from odd places like salt stuck to a pretzl.
We climbed through empty gour pools a foot deep and several feet wide in this remarkably dry cave. The only moisture came from our sweat. Caving in the south of France in summer is hot and tiring work. Many shook off the top half of their oversuits and showed their bare skin to the cave.
Half the group lounging in empty pools and looking at the map.
The following week we returned to Saint-Marcel and this time went up into the show cave and beyond. Equal in its enormity, the main chamber echoed up like segments of honeycomb until it settled into large passageway.
Like ants we wove amongst rocks and concretions and sparkling calcite. The walls were curved and it was clear the see the path of the ancient rivers that had made the cave.
Within the show cave was a waterfall of gour pools. The water glittered as it trickled down the pale dimpled rock. We just stood there entranced, watching the water and listening to its gentle sound.
I fiddled constantly with my light thinking it was on a dim setting but in actuality the ceiling and walls were so far away my usually overpowering Fenix struggled to illuminate the cave.
We walked on in continual awe at the sheer enormity of the passage until the ceiling started to stoop and we found ourselves in formation ladened chambers once again. Walls were plastered in what looked like frost but on closer inspection it was hundreds of thousands of pristine calcite stalactites and helictites.
We walked and walked and chatted and whistled and sang and listened as our voices echoed beyond us until we grew tired and had our chocolate stop, (pain-au-chocolate stop for a lucky few). Saint-Marcel is an incredible cave and well worth the trip to see the splendour!
Jess Brock
COOL CAVES
Gouffre de la Farge, Noailles
When temperatures in parts of France (that weren't hosting the Olympic Games) soared rapidly into heatwave territory visiting some of the local showcaves was the best way to stay cool, as Linda, our Dordogne correspondent, reports ...
GOUFFRE DE LA FARGE
Location: Noailles, 8km from Brive-la-Gaillard, Correze
Website
Tariff: 9.50 euros (adult)
La Farge is a well-decorated showcave, home to many species of bat including the impressively large mouse-eared bat, several of whom could be seen flying around in the many high rift passages that characterise the parts open to the public. In summer, the morning visits are self-guided, which allows ample time for photography, while in the afternoon, the tours are guided in French.
The temptation to write a rude caption was nobly resisted. See, we can adult.
Our first visit in the '90s was memorable for Graham and I being the only visitors one afternoon when, without warning, we were plunged into darkness. When the lights didn't come back on, we took out our torches and calmly carried on. My only concern was whether we would find a locked exit awaiting us. Fortunely, we didn't, but we did cause some consternation when we strolled into the gift shop to pick up some postcards, to the horror of Madame la Proprietresse who promptly gave her husband a major bollocking in rapid fire French, as he'd obviously taken over from her and not realised they had anyone underground. To this day she probably doesn't understand why we never said anything.
On this occasion, the lights remained on and Jan and I were forced to make our own entertainment by following the signs through a short section of 'wild caving' off the main path that looped round through a small grotto, returning to the route via a short crawl (for me) or crouch (for Jan), while Graham took photos of our ability to get muddy on any outing.
Yes, of course we had to get grubby on the bit for kiddies, why do you even ask?
La Farge suffers from a small amount of algal growth in places due to the length of time the lights are on, but it still remains well worth a visit and is far more impressive than I remembered.
Photography is allowed.
BARA BAHAU
Location: Le Bugue, Dordogne
Website
Tariff: £7.50 (adult)
Bara Bahau was the first palaeolithic engraved cave that Graham and I visited over 30 years ago on the caving holiday that started our lifelong fascination with the cave art. On that occasion, we stared in bewilderment at a wall covered with a mass of lines, many made by cave bears scratching the walls with their huge claws, leaving behind deep marks. We were told that amongst these griffades d'ours were later marks left by prehistoric people in the shape of various animals including bears, deer, horses and aurochs. There's also an engraved hand and - that staple of mark-making through the ages - a large penis!
