Postojna Cave, Slovenia. Photo by Linda Wilson.
Exams are over and summer has rolled in like a lazy morning in the Hut. Over summer mambers will be joining various expos from Austria, to Ario and Matienzo in Spain, via France (the Berger and the PSM). We wish everyone a healthy and safe summer and we look forward to receiving your tales of daring and passages measureless to persons of all types and sizes.
Both the Tratman Fund of the University and the UBSS's own Oliver Lloyd Memorial Fund have provided funding for as many members as possible and the trusteers even had to rapidly produce forms and procedures to cope with an unprecedented number of applications, which is great as it shows how much is going on in the club.
Back at base, work has been going on at our beloved Hut and in the Stables and before we know it, a new term is going to have hit us over the head with the force of ten pints of Old Rat's Arse and we'll be knee deep in keen freshers. But before that, we have two more newsletters to fill, so keep the write ups and photos coming in. And if any members would like to get some of their memories written down for posterity, they'll be most welcome! We'd like to keep up the momentum with the 100 Memories project.
If you would like to check out previous issues, you can find them all here, including the scanned archive of all our paper issues.
Worm wishes to one and all!
Both the Tratman Fund of the University and the UBSS's own Oliver Lloyd Memorial Fund have provided funding for as many members as possible and the trusteers even had to rapidly produce forms and procedures to cope with an unprecedented number of applications, which is great as it shows how much is going on in the club.
Back at base, work has been going on at our beloved Hut and in the Stables and before we know it, a new term is going to have hit us over the head with the force of ten pints of Old Rat's Arse and we'll be knee deep in keen freshers. But before that, we have two more newsletters to fill, so keep the write ups and photos coming in. And if any members would like to get some of their memories written down for posterity, they'll be most welcome! We'd like to keep up the momentum with the 100 Memories project.
If you would like to check out previous issues, you can find them all here, including the scanned archive of all our paper issues.
Worm wishes to one and all!
Linda and Billy
PS As ever, if the text is in blue and underlined, it's a clickable link, so go on, venture in and see what goodies await, you know it makes sense! And do drop us a line at the end. It makes all the work worthwhile.
UNBOXED!
Unboxing video courtesy of Jess Brock. Click picture above to watch.
Museum curator Linda Wilson was pleased to welcome home some more items from Picken's Hole first dug by UBSS. in 1961 and finally published in our Proceedings in 2018. Some times, these things take time!
In the 1970s, archaeologist Kate Scott analysed the faunal remain from the site, first dug by UBSS in 1961, and this worked formed the basis of her report published in our Proceedings in 2018.
When prepared for a move recently, Kate came across a box of material that had remained with her for some reason, so she kindly parcelled these up and arranged for them to be couriered back to us.
Unboxing videos are all the rage on social media. For those who are equally clueless as me about such things, apparently so-called influencers receive tons of freebies and are filmed unwrapping or unboxing them for the delectation and delight of their millions of followers. UBSS crumblies can thank me later for that tidbit of information. Not to be outdone on social media, I asked our very own influencer, media mogul Jess Brock, to make a short unboxing video so you could all share in the exciting of opening a box full of museum stuff.
Formal reintegration of the material will take place take place out of the media spotlight in case any of our long-dead critters are too shy to appear on camera.
If anyone would like to get involved in the work of the museum, please contact me. We're always on the lookout for additions to the team!
In the 1970s, archaeologist Kate Scott analysed the faunal remain from the site, first dug by UBSS in 1961, and this worked formed the basis of her report published in our Proceedings in 2018.
When prepared for a move recently, Kate came across a box of material that had remained with her for some reason, so she kindly parcelled these up and arranged for them to be couriered back to us.
Unboxing videos are all the rage on social media. For those who are equally clueless as me about such things, apparently so-called influencers receive tons of freebies and are filmed unwrapping or unboxing them for the delectation and delight of their millions of followers. UBSS crumblies can thank me later for that tidbit of information. Not to be outdone on social media, I asked our very own influencer, media mogul Jess Brock, to make a short unboxing video so you could all share in the exciting of opening a box full of museum stuff.
Formal reintegration of the material will take place take place out of the media spotlight in case any of our long-dead critters are too shy to appear on camera.
If anyone would like to get involved in the work of the museum, please contact me. We're always on the lookout for additions to the team!
Linda Wilson
FILED!
Clive Owen, Jess Brock, Naomi Conway sorting journals for filing.
Filing, as anyone who has ever worked in an office knows, has a nasty habit of building up so after four years of building works (and before that, covid) ours had taken on alarming proportions!
A recently convened 'filing party' consisting of Graham Mullan, Jess Brock, Moon Devendra, Clive Owen, Lee Okoh and outside volunteer Naomi Conway (who came to us via the Bristol Museums Group) assembled in the Stables to take on a task that would have daunted Heracles (if he'd had any inclination towards library work rather than stable cleaning). The Big Red Crate of Doom upstairs was gradually emptied and sorted and items were then boxed in the correct place and as many hands did indeed make light work, by early afternoon, the task was completed!
The Big Red Crate has now been pressed into service as a repository for known duplicates from Tony Boycott's bequest and at some point we'll hold a Duplicates Party (or several of them) to find homes for things the library already has, so watch this space.
Jess also unboxed some useful office items from Tony's boxes, although she (and everyone else) was puzzled by the presence of a large wooden penis in the box. Graham phone Linda to enquire as to its provenance but she didn't know, either, and was only able to contribute the information that Andrew Atkinson had popped it in a random box in the hope of causing embarrassment when it was discovered. Well, that failed. The current plan is to paint it gold and award an annual Dick of the Year Prize at the annual dinner, with the names of the winners neatly inscribed on a plaque to go with it. Thanks, Tony!
Thanks to everyone who helped!
Clive Owen, Jess Brock, Naomi Conway sorting journals for filing.
Filing, as anyone who has ever worked in an office knows, has a nasty habit of building up so after four years of building works (and before that, covid) ours had taken on alarming proportions!
A recently convened 'filing party' consisting of Graham Mullan, Jess Brock, Moon Devendra, Clive Owen, Lee Okoh and outside volunteer Naomi Conway (who came to us via the Bristol Museums Group) assembled in the Stables to take on a task that would have daunted Heracles (if he'd had any inclination towards library work rather than stable cleaning). The Big Red Crate of Doom upstairs was gradually emptied and sorted and items were then boxed in the correct place and as many hands did indeed make light work, by early afternoon, the task was completed!
The Big Red Crate has now been pressed into service as a repository for known duplicates from Tony Boycott's bequest and at some point we'll hold a Duplicates Party (or several of them) to find homes for things the library already has, so watch this space.
Jess also unboxed some useful office items from Tony's boxes, although she (and everyone else) was puzzled by the presence of a large wooden penis in the box. Graham phone Linda to enquire as to its provenance but she didn't know, either, and was only able to contribute the information that Andrew Atkinson had popped it in a random box in the hope of causing embarrassment when it was discovered. Well, that failed. The current plan is to paint it gold and award an annual Dick of the Year Prize at the annual dinner, with the names of the winners neatly inscribed on a plaque to go with it. Thanks, Tony!
Thanks to everyone who helped!
