You may already know that when I was a student, I was a very keen caver. That all ended twelve years ago with graduation and I’ve been back twice since then, the last time being four and a half years ago. I just don’t get to go anymore because you need someone to go with and adult caving clubs’ membership requirements don’t really work for my personality.
But on Saturday I went caving. I’d been trying to organise a trip with my Rangers and when it all fell apart, I decided I’d go without them. This was on a commercial trip with a professional guide – the man who literally wrote the book on caving in the UK, so I was in good hands. But also the cave was Goatchurch, which is the number one beginner’s cave in the Mendips. You could do yourself an injury if you try but as a general rule, you’re not going to come to much trouble here.
There were three in our group as well as Andy, our instructor. Me, experienced but rounded and softened by the years above ground plus a couple of who just like rocks and decided to celebrate a birthday by getting up close and personal with the rocks. We were kitted up with oversuits and kneepads and wellies and helmet lights (and I was wearing such of my own kit as still fitted and was worthy of the twenty-first century) and we descended into the great gawping hole in the ground.
Actually, Goatchurch’s main entrance is more of a great gawping hole in the side of the hill. It was a show cave in Victoria times; the entrance chamber has steps cut into it and railings. The steps have been worn away by thousands of beginner cavers over the last few decades and the railings are now just the posts so it looks a little more wild than it would have done once. The “real” cave is accessed via the Giant Staircase, which has huge steps but is otherwise narrow and tight. These are the sort of steps you have to sit on and slide down and they’re so big that if you’re not 6’5”, you need someone underneath to guide your feet to the ground. Just sliding off and hoping the ground is nearby is not something that works for me.
Then we found ourselves in the Maze, where Andy proved his point by settling himself on a rock and sending us round a scrambly crawly bit to the left and meeting us back at the beginning. Then he sent us through a very tight squeeze. When I was a student, I’d have done it with relatively little trouble and the fact that I had to be hauled out by the belt by Andy with Jim pushing my feet from behind was only acceptable because Catherine also had to be hauled out, “delivered by forceps” they called it.
Then a stag party turned up. Oh, it was fine, they were with a professional guide and friend of Andy’s but they were hungover and one of them was feeling delicate enough that Andy’s opinion was that he shouldn’t be in the cave at all. They still smelled of beer.
A little further on we navigated the boulder chamber. This is another thing that’s deteriorated since university. Either my wellies aren’t grippy enough or I’ve lost faith in their grip or my depth perception has faded and I suspect the problem is the latter. I don’t think I can see the rocks as well as I used to. But I hop-skip-jumped the boulders and we descended the Coffin Lid, which is a shiny black slab of rock that leads to something resembling another set of stairs and at the bottom is the Drainpipe.
Of all stupid decisions I’ve ever made, going in the Drainpipe on Saturday is in the top ten. It’s a twelve metre tube, too low to crawl and too tight to do very much at all. I thought our group was the kind of group that was up for anything so when Andy asked “You don’t want to do the Drainpipe again, do you?” I said of course I did, fully expecting the others to come with me. However, if I’d turned it down, I know I’d have come out of the cave disappointed in myself so it’s lose-lose. It absolutely killed me. It’s not, as I remember, a round tubular passage where you thrutch along with your face in the gravel. It’s round on one side and then other side is a shiny polished flat 45-degree wall. You have to decide fairly early on which side you’re going to lie on and then there’s only really space to push with one leg. Add in an awkward dog-leg at the entrance and an obstacle climb and a puddle near the end and you can see why, when I finally reached the far end, I had to lie on the rock and pant for at least five minutes before I could even think of going back. When I first went in this lovely passage, back in 2002, it wasn’t this difficult. What made it harder was that I was joined in the little chamber at the end by four of the stag party, who misinterpreted “I’m going to be going back slowly, taking my time to pant and swear all the way so wait before you come in” as “as soon as my feet have gone into the tube, follow”. The only thing that makes a crawl like that truly hellishly awful is having four people on your heels complaining about being stuck behind you.
Even that – even then I would have been fine if I could have sat down for ten minutes back at the other end but there were the four of them behind me plus a largish group trying to come down. The first chance to rest was when we’d climbed the staircase-thing before our ascent of the Coffin Lid and I simply did not have anything left in my to climb to the resting place. Andy positioned my feet in turn and shoved, which only really left me to pull myself up with my arms and even so, I had to lie across the steps several times and try to protest that right now, I physically can’t do this, please let me rest. After a rest at the bottom of the Coffin Lid, during which time the stag party overtook us, I recovered just enough that I could start making my way out of the cave. The Coffin Lid was a bit of an effort – well, it’s a steeply angled slab of slidy rock. My old way of getting up was to cling to the sides with my arms and use the grip on my kneepads to shuffle upwards. Not now and not that tired. Andy provided most of the propulsion and all of the footholds, although I managed to scramble off the top of it and onto semi-solid rock all by myself. Another traverse of the boulder chamber and we headed out of the Tradesman’s Entrance, which is a much smaller entrance, opening onto, or above (depending on whether you’re exiting or entering) pretty much a wall of slidy rock, the kind you need a handline to haul yourself up or prevent yourself sliding to your death. A rope and good grip plus a hand to steady you. I got out, rolled onto the ground and got myself sitting up in time to help Catherine out – she’d managed the climb up the slidy rock but couldn’t quite get from the top of the rock to the fresh air and I was very glad that I was able to physically help someone, even if only by grabbing their wrist and pulling (wrist-to-wrist is so much more secure than hand-to-hand).
And there we were in the fresh air. The top halves of the oversuits came off, I threaded my gloves onto the straps of my helmet and then hung the whole bundle from my belt, which I wore around my upper body like a bandolier – bit of a mistake; without it there was very little holding my suit up, especially when I’d unzipped and taken off the entire top half of it.
I’m not as battered and worn out as I could be. I had a little set of scratches on the back of my right hand that faded overnight and I’ve still got bruises around my knees and elbows. Whenever I get up, I can feel the stiffness around my shoulders and I can also feel that I use my forearms to push and climb. I have very little leg strength. I’ve always climbed with my upper body so I can feel it in my arms a little today. Not too bad. It’s not a very extreme cave, except the Drainpipe. If I ever get round to taking the Rangers, I’m leaving the Drainpipe to them. I’m too old for it.
All in all, it went pretty well. I didn’t do as well as I did twelve or fifteen years ago but considering what the years have done to me, I did pretty well. I enjoyed being in the cave, enjoyed the smell of the damp rock and the taste of the atmosphere and the feeling of lying on cold rock – seriously, it’s a lot more comfortable than you think it is. However tough it is, I’m glad I took on the Drainpipe and I enjoyed reminiscing with Andy over caves we both know and over events that happened in my day (28 hour rescue of a broken back, anyone?). I enjoyed being out of caving kit and back in a dry t-shirt before the other members of the group had even got their oversuits off. Yes, they stopped for photos but I stopped too because I’m the one who took the photos. I’m glad I got to go with “the big cheese of caving”, who I knew because, well, he’s a big cheese, but hadn’t really met in person. I’m less glad that it cost money – not that previous trips have been free but they covered petrol for the minibus, a bunk in the hut and a share in the group food, plus half the price of my half-day caving covered an entire weekend but that’s what happens when you don’t have a club and opt to join a commercial trip. Will I go again? Yes, I’d still like to go underground sometimes and I definitely want to take my Rangers.