We spent most of our first visit staring at the illuminated panels beneath each main figure, positioned to help those, like us, who were having trouble picking out the animals. Fast-forward a quarter of a century and many, many more decorated caves, including several more trips to Bara Bahau, we happily stared at the ceiling while the guide talked, picking out our favourites and finding more figures to enjoy.
The main passage leading to the engraved chamber is very reminiscent of Rouffignac, and the huge boulder choke at the end always makes us itch to start digging. There could easily be far more to discover. As the cave is in private hands, it received no government funding and, as our guide lamented, there has been no archaeological work in the cave since 1962. The cave had a slightly run down air, and hardly any of the illuminated panels now seemed to be working, but our guide (a masters student in the history of art) was both knowledgeable and enthusiastic.
We were once at Bara Bahau during a cataclysmic electric storm which fused the substation serving the showcave, stranding a large party of tourists and their guide underground. We were outside, sheltering from the storm and waiting for the next tour. When the group failed to return, we offered to go in with our lights to find out what the problem was and discovered that the guide's own torch had gone out. Ooops. The moral of the story is never to trust showcave lights!
Photography isn't permitted, although our guide did kindly allow me to take a photo of the entrance passage, but for anyone wanting to see the engravings, there's a good summary, with photos on a site called donsmaps.
I would always recommend a visit to Bara Bahau, although for preference, train your eyes on easier sites like Les Combarelles in Les Eyzies first, but if that's not possible, just go for it and see how much you can spot!
GROTTE DE TOURTOIRAC
Location: Tourtoirac, 8km from Hautefort, Dordogne
Website
Tariff: 9.90 euros (adult)
Tourtoirac was discovered in 1995 by caver and cave diver Jean-Luc Sireix, who succeeded in passing the sump in the Fontaine de la Clautre with three friends, but sadly, on their return through the difficult sump, Jean-Luc and Annie Maire got into difficulties and drowned. Five years later, a shaft was sung to provide access to the dry passages beyond the sump. Work on the construction of the showcave started in 2007 and the cave was opened to the public in 2010. The site is managed by the municipality and access is gained for tourists via a roomy lift situated in the middle of the entrance building.
The showcave meanders on raised metal walkways through a very fine, large river passage, staying several metres above the water, which can be heard throughout the visit, providing a better accompaniment than the occasional busts of music that accompany the commentray. The tour is guided, with the addition of several pre-recorded commentaries at various points on the tour.
I've been to Tourtoirac several times in the past 14 years and the cave never loses its attraction, although I'm less enamoured of the rather odd blue lighting that has appeared in several places. As it mainly illuminates the passage roof, I think it's intended to illustrate the action of water that created the passages, but I could be wrong!
There are some very fine helectites in the roof at the end of the showcave.
Non-flash photography is allowed throughout the cave.
Gouffre de la Farge, Noailles
When temperatures in parts of France (that weren't hosting the Olympic Games) soared rapidly into heatwave territory visiting some of the local showcaves was the best way to stay cool, as Linda, our Dordogne correspondent, reports ...
GOUFFRE DE LA FARGE
Location: Noailles, 8km from Brive-la-Gaillard, Correze
Website
Tariff: 9.50 euros (adult)
La Farge is a well-decorated showcave, home to many species of bat including the impressively large mouse-eared bat, several of whom could be seen flying around in the many high rift passages that characterise the parts open to the public. In summer, the morning visits are self-guided, which allows ample time for photography, while in the afternoon, the tours are guided in French.
The temptation to write a rude caption was nobly resisted. See, we can adult.
Our first visit in the '90s was memorable for Graham and I being the only visitors one afternoon when, without warning, we were plunged into darkness. When the lights didn't come back on, we took out our torches and calmly carried on. My only concern was whether we would find a locked exit awaiting us. Fortunely, we didn't, but we did cause some consternation when we strolled into the gift shop to pick up some postcards, to the horror of Madame la Proprietresse who promptly gave her husband a major bollocking in rapid fire French, as he'd obviously taken over from her and not realised they had anyone underground. To this day she probably doesn't understand why we never said anything.
