Ireby Fell Trip
20th July 2008

Members present:
Mick (Trip leader), Mike, John, Linda, Steve, Jen, Marc with a “c”, Wes & Ian.

The meet time was 7:00am at the Glan but, by 7:10am John & Linda had not arrived and so Captain in lieu Mike telephoned John to find out their whereabouts. John’s behaviour was, of course, instantly juvenile and his attempt to fool Mike into believing he was still in bed may have been successful if he had not admitted he was in the garage fuelling the car.

Having then arrived, we ceremoniously dumped the cars belonging to Wes, Steve and Jen and headed to Bernie’s in two cars (Jen refusing to travel with Steve on account of alleged farting which Steve put down to “bad beer in Chester”).

Traffic was light and the journey was swift.

The first party (Ian, Mike and Jen) arrived to meet the proprietor of Bernie's who was still eating his breakfast cereal and whom made it quite clear we had “no chance” until he had finished. This was accepted as “fairy ‘nuff”.

As the last spoonful of cereal was fed into the proprietor’s mouth we placed our orders for breakfasts and a good job we did too…. Moments later a swarm (and I do mean a swarm) of people (probably cavers) descended into Bernie’s and formed an instant blockade at the food counter.  It was 20 minutes later when the second car load (John, Linda, Wes and Steve) arrived who were apparently no worse for wear from Steve’s farting. This may have been due to Steve having a clenched bottom during the trip up as Linda’s knuckles were pure white from gripping the passenger seat of the car so hard up the motorway. John was, of course, responsible.

Marc with a “c” arrived alone (have come from his in-laws (I think)) and trip Leader Mick quickly followed suit. Unfortunately, due to the frankly obscene number of other people who had penetrated Bernie’s, the ordering of breakfasts was slow.

After several feastings, numerous mugs of tea and countless trips to the can, we headed to the cave.

Arriving around 11:00am we kitted up. Well, in fact, most of us did whilst John’s behaviour continued to deteriorate and were we subjected to (amongst other things) strange dancing routines, blatantly camp walking routines and several attempts to make Murf believe he had run over a caver by placing a caving suit under his back wheel.

We eventually set off to the cave entrance with our illustrious leader advising that it was “only ½ mile”. In fact we considered it was double that and maybe more as went up a lane, over a wall, across two fields and over a fell. It is no wonder that he had written a poem about being lost on Ireby Moor as his sense of distance was somewhat suspect!

Arriving at the cave entrance Mick moaned (out loud) that he was going to be very grumpy and that we should not wind him up as he had forgotten his cigarette lighter and did not know how he was going to cope with not having a fag over such a long time.  Quick as a flash, Marc with a “c” pulled out a lighter from his “emergency supplies” which was gratefully received by Mick who announced that Marc with a “c” was made of natural cave leader material and we should all make more of an effort to come properly prepared and follow Marc with a “c”’s example.

Under whelmed, we readied ourselves and were greeted with the arrival of another caver (followed by some other cavers). The first caver advised that he was on a dig down at the bottom and the system was rigged and that we were welcome to use his rigging but that he was coming out at 6pm and he would be bringing the rigging with him. We accepted his offer with gratitude and he duly disappeared and was never again seen by us.

The other cavers were taking a different route known as “Bubbles”. This possibly would have been a good route for Steve too but his farting appeared to have stopped.

We were finally ready and in we went….

Down a short pitch on a ladder, the floor fell steeply downwards bringing us to staged long steps and a sharp slope down to a pitch head. There was a safety line here to prevent you slipping and going over the pitch head (which we all used) and we descended the first pot.

Down we went, pitch and pot followed pot and pitch…. First we dinged 30 metres, then we donged 35 metres and then we rang the Bell at 30 metres. A short walk took us to the Pussy where we dropped another 10 metres and, pen ultimately to the well were we went down another 35 metres in two stages separated with a traverse.

The cave passage was now, for the most part, quire narrow with dark, peaty water etching its way onwards and downwards. It was this very same acidic water that was responsible for so quickly eating away a very deep, but narrow passageway so far under our world.

For the first part, the walls were either barren or washed like a snakeskin turned inside out. But it was not long before we were greeted by magnificent formations.

Along the remaining 250 metres we encountered one more rigged descent, this time no more than 15 metres with one traverse at it’s mid point.

Our journey to the depths of this underworld realm was rewarded with bold and impressive treasures; stalactites hung down in the passage, some hanging taller than we could discern and some proudly stood to attention next to each other as though on parade or inspection for passing cavers to behold. Curtains reached out from the walls and calcite boulder formations on the floor were busy growing their own tentacles.

Several times a drawn curtain of stalactites forced us to duck under where we would feel the cold grip of the icy water suddenly reach the parts that even a good beer could not reach.

One such duck was, alas, too demanding and the waterproof case which was manufactured and bought for the sole purpose of protecting a camera from water, failed - allowing water to flood inside. The camera would no longer operate the flash and so photography was reduced to video only. After only a short time, this function was also drained out of the camera’s life and it slowly, and sadly, slipped into oblivion.

Although it has not been admitted, it is a reasonable “bet” that our illustrious leader, Mick, probably would not have been able to get through that same “duck” (under the stalactite) without water entering his “dry suit” which he had so proudly donned when we had first arrived.

Beyond this duck the formations continued with their impressive stature and, for the most part, we were captivated within a world of alien transition. Being amid these underground creatures inspired the greatest euphoria and the memories and photos we came out with would never bring back those same sensations again.

We eventually reached what would become our terminus. A large cavern pitted with layered deposits of sand. Here we re-grouped and took lunch (well, very late lunch). As we dined, another group of cavers passed by us to join the initial sole caver, who had gone to his dig.

After tea & biscuits, and after John had shown everyone what was up his nose, we headed back. Murf took the lead and, notwithstanding any denials to the contrary, left the system faster than greased lightening could have done. (did his fags drown in the duck?).

The journey back was arduous, not just because we were fighting against the stream water, not just because we were clambering up the rocky stream bed and not just because we were ducking into fast flowing on-coming water but mostly because of the many pitches we had abseiled down.

Not only this, once we reached the top of each pitch we had, in some parts, to engage a traverse rigged higher than the top rope.

With legs failing, shoulders buckling, arms waning and hearts pounding from exertion (well, most of us anyway), we made our way upwards and outwards.

So far as is admitted, the only casualties were one camera (deceased), two wet suits that were assaulted with pee (yes, that’s a casualty – would you like someone to do it to you?) and several knees were bruised. It is more likely that the causality list is more extensive to include additional wetsuits being assaulted, Murf’s dry suit being drowned, Murf’s fags being drowned and substantially more cuts and bruises than people were generally prepared to admit.

It was around 5pm by the time we were all out and ready to leave. As the matter of Steve farting had now appeared to have passed, Jen and Steve travelled back with John and Linda (at, probably, a lesser rate of knots than the journey up).

Traffic was not bad and we all returned to North Wales safely around 2 hours later.

Special thanks to our founder, Past Captain and illustrious leader for organising the trip and thanks to everyone for making it such a fantastic day J

(Big thanks to Ian for the pictures!)