MAINTAINED!
Photo by Haydon Saunders.
The Hut is something we all tend to take for granted, but like all property, it needs regular maintenance. Billy Evans provides an account of the latest group effort to keep our beloved field HQ in good condition.
I was a slightly jammy git on the hut maintenance weekend as, when I arrived, UBSSters were already hard at work. My lateness, a symptom of getting caught up around town by some “patriots” on a day out, had not, however, diverted my motivation from making sure the hut remains in a somewhat clean and habitable state.
It might have seemed like penance for the absolute corker of a year we have had in UBSS; the dreary, hungover clean-up after the stomp. But with the right company (of which we had an abundance) the weekend turned out to be an incredibly lovely and rewarding experience.
Joshitha Shivkumar working the the kitchen.
I saw our dull-black love shack emerge from neon-seeming Mendip greenery. Its clockwork wings open and inviting. I saw my friends through them. I thought about how just nine months ago these people were strangers. Names on a list of freshers to sort through. I looked up and saw my girlfriend flanked by other friends I would risk my life for. Nine months.
I then thought about the weight of a place. The same friendships I forged were surely also forged similarly in the last century or so. Sitting around the fire. Cold in your bones. Suckling from the teat of beautiful, hazy, portable intoxication. Exhausting your very last breath to squeeze out one more spasm of laughter before the lung-levee breaks and the smoky air rushes back in. Shared fags and stories. Friendly embraces by the stove. Very friendly embraces in the bunks. I wonder if, on New Years Eve 1919, when Bertie Crook and co. sat around the fire on the Hut’s inaugural soiree, those people knew what an important and vital role their contribution to the club would play for countless cavers over generations.
With the weight of this on our shoulders I set to work alongside Emily Wormleighton, Joshitha Shivkumar, Grace Smith, Jess Brock, Kenneth MacIver, Moon Devendra, Ash Gregg and Alex Wood.
Billy Evans, armed and ready to strim!
We washed all the crockery and silverware, scrubbed all the walls and ceiling, gave the oven a good seeing-too. One brave soul took to the bunks with a rag and a bottle of disinfectant and discovered a colony of mice had occupied a mattress. The little fellows tried to claim squatter’s rights, but we were a lot better at playing the bailiffs. The grass was strimmed. The Married Quarters tidied up. We did what the title of this article would suggest and maintained the hut.
Kenny McIver, working up a thirst, with Emily Womleighton and Moon Devendra.
After a hard day’s work, Kenny and I had worked up quite a severe thirst. We checked the van – no dice. We checked the hut - BRANDY: property of Dr. B Crook. *MEDICAL USE ONLY* - perhaps not. So we (I) decided our (my) best bet was for Ken to drive us both five minutes down the road (hour-long round trip) to pick up some Wilkins’ cider, produced in a dusty barn by Wilkins himself. Food safety be damned. Namby-Pamby bureaucracy if you ask me. Thatcher? I hardly knew her! I want my cider to be flat as a pancake, piss-green golden, and handled by a man I know hasn’t washed his hands.
Just a Five Minute Trip ... Drawing by Billy Evans.
We found the barn in Mudgley, we found his neighbours sitting around drinking, we found the barrel, and we found the service to be very friendly, with Ken and I both getting a glass of the hairy-chested jovial juice before heading back with five litres of the stuff in tow – we paid a tenner. The muggy afternoon had got to me and on the drive back I made sure to get a head start on the booze as Kenny was driving. By the time we rolled through Charterhouse I was feeling rather squiffy and decided Kenny had to hear a rendition of an English folk song about a prostitute, sung right in his ear’ole. At this, Ken’s driving became increasingly erratic as we soared over tarmac, and with the tons of kit in the Bongo’s bay it made for an exciting ride. I think he must’ve wanted a drink.
That night was spent without the hut’s sound system. Instead, I sat down with my best friends and, without the usual rattle of a breakbeat, had a beautiful evening. The hut became that night, as I’m sure it has done many nights before, a cornucopia of camaraderie. Tales recounted. Jokes told. Laughter wheezed. Drunk cavers falling over. Songs belted hard enough to taste the blood from our throats.
Unadulterated joy.
We woke up the next morning. If we didn’t, and if some freakish stroke of divine providence had obliterated Burrington and its devoted inhabitants (including us), I doubt any of us would have minded.
But we did (wake up, that is). So we finished off the work on the hut, went caving as a reward and ended the weekend with a Queen Vic lunch. (It would have been the Hunter’s but we didn’t have cash.)
The UBSS hut has survived another year. When it is my turn to become a grizzled old member, my turn to distribute the techniques of the past to disinterested ears over silverware at the dinner, my turn to watch fresh crops of students discover themselves, make lifelong friendships, fall in love, I won’t be bitter with jealousy. I will be glad to have been able to help sustain this beautiful part of all of our lives, for us and for generations to come.
Photo by Haydon Saunders.
The Hut is something we all tend to take for granted, but like all property, it needs regular maintenance. Billy Evans provides an account of the latest group effort to keep our beloved field HQ in good condition.
I was a slightly jammy git on the hut maintenance weekend as, when I arrived, UBSSters were already hard at work. My lateness, a symptom of getting caught up around town by some “patriots” on a day out, had not, however, diverted my motivation from making sure the hut remains in a somewhat clean and habitable state.
It might have seemed like penance for the absolute corker of a year we have had in UBSS; the dreary, hungover clean-up after the stomp. But with the right company (of which we had an abundance) the weekend turned out to be an incredibly lovely and rewarding experience.
Joshitha Shivkumar working the the kitchen.
I saw our dull-black love shack emerge from neon-seeming Mendip greenery. Its clockwork wings open and inviting. I saw my friends through them. I thought about how just nine months ago these people were strangers. Names on a list of freshers to sort through. I looked up and saw my girlfriend flanked by other friends I would risk my life for. Nine months.
I then thought about the weight of a place. The same friendships I forged were surely also forged similarly in the last century or so. Sitting around the fire. Cold in your bones. Suckling from the teat of beautiful, hazy, portable intoxication. Exhausting your very last breath to squeeze out one more spasm of laughter before the lung-levee breaks and the smoky air rushes back in. Shared fags and stories. Friendly embraces by the stove. Very friendly embraces in the bunks. I wonder if, on New Years Eve 1919, when Bertie Crook and co. sat around the fire on the Hut’s inaugural soiree, those people knew what an important and vital role their contribution to the club would play for countless cavers over generations.
With the weight of this on our shoulders I set to work alongside Emily Wormleighton, Joshitha Shivkumar, Grace Smith, Jess Brock, Kenneth MacIver, Moon Devendra, Ash Gregg and Alex Wood.
Billy Evans, armed and ready to strim!
We washed all the crockery and silverware, scrubbed all the walls and ceiling, gave the oven a good seeing-too. One brave soul took to the bunks with a rag and a bottle of disinfectant and discovered a colony of mice had occupied a mattress. The little fellows tried to claim squatter’s rights, but we were a lot better at playing the bailiffs. The grass was strimmed. The Married Quarters tidied up. We did what the title of this article would suggest and maintained the hut.
Kenny McIver, working up a thirst, with Emily Womleighton and Moon Devendra.