On this occasion, the lights remained on and Jan and I were forced to make our own entertainment by following the signs through a short section of 'wild caving' off the main path that looped round through a small grotto, returning to the route via a short crawl (for me) or crouch (for Jan), while Graham took photos of our ability to get muddy on any outing.
Yes, of course we had to get grubby on the bit for kiddies, why do you even ask?
La Farge suffers from a small amount of algal growth in places due to the length of time the lights are on, but it still remains well worth a visit and is far more impressive than I remembered.
Photography is allowed.
BARA BAHAU
Location: Le Bugue, Dordogne
Website
Tariff: £7.50 (adult)
Bara Bahau was the first palaeolithic engraved cave that Graham and I visited over 30 years ago on the caving holiday that started our lifelong fascination with the cave art. On that occasion, we stared in bewilderment at a wall covered with a mass of lines, many made by cave bears scratching the walls with their huge claws, leaving behind deep marks. We were told that amongst these griffades d'ours were later marks left by prehistoric people in the shape of various animals including bears, deer, horses and aurochs. There's also an engraved hand and - that staple of mark-making through the ages - a large penis!
We spent most of our first visit staring at the illuminated panels beneath each main figure, positioned to help those, like us, who were having trouble picking out the animals. Fast-forward a quarter of a century and many, many more decorated caves, including several more trips to Bara Bahau, we happily stared at the ceiling while the guide talked, picking out our favourites and finding more figures to enjoy.
The main passage leading to the engraved chamber is very reminiscent of Rouffignac, and the huge boulder choke at the end always makes us itch to start digging. There could easily be far more to discover. As the cave is in private hands, it received no government funding and, as our guide lamented, there has been no archaeological work in the cave since 1962. The cave had a slightly run down air, and hardly any of the illuminated panels now seemed to be working, but our guide (a masters student in the history of art) was both knowledgeable and enthusiastic.
We were once at Bara Bahau during a cataclysmic electric storm which fused the substation serving the showcave, stranding a large party of tourists and their guide underground. We were outside, sheltering from the storm and waiting for the next tour. When the group failed to return, we offered to go in with our lights to find out what the problem was and discovered that the guide's own torch had gone out. Ooops. The moral of the story is never to trust showcave lights!
Photography isn't permitted, although our guide did kindly allow me to take a photo of the entrance passage, but for anyone wanting to see the engravings, there's a good summary, with photos on a site called donsmaps.
I would always recommend a visit to Bara Bahau, although for preference, train your eyes on easier sites like Les Combarelles in Les Eyzies first, but if that's not possible, just go for it and see how much you can spot!
GROTTE DE TOURTOIRAC
Location: Tourtoirac, 8km from Hautefort, Dordogne
Website
Tariff: 9.90 euros (adult)
Tourtoirac was discovered in 1995 by caver and cave diver Jean-Luc Sireix, who succeeded in passing the sump in the Fontaine de la Clautre with three friends, but sadly, on their return through the difficult sump, Jean-Luc and Annie Maire got into difficulties and drowned. Five years later, a shaft was sung to provide access to the dry passages beyond the sump. Work on the construction of the showcave started in 2007 and the cave was opened to the public in 2010. The site is managed by the municipality and access is gained for tourists via a roomy lift situated in the middle of the entrance building.
The showcave meanders on raised metal walkways through a very fine, large river passage, staying several metres above the water, which can be heard throughout the visit, providing a better accompaniment than the occasional busts of music that accompany the commentray. The tour is guided, with the addition of several pre-recorded commentaries at various points on the tour.
I've been to Tourtoirac several times in the past 14 years and the cave never loses its attraction, although I'm less enamoured of the rather odd blue lighting that has appeared in several places. As it mainly illuminates the passage roof, I think it's intended to illustrate the action of water that created the passages, but I could be wrong!
There are some very fine helectites in the roof at the end of the showcave.
Non-flash photography is allowed throughout the cave.