After a hard day’s work, Kenny and I had worked up quite a severe thirst. We checked the van – no dice. We checked the hut - BRANDY: property of Dr. B Crook. *MEDICAL USE ONLY* - perhaps not. So we (I) decided our (my) best bet was for Ken to drive us both five minutes down the road (hour-long round trip) to pick up some Wilkins’ cider, produced in a dusty barn by Wilkins himself. Food safety be damned. Namby-Pamby bureaucracy if you ask me. Thatcher? I hardly knew her! I want my cider to be flat as a pancake, piss-green golden, and handled by a man I know hasn’t washed his hands.
Just a Five Minute Trip ... Drawing by Billy Evans.
We found the barn in Mudgley, we found his neighbours sitting around drinking, we found the barrel, and we found the service to be very friendly, with Ken and I both getting a glass of the hairy-chested jovial juice before heading back with five litres of the stuff in tow – we paid a tenner. The muggy afternoon had got to me and on the drive back I made sure to get a head start on the booze as Kenny was driving. By the time we rolled through Charterhouse I was feeling rather squiffy and decided Kenny had to hear a rendition of an English folk song about a prostitute, sung right in his ear’ole. At this, Ken’s driving became increasingly erratic as we soared over tarmac, and with the tons of kit in the Bongo’s bay it made for an exciting ride. I think he must’ve wanted a drink.
That night was spent without the hut’s sound system. Instead, I sat down with my best friends and, without the usual rattle of a breakbeat, had a beautiful evening. The hut became that night, as I’m sure it has done many nights before, a cornucopia of camaraderie. Tales recounted. Jokes told. Laughter wheezed. Drunk cavers falling over. Songs belted hard enough to taste the blood from our throats.
Unadulterated joy.
We woke up the next morning. If we didn’t, and if some freakish stroke of divine providence had obliterated Burrington and its devoted inhabitants (including us), I doubt any of us would have minded.
But we did (wake up, that is). So we finished off the work on the hut, went caving as a reward and ended the weekend with a Queen Vic lunch. (It would have been the Hunter’s but we didn’t have cash.)
The UBSS hut has survived another year. When it is my turn to become a grizzled old member, my turn to distribute the techniques of the past to disinterested ears over silverware at the dinner, my turn to watch fresh crops of students discover themselves, make lifelong friendships, fall in love, I won’t be bitter with jealousy. I will be glad to have been able to help sustain this beautiful part of all of our lives, for us and for generations to come.
Billy Evans
IN THE NEWS
If you're intending to visit Fairy Cave Quarry, please note there is a new combination code for the padlock on the gate to the quarry. The carpark is on a CSCC padlock. The code has been circulated to CSCC members and if you haven't already seen this, please ask a committee member for the code if you need it. Climbers should refer to the BMC for access.
Anyone interested in northern caving, should check out the June issue of the CNCC Newsletter, avaiable for download from their website.
Those who have been following the story of our Iron Age doggies from Fishmonger's Swallet might like to know that radiocarbon dating on the skeleton of a dog recovered in 2018 from the Grotte de la Baume Troucade in the Gard region of France has shown itto be nearly 16,000 years old, making it the oldest dog known from France. The article mentions the difficuties of distinguishing wolves from dog but researchers believe this (as yet unnamed) canine was a smallish female, although this has not yet been confirmed.
If you fancy relaxing with a novel, Maidens of the Cave caught the attention of Alan 'Goon' Jeffreys who reviewed the book for www.darknessbelow.co.uk. As it sounded like a classic murder-mystery potboiler, Linda Wilson couldn't resist adding it to her own shelf!
Graham Mullan has been going over details of past expeditions in order to add material to our website. We now have a page on the 1968 expedition to Romania with UBSS students Chris and Eve Gilmore (previously Wheeler), and Tony Philpott. Graham has received permission to republish the original report of this trip and this and Tony Philpott's film can now be found on our website. Graham has not been able to locate the ‘final report’ or whether the follow-up trip planned for 1969 ever happened (all information gratefully received).
If you're intending to visit Fairy Cave Quarry, please note there is a new combination code for the padlock on the gate to the quarry. The carpark is on a CSCC padlock. The code has been circulated to CSCC members and if you haven't already seen this, please ask a committee member for the code if you need it. Climbers should refer to the BMC for access.
Anyone interested in northern caving, should check out the June issue of the CNCC Newsletter, avaiable for download from their website.
Those who have been following the story of our Iron Age doggies from Fishmonger's Swallet might like to know that radiocarbon dating on the skeleton of a dog recovered in 2018 from the Grotte de la Baume Troucade in the Gard region of France has shown itto be nearly 16,000 years old, making it the oldest dog known from France. The article mentions the difficuties of distinguishing wolves from dog but researchers believe this (as yet unnamed) canine was a smallish female, although this has not yet been confirmed.
If you fancy relaxing with a novel, Maidens of the Cave caught the attention of Alan 'Goon' Jeffreys who reviewed the book for www.darknessbelow.co.uk. As it sounded like a classic murder-mystery potboiler, Linda Wilson couldn't resist adding it to her own shelf!
Graham Mullan has been going over details of past expeditions in order to add material to our website. We now have a page on the 1968 expedition to Romania with UBSS students Chris and Eve Gilmore (previously Wheeler), and Tony Philpott. Graham has received permission to republish the original report of this trip and this and Tony Philpott's film can now be found on our website. Graham has not been able to locate the ‘final report’ or whether the follow-up trip planned for 1969 ever happened (all information gratefully received).
THERE AND BACK AGAIN
Freediving to Sump 9 in Swildon's - many of cavers have thought about doing the trip, but far fewer have made the attempt. Grace Smith tells the story of how she dived into that particular UBSS Hall of Fame.
After a fabulous SCHECC stomp till the early hours, we got up, walking between the Shepton and BEC cottages to gather all our kit, eat A LOT of food, watch the fabulous SRT training in the sun, and faff as much as possible to give the headaches a chance to run away.
I didn't know exactly what this trip was going to be like. Dan and Ben had told me about the logistics, from their experience a couple of weeks earlier, but apart from that it was just horror stories. News of the trip spread around SCHECC that Ben and Dan were taking a fresher to Sump 9, or a ‘female fresher’ to quote some, and we were titled the ‘suicide squad’, hence the YouTube video (go watch it!). In total honesty I was going to bail, but Dan and Ben reassured me I could do it, and that we could also turn back at any point… ‘the cave will always be there’, (Jess Brock, 2024).
When we got into Swildon’s at about 3pm, it was packed with fellow SCHECC lovelies - not to mention the hotdog stand in the upper series, which was absolutely fabulous, but as we were already running late we hopped on by.
The adventure begins! Grace about to freedive Sump 1.
Sump 1 was lovely. A 1 metre, little in and out! I had done this a couple of days earlier for the first time, while short, it was exhilarating and so much fun! Until this trip it had been my favorite part of Swildon’s. I would highly recommend it.
Unlike the character of Swildon’s that I knew as a fun, noisy streamway, the passage that we entered was wide, with tall ceilings and pools of gentle standing water, a quiet and calming place. We then caved on to the bucket of weights. A bit daunting, but I felt calmed by the cave and excited for what is next to come (plus we had banging tunes getting us through).
Sump 2 was inviting. I had never been this far into Swildon’s before, or done any diving of any sort, so I didn't know what to expect. Dan (thank you), went first. Sump 2 is 8 m long, silts up easily and because of its narrow finish, it can be dangerous to get stuck (as we have heard from other’s first-hand experiences). It turned out to be a comfortable dive with good clearance, which ended in a gentle constriction as it got narrower towards the end.
Popping up in Swildons 3 was such a ‘YAY’ feeling. Two airbells separated by a narrow duck. Going into Swildon’s 3 I felt fine, prepared, maybe a little nervous, but confident. Eleven metres, requiring a dive down to 2.5m and then a swim upwards again, but no chance of getting stuck… just requires ‘faith and pulling’, according to Dan. He went first. I counted the seconds he was under to reassure myself, maybe 25 seconds? Then I went, and I entered the beautiful wide passage beyond the sump out of breath and relieved. Scared to turn back however, as I wasn't sure I could do it again.
Swildon’s 4 was a welcome breather, super fun, the last proper dive. Just 5 meters in a tight hole. We did it, Ben and Dan went first, I went last.
Grace with her helmet off in the ducks.
Swildon’s 5 is a series of low tight ducks, with intermittent airspace. There’s a risk here - panic or poor positioning could go wrong quickly - but following Dan and Ben's lead, moving slowly with control, swimming on our backs with helmet in hand, we swiftly did it. It felt very cool too, very military-spy, top secret mission-esc and it was maybe my favourite part of the trip.
Dan discovering the near incompatability of his ribcage and the squeeze.
Before Sump 6, we bypassed up a big climb and then through a series of tight squeezes. The most infamous (you should go watch the YouTube because words don't do it justice) being a short but tight squeeze, which left you with no air in the lungs and fought Dan’s rib cage for about 20 minutes.
From there on out it was smooth sailing. Extremely fun climbs with big chunky ropes, feeling so excited to reach our end, Sump 9 (something which I wasn't sure I’d make it to).
Eventually we emerged into Swildon’s 9, a larger, more breathable space.
Turning back, to do it all again, I was absolutely dreading Sump 3 with all my heart (I had labelled it as evil), but we did it and as all the SCHECCers had left Swildon’s by this time, the mucky greyness that we had on the way in had settled and the visibility was beautiful. Swimming and pulling, seeing all the different specks of colours from the stones on the cave floor, I had to forgive Sump 3 for its scary long stretch, because although long, it’s a beautiful dive.
Five hours later we emerged from the cave. Saturday night had arrived and it was time for the last SCHECC boogie! Such a great trip, and I am so grateful to Ben and Dan for taking me. Go watch Dan’s brilliantly edited video on MCCB.TV!!!!
Freediving to Sump 9 in Swildon's - many of cavers have thought about doing the trip, but far fewer have made the attempt. Grace Smith tells the story of how she dived into that particular UBSS Hall of Fame.
After a fabulous SCHECC stomp till the early hours, we got up, walking between the Shepton and BEC cottages to gather all our kit, eat A LOT of food, watch the fabulous SRT training in the sun, and faff as much as possible to give the headaches a chance to run away.
I didn't know exactly what this trip was going to be like. Dan and Ben had told me about the logistics, from their experience a couple of weeks earlier, but apart from that it was just horror stories. News of the trip spread around SCHECC that Ben and Dan were taking a fresher to Sump 9, or a ‘female fresher’ to quote some, and we were titled the ‘suicide squad’, hence the YouTube video (go watch it!). In total honesty I was going to bail, but Dan and Ben reassured me I could do it, and that we could also turn back at any point… ‘the cave will always be there’, (Jess Brock, 2024).
When we got into Swildon’s at about 3pm, it was packed with fellow SCHECC lovelies - not to mention the hotdog stand in the upper series, which was absolutely fabulous, but as we were already running late we hopped on by.
The adventure begins! Grace about to freedive Sump 1.
Sump 1 was lovely. A 1 metre, little in and out! I had done this a couple of days earlier for the first time, while short, it was exhilarating and so much fun! Until this trip it had been my favorite part of Swildon’s. I would highly recommend it.
Unlike the character of Swildon’s that I knew as a fun, noisy streamway, the passage that we entered was wide, with tall ceilings and pools of gentle standing water, a quiet and calming place. We then caved on to the bucket of weights. A bit daunting, but I felt calmed by the cave and excited for what is next to come (plus we had banging tunes getting us through).
Sump 2 was inviting. I had never been this far into Swildon’s before, or done any diving of any sort, so I didn't know what to expect. Dan (thank you), went first. Sump 2 is 8 m long, silts up easily and because of its narrow finish, it can be dangerous to get stuck (as we have heard from other’s first-hand experiences). It turned out to be a comfortable dive with good clearance, which ended in a gentle constriction as it got narrower towards the end.
Popping up in Swildons 3 was such a ‘YAY’ feeling. Two airbells separated by a narrow duck. Going into Swildon’s 3 I felt fine, prepared, maybe a little nervous, but confident. Eleven metres, requiring a dive down to 2.5m and then a swim upwards again, but no chance of getting stuck… just requires ‘faith and pulling’, according to Dan. He went first. I counted the seconds he was under to reassure myself, maybe 25 seconds? Then I went, and I entered the beautiful wide passage beyond the sump out of breath and relieved. Scared to turn back however, as I wasn't sure I could do it again.
Swildon’s 4 was a welcome breather, super fun, the last proper dive. Just 5 meters in a tight hole. We did it, Ben and Dan went first, I went last.
Grace with her helmet off in the ducks.
Swildon’s 5 is a series of low tight ducks, with intermittent airspace. There’s a risk here - panic or poor positioning could go wrong quickly - but following Dan and Ben's lead, moving slowly with control, swimming on our backs with helmet in hand, we swiftly did it. It felt very cool too, very military-spy, top secret mission-esc and it was maybe my favourite part of the trip.
Dan discovering the near incompatability of his ribcage and the squeeze.
Before Sump 6, we bypassed up a big climb and then through a series of tight squeezes. The most infamous (you should go watch the YouTube because words don't do it justice) being a short but tight squeeze, which left you with no air in the lungs and fought Dan’s rib cage for about 20 minutes.
From there on out it was smooth sailing. Extremely fun climbs with big chunky ropes, feeling so excited to reach our end, Sump 9 (something which I wasn't sure I’d make it to).
Eventually we emerged into Swildon’s 9, a larger, more breathable space.
Turning back, to do it all again, I was absolutely dreading Sump 3 with all my heart (I had labelled it as evil), but we did it and as all the SCHECCers had left Swildon’s by this time, the mucky greyness that we had on the way in had settled and the visibility was beautiful. Swimming and pulling, seeing all the different specks of colours from the stones on the cave floor, I had to forgive Sump 3 for its scary long stretch, because although long, it’s a beautiful dive.
Five hours later we emerged from the cave. Saturday night had arrived and it was time for the last SCHECC boogie! Such a great trip, and I am so grateful to Ben and Dan for taking me. Go watch Dan’s brilliantly edited video on MCCB.TV!!!!