Linda Wilson
TEMPUS FUGIT
Left to right: Bill Miners, Tim Parrish, Rachel Privett (now Mosedale), Steve Cottle.
How much difference does 29 years make? At the recent gathering of UBSS Members at Tony Boycott's funeral, Tim Parrish decided to find out ... You can see the results above!
Left to right: Bill Miners, Tim Parrish, Rachel Privett (now Mosedale), Steve Cottle.
How much difference does 29 years make? At the recent gathering of UBSS Members at Tony Boycott's funeral, Tim Parrish decided to find out ... You can see the results above!
100 MEMORIES - LITTLE NEATH MAYPOLING
Tony Boycott in Little Neath in 1982. Photo copyright Peter Glanvill, used with his kind permission.
Graham Mullan looks back on his first caving trips with the late Tony Boycott.
I don’t remember exactly when I first met Tony, though I know we were both at the Hut on the weekend of 9/10 October 1971. Three weeks later I caved with him and two others, when I completed my first Swildon’s Short Round Trip. I stayed at the Hut that night and the following morning Tony turned up and asked if we (myself and Merlyn Attwater), wanted to go caving in South Wales. How could we refuse?
The idea was this: The society at that time was still involved in exploring the Little Neath River Cave (LNRC or OANF, if you are Welsh). At the top end of New World Passage, beyond Sump Four, was an aven 30 or more feet high. As this was in the days before portable drills, and indeed before bolt climbing was really a thing, the way to scale avens was to use a maypole, a long device made by attaching scaffold poles together, which could be raised up with an electron ladder fixed to it up which your intrepid explorer could climb.
UBSS had done this sort of thing before on shorter climbs using 5 foot sections of scaff pole, but it was deemed that connecting six of these together would be far too bendy and they wanted to use 10 foot sections instead. These could be floated in by the divers.
Two photos from UBSS Proceedings 12.3 from 1971. Left, Bridge Cave in flood. Right, New World Passage. Both photos by Pete Standing.
However, anyone who knows LNRC will instantly realise that you cannot get even five foot poles through Flood Entrance, so they would have to go in via Bridge Cave, but would a ten foot pole fit through the boulder choke? Our task was to find out.
So off we went with two five foot poles and a connector. Did this fit? Well, not quite, but we nearly got through & argued that the extra 6” from the connecting piece was what stopped us. We reported back and on the strength of this several ten foot poles were duly purchased.
Two weeks later we were back.
The poles didn’t fit!
They may have been 6” shorter but they were also considerably more rigid than our test piece. We hadn’t thought of that, despite it being the whole point of wanting the longer poles. Fortunately, I was with the sherpa party going in via Flood Entrance and was able to keep my head down; Tony was with the diving party in Bridge Cave and took all the flak. But with a bit of heaving and bashing of rocks they got them through and the poles were duly carried and floated down to New World Passage. The climb was successful but the ‘HUGE’ passage seen from below did not go. After only a very short distance it ended in a hopeless boulder choke.
Oh well. Not long after, we were back down LNRC for Tony to dive the Genesis Inlet sump.
That didn’t go, either.
Tony Boycott in Little Neath in 1982. Photo copyright Peter Glanvill, used with his kind permission.
Graham Mullan looks back on his first caving trips with the late Tony Boycott.
I don’t remember exactly when I first met Tony, though I know we were both at the Hut on the weekend of 9/10 October 1971. Three weeks later I caved with him and two others, when I completed my first Swildon’s Short Round Trip. I stayed at the Hut that night and the following morning Tony turned up and asked if we (myself and Merlyn Attwater), wanted to go caving in South Wales. How could we refuse?
The idea was this: The society at that time was still involved in exploring the Little Neath River Cave (LNRC or OANF, if you are Welsh). At the top end of New World Passage, beyond Sump Four, was an aven 30 or more feet high. As this was in the days before portable drills, and indeed before bolt climbing was really a thing, the way to scale avens was to use a maypole, a long device made by attaching scaffold poles together, which could be raised up with an electron ladder fixed to it up which your intrepid explorer could climb.