Grace Smith
THE SUMPICIDE SQUAD - THE MOVIE
Film edited by Dan Rose. Click above to watch.
NOT THE OXFORD v. CAMBRIDGE BOAT RACE
Left to right: Clive Owen (UBMC President 1975), Joe Bidie (UBMC President 2025).
When Joshitha mentioned that Joe Bidie would be joining us for a Short Round Trip and that he was a climber, I was intrigued. My own adventurous activity had begun as a climber, though I had joined both UBSS and UBMC on the same day when I first arrived in Bristol.
On meeting, Joe and I talked about the UBMC and how climbing styles had evolved and diversified over the years so that what I had grown up with was now known as “trad”. He mentioned that he was about to become president of the club and was surprised to hear that I had once had that job myself.
Back in the mid '70s there was a great deal of interaction between the two clubs. We attended each other’s pub meets and in the year that I was president of UBMC quite a few cavers were at the club’s annual dinner. Lucky for me, because after we got up from the table I was challenged to produce a president’s team to take part in a boat race* against a selection of the UMBC’s finest drinkers. I rapidly recruited amongst my caving friends and when the contest took place we won handsomely with at least a pint to spare.
It’s good to see that the two clubs are once again sharing activities and experiences and having fun together.
* This kind of boat race involves two of more teams of 6-8 people. It’s essentially a beer drinking relay with each team member drinking a pint of beer as fast as possible but not being allowed to start until the previous person has finished theirs and placed the empty glass upside down on top of their head.
Left to right: Clive Owen (UBMC President 1975), Joe Bidie (UBMC President 2025).
When Joshitha mentioned that Joe Bidie would be joining us for a Short Round Trip and that he was a climber, I was intrigued. My own adventurous activity had begun as a climber, though I had joined both UBSS and UBMC on the same day when I first arrived in Bristol.
On meeting, Joe and I talked about the UBMC and how climbing styles had evolved and diversified over the years so that what I had grown up with was now known as “trad”. He mentioned that he was about to become president of the club and was surprised to hear that I had once had that job myself.
Back in the mid '70s there was a great deal of interaction between the two clubs. We attended each other’s pub meets and in the year that I was president of UBMC quite a few cavers were at the club’s annual dinner. Lucky for me, because after we got up from the table I was challenged to produce a president’s team to take part in a boat race* against a selection of the UMBC’s finest drinkers. I rapidly recruited amongst my caving friends and when the contest took place we won handsomely with at least a pint to spare.
It’s good to see that the two clubs are once again sharing activities and experiences and having fun together.
Clive Owen
* This kind of boat race involves two of more teams of 6-8 people. It’s essentially a beer drinking relay with each team member drinking a pint of beer as fast as possible but not being allowed to start until the previous person has finished theirs and placed the empty glass upside down on top of their head.
SOME OF ELAINE'S FAVOURITE THINGS ...
The Hon. Pres. on the Midnight Traverses. Photo by Andrew Atkinson.
Elaine Oliver and Andrew Atkinson have been doing something very un-British i.e. practising beforehand as Elaine relates ...
The Hon. Pres. on the Midnight Traverses. Photo by Andrew Atkinson.
Elaine Oliver and Andrew Atkinson have been doing something very un-British i.e. practising beforehand as Elaine relates ...
There are three things I don’t like in caving: loud water, being cold, and anything tall and unprotected I could fall off. Alex Honnold I am not. The latter two can probably be attributed to accidentally skiing off a small cliff when I was 21, and with the former I just find the noise quite stressful (always a huge relief to reach the streamway after descending Valhalla in Lost Johns).
With a summer holiday to the Pierre St Martin in France fast approaching, Andrew and I decided some practice at a longer caving trip was in order. We somehow contrived to design an outing combining all three of my least favourite factors: OFD 1-3-1, repeating as little of the route as possible.
I’d previously completed 2-3-1 with Haydon, and swore after that that I would never return to the 3 traverses. But I’d never done the Midnight/Marble Showers traverses, and unfortunately I’m the sort of person that likes to challenge myself to do things even if they feel uncomfortable. So after many questions (“Are they better, worse or similar to the 3 traverses?”, “They’re different.”) I agreed to go ahead, and after delivering a quick SRT training session at the Wessex for some of those going on expedition elsewhere this summer, we headed off to what transpired to be an extremely foggy Penwyllt.
In the morning, we found that our plans had been scuppered. So much rain had fallen overnight that the stream gauge was firmly in the red. Plans were quickly rethought, and a shorter trip was chosen: Top to Cwm Dwr via the Midnight/Marble Showers traverses and the Birth Canal series. This would give us the very minimum time in the streamway (which would hopefully be going down by the time we got there), plus a visit to some parts of the cave we had not previously explored.
Fast progress was made across President’s Leap (as Hon. President, this had to be done) to Midnight Chamber, where I received a quick pep talk before getting underway with the first traverses. Things began with a couple of slightly tricky-ish moves which were not too high off the floor, before starting to become more committing. Andrew took the lead, pointing out all the good handholds and footholds while I pushed down my nerves and took things extremely slowly and deliberately, focusing on box breathing to remain calm when I could feel ‘Elvis leg’ beginning to make an appearance. Thankfully, in this initial section, no one segment was too sustained and there were plenty of bits of actual floor where we could pause for breath and snacks.
Brigadier Glennie’s Ladder (now iron rather than rotting wood and rope!); the Upper Great Oxbow; an accidental side quest up Sandfill Passage – all passed in quick succession, with the roar of the swollen streamway fading in and out 30m below. The further we progressed, the easier things seemed to get – or maybe I was just getting used to it? But no part of the route is objectively difficult: it’s just a mind game of trusting your points of contact. Finally, the climb down at Marble Showers materialised, and not a single tear had been shed! The streamway was the most sporting I’ve ever seen it and within seconds I was wetter than I usually get on a full streamway traverse – we were thankful not to be navigating the areas with deeper pots or trickier climbs this time.
I navigated us out of the streamway prematurely at the bar which marks the start of the route to the Pom Pom, however this proved educational as Andrew pointed out the non-pitch route up, which we’d not managed to find last time I was there (end result being Haydon having to use two slings to prusik a fat rope someone had unhelpfully left, blocking the pull-through cord). Back down and around the corner, up a short climb described by Andrew as “very not pleasant” - turns out the Birth Canal is very not pleasant too. Who’d have guessed from the name? Anyway, soon after much back and forth and debating whether to climb a pitch, we found ourselves in the Cwm Dwr Smithy where I began to recognise landmarks, which was good as I was beginning to feel the cold from getting so wet. We cracked on and only took one further wrong turn (which turned out to be quite fun and pretty) before finding the boulder choke and the relatively straightforward way out to the quarry, where the sun was finally starting to come out.
Elaine Oliver
CRINKLIES (RE-)CONQUER COOLAGH
B9a Entrance to Coolagh River Cave. Photo (and pipework) by Pat Cronin.
If at first you don't succeed ... do you a) decamp to the pub or b) have another go? Julian Walford, Clive Owen and Elaine Oliver chose option b) this year in Co Clare when their first route-finding efforts went awry. Julian describes where they went wrong, with some annotated survey extracts for aid.
In 2022, during a week’s holiday, Clive and I attempted a tourist trip in the Coolagh River Cave. Back in the early 1970’s it was traditional to go down Polldonough B7, then find the route through to Column Chamber to descend Gour Passage. At the junction, the drop can be rigged and the Lower Main Drain followed to the sump. Leeches could be observed attracted by warm bodies. In low water, people would swim Balcombe’s Pot and climb the water slide to the Upper Main Drain, then go upstream until the passage got low. We would return, derig and exit Polldonough South B9. Such a route avoids being stuck in the Main Drain due to difficulties climbing Balcombe’s Pot against the water flow or the climb back up into Gour Passage if not rigged.
Anyway, I had never had any trouble with this over 25 years, and recall having an excellent trip in 1999. But 23 years later we failed to find the route through and ignominiously retreated, getting lost first at the Gloomy Oxbow then again at the First Bedding Cave.
Our return this year to Clare gave us the best weather ever and three of us warmed-up with a Doolin Cave through trip from St. Catherines to Fisherstreet Pot. Reminder – 10m ladder is not quite long enough!
Following that success, we teamed up with Pat Cronin, now a Clare resident, and he wanted to do the trip the other way around, descending Polldonough South through the B9a entrance. This used to be a muddy hole filled with brambles, but Pat has sourced a large diameter pipe with a short ladder. The farmer has filled in around it so the field is now level with the top - a great improvement.
So, an easy descent to the sump in very dry conditions where those in wetsuits went as far as they could, having to swim at the end despite the low water. We rigged the climb down from Gour Passage properly, and frankly I can’t believe I ever tried to free-climb it! Pat went out B9a on his own but the rest of us went off in Column Chamber and easily found the route through to the streamway noting the low passages on the new survey. I have to admit I made copies of the detail both here and the areas where we got lost last time. I didn’t consult them enough though.
The route through is a bedding plane crawl and after last time, Clive and I asked Elaine to go first on the basis she has surveyed Coolagh, is by no means a ‘crinkly’ and if there was going to be a lot of unproductive crawling, was best placed to do it.
We noted what we had done wrong in 2022. From the Polldonough streamway, the route is a keyhole shaped passage north, passable both at the top and bottom, but easiest at the top if you are big. But then there is a bedding off west, only visible from the top of the keyhole, which is what we missed. Going straight on pinches out.
Going back out again we managed to repeat most of the 2022 mistakes – learning difficulties! At the Gloomy Oxbow, the correct route is to turn left, then climb the obvious Four-foot Pot, the other routes are flat-out at best. At the First Bedding Cave, we did crawl through the middle but the usual downstream route is bigger.
Finally, we really struggled at the surface through brambles, storm-felled trees and brash to get from the swallet to the road, but a good trip - honour is restored. Many thanks to Clive Owen, Elaine Oliver and Pat Cronin.
B9a Entrance to Coolagh River Cave. Photo (and pipework) by Pat Cronin.
If at first you don't succeed ... do you a) decamp to the pub or b) have another go? Julian Walford, Clive Owen and Elaine Oliver chose option b) this year in Co Clare when their first route-finding efforts went awry. Julian describes where they went wrong, with some annotated survey extracts for aid.
In 2022, during a week’s holiday, Clive and I attempted a tourist trip in the Coolagh River Cave. Back in the early 1970’s it was traditional to go down Polldonough B7, then find the route through to Column Chamber to descend Gour Passage. At the junction, the drop can be rigged and the Lower Main Drain followed to the sump. Leeches could be observed attracted by warm bodies. In low water, people would swim Balcombe’s Pot and climb the water slide to the Upper Main Drain, then go upstream until the passage got low. We would return, derig and exit Polldonough South B9. Such a route avoids being stuck in the Main Drain due to difficulties climbing Balcombe’s Pot against the water flow or the climb back up into Gour Passage if not rigged.
Anyway, I had never had any trouble with this over 25 years, and recall having an excellent trip in 1999. But 23 years later we failed to find the route through and ignominiously retreated, getting lost first at the Gloomy Oxbow then again at the First Bedding Cave.
Our return this year to Clare gave us the best weather ever and three of us warmed-up with a Doolin Cave through trip from St. Catherines to Fisherstreet Pot. Reminder – 10m ladder is not quite long enough!
Following that success, we teamed up with Pat Cronin, now a Clare resident, and he wanted to do the trip the other way around, descending Polldonough South through the B9a entrance. This used to be a muddy hole filled with brambles, but Pat has sourced a large diameter pipe with a short ladder. The farmer has filled in around it so the field is now level with the top - a great improvement.
So, an easy descent to the sump in very dry conditions where those in wetsuits went as far as they could, having to swim at the end despite the low water. We rigged the climb down from Gour Passage properly, and frankly I can’t believe I ever tried to free-climb it! Pat went out B9a on his own but the rest of us went off in Column Chamber and easily found the route through to the streamway noting the low passages on the new survey. I have to admit I made copies of the detail both here and the areas where we got lost last time. I didn’t consult them enough though.
The route through is a bedding plane crawl and after last time, Clive and I asked Elaine to go first on the basis she has surveyed Coolagh, is by no means a ‘crinkly’ and if there was going to be a lot of unproductive crawling, was best placed to do it.
We noted what we had done wrong in 2022. From the Polldonough streamway, the route is a keyhole shaped passage north, passable both at the top and bottom, but easiest at the top if you are big. But then there is a bedding off west, only visible from the top of the keyhole, which is what we missed. Going straight on pinches out.
Going back out again we managed to repeat most of the 2022 mistakes – learning difficulties! At the Gloomy Oxbow, the correct route is to turn left, then climb the obvious Four-foot Pot, the other routes are flat-out at best. At the First Bedding Cave, we did crawl through the middle but the usual downstream route is bigger.
Finally, we really struggled at the surface through brambles, storm-felled trees and brash to get from the swallet to the road, but a good trip - honour is restored. Many thanks to Clive Owen, Elaine Oliver and Pat Cronin.
Julian Walford
IRELAND WITH THE CPC
Marble Arch Cave. Photo by Sue Bertenshaw.
Another UBSS Member, Mike Bertenshaw, went off to Ireland this month. This is what he got up to ...
A Craven Pothole Club meet had been scheduled for the start of June in County Fermanagh. This was a catalyst for my wife (Sue) and I to arrange a campervan trip around Ireland with Craven Pothole Club (CPC) friends from North Yorkshire, John and Val Christie. We travelled via Stranraer and arrived at the pre-arranged caving accommodation just south of Enniskillen, The Hub, which is unfit for human habitation and our wives flatly refused to even camp in the grounds so we headed off to a nearby (excellent) campervan park at Riverside Farm.
Next morning, John and I donned wetsuits and waded downstream through the three short tunnels of White Fathers Caves (the longest is only 200m) returning through woodland adjacent to the security fencing of an open prison! In the afternoon we met with the rest of the party for an aqueous trip with life jackets through the four lakes of Polnagollum of the Boats. Route finding back through the entrance boulder choke was challenging.
Marble Arch. Exit via showcave (and gift shop).