UBSS had done this sort of thing before on shorter climbs using 5 foot sections of scaff pole, but it was deemed that connecting six of these together would be far too bendy and they wanted to use 10 foot sections instead. These could be floated in by the divers.
Two photos from UBSS Proceedings 12.3 from 1971. Left, Bridge Cave in flood. Right, New World Passage. Both photos by Pete Standing.
However, anyone who knows LNRC will instantly realise that you cannot get even five foot poles through Flood Entrance, so they would have to go in via Bridge Cave, but would a ten foot pole fit through the boulder choke? Our task was to find out.
So off we went with two five foot poles and a connector. Did this fit? Well, not quite, but we nearly got through & argued that the extra 6” from the connecting piece was what stopped us. We reported back and on the strength of this several ten foot poles were duly purchased.
Two weeks later we were back.
The poles didn’t fit!
They may have been 6” shorter but they were also considerably more rigid than our test piece. We hadn’t thought of that, despite it being the whole point of wanting the longer poles. Fortunately, I was with the sherpa party going in via Flood Entrance and was able to keep my head down; Tony was with the diving party in Bridge Cave and took all the flak. But with a bit of heaving and bashing of rocks they got them through and the poles were duly carried and floated down to New World Passage. The climb was successful but the ‘HUGE’ passage seen from below did not go. After only a very short distance it ended in a hopeless boulder choke.
Oh well. Not long after, we were back down LNRC for Tony to dive the Genesis Inlet sump.
That didn’t go, either.
Graham Mullan
OTIS OTTER READ TO THE END, DID YOU?
A recent conversation in the pub (yes, Simon Payne and Eva Hesketh-Laird, we're looking at you!), revealed that certain people didn't realise that the bits in blue in the newsletter are clickable links and that the point of the long-running Read to the End section is to pander to your hard-working editors' fragile egos and drop us a line praising our efforts, passing on comments or thoroughly abusing our literary efforts, whichever the fancy takes you. We sometimes even hand out random prizes to those who get to the end and click the final link that brings up an email for you to scribble a message if you want, or just send a random emoji. So there you have it, Newsletter 101 Explained. Picture Linda, Mia and Merryn banging their heads against the pub wall on the occasion of this conversation!
And now for our lovely correspondents who reached the end last time and took the time to let us know ...
- Thanks Linda, that was very caring and informed. I had no idea he [Tony] was still digging and actively pushing as my contact with him was primarily via his domestic duties with Proceedings and the library. [Peter Smart]
- From naked lady to this month’s bare bear ... [Chris Howes]
- Your tribute to Tony is beautiful, thank you for sharing. [Mia Jacobs]
- Great articles as usual! What’s the byline on that newspaper, Snowy? “Bumleg Sude More”? [Paul Savage]
- That was an absolutely lovely tribute to AB(Dr). I shall always remember him giving me a lift to Cheshire and me being totally bemused by the fact his sat-nav was giving directions in Italian! Congrats on a bumper newsletter with a great range of material in it. The WhatsApp conversation over the loo floor was comic gold - and Zac’s summary nailed it! [Sharon Wheeler (and the blessed FT Bear)]
- Thanks, I’d like to echo your comments on Tony as one of the kindest, nicest people. He, along with Graham and Chris Smart, took me on my first caving trip. Like his, it was down Swildon’s to sump one. For me, it was the beginning of a decades long love affair with caving which took me to more, and more exotic, places than I ever could have imagined when I first dropped through the hole in the floor of the blockhouse. They took another novice on the same trip, Col Holliday, a dental student. As we grew near the entrance on the way out, I turned to him and asked, ‘isn’t this great?’ He looked at me as if I was mad and replied, “I am never, ever doing this again” and he never did. Thank you ABDr, enjoy your caving wherever you are now. [Dick Willis]
- Another nice newsletter. I always like to see reports with photos about GB. Never been to Upper Flood Swallet - a regret after seeing the photos of the beautiful formations. [Hans Friederich]
- Many thanks and a well-done to all for the hut refurb (and loo!). Tony Boycott was one of my mentors when I first started caving, and I will miss him horribly. He was a wonderful man. And that's a superb bunch of caving in this newsletter! [Jan Walker]
- Hi Snowy! {Merryn Matthews]
- Hello, as ever I have enjoyed reading the latest UBSS newsletter, hearing of the current active cavers’ exploits and seeing the excellent photos. I was sorry to hear of Tony Boycott’s death. He will be missed, not least by you, Linda, and my sympathies to you. Our paths never actually crossed as he came to Bristol after I had left. However his name frequently cropped up as being a very active UBSS supporter and caver. [Eve Gilmore]
Hello, Otis, you are otterly lovely!