The following day, the entire CPC team met for an excellent trip along Legnabrocky Way in Marble Arch Cave for which we had pre-arranged a permit. We used the "adventure cavers" entrance through a complex boulder choke with some sporting climbs and overtook a party of paying clients. I had been given a key to allow us through a gate into the spectacular show cave. This ended with a waist-deep dip in the river to access the Legnabrocky inlet with some interesting climbs and some route-finding difficulties finding the way to Pool Chamber which marks the start of Legnabrocky Way. The rest of the trip involved short wet crawls between large and well decorated chambers before returning the same way. Back in the show cave, we tagged along behind a guided party and followed them up a long flight of steps to emerge near the visitors' centre and cafe, much easier than the boulder choke!
Descending Fisherstreet Pot.
Our campervan team then headed southwest via Achill Island to base ourselves in Doolin, County Clare for a few days. First day, we threw a rope down Fisherstreet Pot (12m) which is situated in a field almost opposite the campsite. John assured me we'd be OK in dry gear but asked me to check if there was sufficient airspace to go upstream when I reached the bottom of the shaft. After John had joined me on our shared SRT rig, we soon found ourselves crawling in the river and then wading chest deep in water so only went upstream as far as Aran View inlet. It was evident that no-one had been down for a while since a fallen tree hindered progress back up the entrance shaft.
The 'Soggy Dishcloth'. Photo by Sue Bertenshaw.
Meantime Sue and Val visited Doolin Cave to view the longest stalactite in Europe at 7.1m.
Next up was Faunarooska, only it had been nearly 30 years since John last visited the cave and we spent 3 hours poking our heads into various holes without locating the entrance. After returning to the campsite and searching the internet, I found the correct location on www.mapcarta.com. It appears we had been following the course of a separate drainage system with a number of active digs in progress. So the next day we set off again and quickly located the correct entrance only to find there was too much water pouring down the first cascade and decided it was probably time for another Guinness!
Marble Arch Cave. Photo by Sue Bertenshaw.
Another UBSS Member, Mike Bertenshaw, went off to Ireland this month. This is what he got up to ...
A Craven Pothole Club meet had been scheduled for the start of June in County Fermanagh. This was a catalyst for my wife (Sue) and I to arrange a campervan trip around Ireland with Craven Pothole Club (CPC) friends from North Yorkshire, John and Val Christie. We travelled via Stranraer and arrived at the pre-arranged caving accommodation just south of Enniskillen, The Hub, which is unfit for human habitation and our wives flatly refused to even camp in the grounds so we headed off to a nearby (excellent) campervan park at Riverside Farm.
Next morning, John and I donned wetsuits and waded downstream through the three short tunnels of White Fathers Caves (the longest is only 200m) returning through woodland adjacent to the security fencing of an open prison! In the afternoon we met with the rest of the party for an aqueous trip with life jackets through the four lakes of Polnagollum of the Boats. Route finding back through the entrance boulder choke was challenging.
Marble Arch. Exit via showcave (and gift shop).
The following day, the entire CPC team met for an excellent trip along Legnabrocky Way in Marble Arch Cave for which we had pre-arranged a permit. We used the "adventure cavers" entrance through a complex boulder choke with some sporting climbs and overtook a party of paying clients. I had been given a key to allow us through a gate into the spectacular show cave. This ended with a waist-deep dip in the river to access the Legnabrocky inlet with some interesting climbs and some route-finding difficulties finding the way to Pool Chamber which marks the start of Legnabrocky Way. The rest of the trip involved short wet crawls between large and well decorated chambers before returning the same way. Back in the show cave, we tagged along behind a guided party and followed them up a long flight of steps to emerge near the visitors' centre and cafe, much easier than the boulder choke!
Descending Fisherstreet Pot.
Our campervan team then headed southwest via Achill Island to base ourselves in Doolin, County Clare for a few days. First day, we threw a rope down Fisherstreet Pot (12m) which is situated in a field almost opposite the campsite. John assured me we'd be OK in dry gear but asked me to check if there was sufficient airspace to go upstream when I reached the bottom of the shaft. After John had joined me on our shared SRT rig, we soon found ourselves crawling in the river and then wading chest deep in water so only went upstream as far as Aran View inlet. It was evident that no-one had been down for a while since a fallen tree hindered progress back up the entrance shaft.
The 'Soggy Dishcloth'. Photo by Sue Bertenshaw.
Meantime Sue and Val visited Doolin Cave to view the longest stalactite in Europe at 7.1m.
Next up was Faunarooska, only it had been nearly 30 years since John last visited the cave and we spent 3 hours poking our heads into various holes without locating the entrance. After returning to the campsite and searching the internet, I found the correct location on www.mapcarta.com. It appears we had been following the course of a separate drainage system with a number of active digs in progress. So the next day we set off again and quickly located the correct entrance only to find there was too much water pouring down the first cascade and decided it was probably time for another Guinness!
Mike Bertenshaw
OUT AND ABOUT
Cave Guides’ Stage Miraculous Escape From Wookey Hole
Isobel in the wrong uniform and late for work!
What do you do for fun if you work in a cave? Silly question - you go caving, that's what you do! Jess Brock tells the story of introducing a fellow guide to the joys of Mendip caving.
It was difficult to say where we were or how we got there. All we knew was that we had worked a long, hard day as Cave Guides at Wookey Hole then we’d gone to the Queen Vic for a pint and somehow we ended up beneath the earth in a dark wet hole. Perhaps it was something in the waters of the Queen Vic? Maybe we had fallen in the river Axe at Wookey Hole and been sucked upstream?
However it happened, we were at Swildons Sump 1, so I shall fill you in on the exciting adventures of Isaac and I taking our colleague, Isobel, down two lovely Mendip caves.
Isaac and Isobel, ready to go.
Our first stop on the tour of Mendip was at GB. Isaac and I promised Isobel a well decorated bimble and GB provided it. Having done a few caves up north with DUSA, Isobel was no stranger to jumping down a dark hole. We met a couple bats on the way in. Thanks to Jess Eades' article in Descent we deduced that they were horseshoe bats. Careful not to get too close or shine our lights on them we bimbled further into the cave.
Isobel enjoying the balcony.
There's something special about sharing one of your favourite places with someone for the first time. Isobel was awestruck by the cavernous nature of GB. Of course, we had a mandatory Bridge photo, and afterwards Isobel pointed out some helicities I had never seen before because I never tend to look up in that section.
Isaac looking into the cave down the boulder slope formerly known as the Waterfall Climb.
We did the classic loop up White Passage then down to the sump then up the Waterfall Climb and under the Bridge. We stopped briefly and Isobel devoured a creme egg. An unusual choice for cave snack but still much better than baby food or other random consumables I've heard cavers bring down.
As we emerged we were met with darkness and crossing the small field back to the car we encountered several horses. Isaac tried to make friends and even promised to take them caving but they were having no hoof nor tail of it.
Jess (left) and Isobel (right).
Another day, another cave, stop two on the Wookey Hole Mendip Exploration Club (name pending) was Swildon's Hole. A classic like none other. We basked in the golden light of the evening and tramped over the fields from the Wessex where we planned to stay.
The entrance to Swildon's was remarkably dry. There was no water! As we climbed down we quickly wetted our wellies and began another ‘bimble’.