THE END
A recent conversation in the pub (yes, Simon Payne and Eva Hesketh-Laird, we're looking at you!), revealed that certain people didn't realise that the bits in blue in the newsletter are clickable links and that the point of the long-running Read to the End section is to pander to your hard-working editors' fragile egos and drop us a line praising our efforts, passing on comments or thoroughly abusing our literary efforts, whichever the fancy takes you. We sometimes even hand out random prizes to those who get to the end and click the final link that brings up an email for you to scribble a message if you want, or just send a random emoji. So there you have it, Newsletter 101 Explained. Picture Linda, Mia and Merryn banging their heads against the pub wall on the occasion of this conversation!
And now for our lovely correspondents who reached the end last time and took the time to let us know ...
- Thanks Linda, that was very caring and informed. I had no idea he [Tony] was still digging and actively pushing as my contact with him was primarily via his domestic duties with Proceedings and the library. [Peter Smart]
- From naked lady to this month’s bare bear ... [Chris Howes]
- Your tribute to Tony is beautiful, thank you for sharing. [Mia Jacobs]
- Great articles as usual! What’s the byline on that newspaper, Snowy? “Bumleg Sude More”? [Paul Savage]
- That was an absolutely lovely tribute to AB(Dr). I shall always remember him giving me a lift to Cheshire and me being totally bemused by the fact his sat-nav was giving directions in Italian! Congrats on a bumper newsletter with a great range of material in it. The WhatsApp conversation over the loo floor was comic gold - and Zac’s summary nailed it! [Sharon Wheeler (and the blessed FT Bear)]
- Thanks, I’d like to echo your comments on Tony as one of the kindest, nicest people. He, along with Graham and Chris Smart, took me on my first caving trip. Like his, it was down Swildon’s to sump one. For me, it was the beginning of a decades long love affair with caving which took me to more, and more exotic, places than I ever could have imagined when I first dropped through the hole in the floor of the blockhouse. They took another novice on the same trip, Col Holliday, a dental student. As we grew near the entrance on the way out, I turned to him and asked, ‘isn’t this great?’ He looked at me as if I was mad and replied, “I am never, ever doing this again” and he never did. Thank you ABDr, enjoy your caving wherever you are now. [Dick Willis]
- Another nice newsletter. I always like to see reports with photos about GB. Never been to Upper Flood Swallet - a regret after seeing the photos of the beautiful formations. [Hans Friederich]
- Many thanks and a well-done to all for the hut refurb (and loo!). Tony Boycott was one of my mentors when I first started caving, and I will miss him horribly. He was a wonderful man. And that's a superb bunch of caving in this newsletter! [Jan Walker]
- Hi Snowy! {Merryn Matthews]
- Hello, as ever I have enjoyed reading the latest UBSS newsletter, hearing of the current active cavers’ exploits and seeing the excellent photos. I was sorry to hear of Tony Boycott’s death. He will be missed, not least by you, Linda, and my sympathies to you. Our paths never actually crossed as he came to Bristol after I had left. However his name frequently cropped up as being a very active UBSS supporter and caver. [Eve Gilmore]
Hello, Otis, you are otterly lovely!
THE END