Isobel and Isaac checking the curtains for moths. None present.
Isobel loved Swildons even more than GB. For the longest time I poo-pooed Swildon's (to be fair I don't like waterfall climbs), but as a result of the lack of rain and low water levels it was great.
Isaac and his borrowed torch. Mega lumens.
Isaac took us up into the ceiling and I couldn't help but take pictures of everything. I may have been more excited than Isobel at this point.
Prime puddle views.
We descended and waded through a large puddle and down to Sump 1.
The water was so low it almost looked like a duck. For a moment I was tempted until Isaac came back through the icy water and looked frozen.
No longer a bimble we jaunted out of the cave with Isobel in a Jess and Isaac sandwich. By the end we could see she was getting tired but ever eager to keep up with us she pressed on and had a nice rest on the surface. We may have beasted the trip, but who can say, Isobel had a smile on her face throughout the trip.
Isaac and his perfectly coiled ladder. “Take a picture for Linda!” said Isaac.
Another win for the cavers in the takeover of the guides of Wookey Hole.
Cave Guides’ Stage Miraculous Escape From Wookey Hole
Isobel in the wrong uniform and late for work!
What do you do for fun if you work in a cave? Silly question - you go caving, that's what you do! Jess Brock tells the story of introducing a fellow guide to the joys of Mendip caving.
It was difficult to say where we were or how we got there. All we knew was that we had worked a long, hard day as Cave Guides at Wookey Hole then we’d gone to the Queen Vic for a pint and somehow we ended up beneath the earth in a dark wet hole. Perhaps it was something in the waters of the Queen Vic? Maybe we had fallen in the river Axe at Wookey Hole and been sucked upstream?
However it happened, we were at Swildons Sump 1, so I shall fill you in on the exciting adventures of Isaac and I taking our colleague, Isobel, down two lovely Mendip caves.
Isaac and Isobel, ready to go.
Our first stop on the tour of Mendip was at GB. Isaac and I promised Isobel a well decorated bimble and GB provided it. Having done a few caves up north with DUSA, Isobel was no stranger to jumping down a dark hole. We met a couple bats on the way in. Thanks to Jess Eades' article in Descent we deduced that they were horseshoe bats. Careful not to get too close or shine our lights on them we bimbled further into the cave.
Isobel enjoying the balcony.
There's something special about sharing one of your favourite places with someone for the first time. Isobel was awestruck by the cavernous nature of GB. Of course, we had a mandatory Bridge photo, and afterwards Isobel pointed out some helicities I had never seen before because I never tend to look up in that section.
Isaac looking into the cave down the boulder slope formerly known as the Waterfall Climb.
We did the classic loop up White Passage then down to the sump then up the Waterfall Climb and under the Bridge. We stopped briefly and Isobel devoured a creme egg. An unusual choice for cave snack but still much better than baby food or other random consumables I've heard cavers bring down.
As we emerged we were met with darkness and crossing the small field back to the car we encountered several horses. Isaac tried to make friends and even promised to take them caving but they were having no hoof nor tail of it.
Jess (left) and Isobel (right).
Another day, another cave, stop two on the Wookey Hole Mendip Exploration Club (name pending) was Swildon's Hole. A classic like none other. We basked in the golden light of the evening and tramped over the fields from the Wessex where we planned to stay.
The entrance to Swildon's was remarkably dry. There was no water! As we climbed down we quickly wetted our wellies and began another ‘bimble’.
Isobel and Isaac checking the curtains for moths. None present.
Isobel loved Swildons even more than GB. For the longest time I poo-pooed Swildon's (to be fair I don't like waterfall climbs), but as a result of the lack of rain and low water levels it was great.
Isaac and his borrowed torch. Mega lumens.
Isaac took us up into the ceiling and I couldn't help but take pictures of everything. I may have been more excited than Isobel at this point.
Prime puddle views.
We descended and waded through a large puddle and down to Sump 1.
The water was so low it almost looked like a duck. For a moment I was tempted until Isaac came back through the icy water and looked frozen.
No longer a bimble we jaunted out of the cave with Isobel in a Jess and Isaac sandwich. By the end we could see she was getting tired but ever eager to keep up with us she pressed on and had a nice rest on the surface. We may have beasted the trip, but who can say, Isobel had a smile on her face throughout the trip.
Isaac and his perfectly coiled ladder. “Take a picture for Linda!” said Isaac.
Another win for the cavers in the takeover of the guides of Wookey Hole.
Jess Brock
ZADLASKA JAMA - 100 MEMORIES
Once upon a time (September 1993) a small group of UBSS members drove to Slovenia for a caving holiday. A recent return to the same area brought back some memories for Linda Wilson and these have formed a new addition to our ongoing project to collect a record of at least 100 Memories of UBSS and its activities.
Four people and caving gear in a car. In the '80s and '90s that was quite normal (whereas now it seems to take an entire car just to take the two of us away for the weekend even without any caving gear included!), and so I duly packed myself along with Graham Mullan, Helen Wills (now Rossington) and the late Tony Boycott and all our kit. We headed to Slovenia via a bunch of showcaves in Germany and on down into the north of Slovenia. Knackered from a long drive, we stopped at the first hotel we could find on the Slovene side of the Julian Alps.
We then hit our first snag. The receptionist didn’t speak English. I tried French. No luck. Graham and Helen tried German. Nope. The receptionist tried in Italian. As one, three heads swiveled to look at Tony who had lived in Naples for a while in 1961/3. Tony rose to the occasion and, in his best Italian (learned playing on the streets with the local kids but not spoken in decades), secured three rooms with breakfast. We were impressed. So impressed that this got a mention in his eulogy (Tony had latterly taken to having his sat nav announce directions in Italian so he could stay in practice).
The following day, on a recommendation from our friend Andrej Mihevc (now also sadly deceased) from the Karst Institute in Postojna, we headed down to the Tolmin Gorge to do a caving trip on our way south to Postojna. Andrej had given us a detailed location description so we parked, got changed and hiked up an almost impossibly picturesque section of the Soča River, with its emerald green water rushing over small cascades in pale grey limestone in a steep sided wooded gorge.
As ever, Tony was first around the last corner and into the entrance. As we slogged up to join him, we heard him call: “There’s a problem – it’s locked!” A moment later, he added, “But it’s all right.”
We scrambled up to join him to find that Andrej had omitted to mention the padlock securing the rusty iron gate covering the triangular entrance. Bugger.
“What’s all right about it?” we muttered, or words to that effect, probably accompanied by a few choice expletives, as it had been a hot walk.
Tony waved expansively at the left-hand side, at a small gap between the gate and the wall. “We can get through there.”
Presuming that the padlock was an administrative mishap that had slipped Andrej's mind, we breathed out and wriggled through the gap.
Taken from detail on an information board in the car park 2025.
We spent a couple of hours in the cave, enjoying some decent sized passages, nice formations, climbs, crawls and all the things that make up a very pleasant caving trip. The only thing in my memory that was less than pleasant was touching my left knee to the rock anywhere as I’d been stung by a wasp on my kneecap just before leaving the UK.
When we got back to the gate, Graham was last to reprise the wiggle back to the outside world. As he came through the gap, he heard us all laughing and was certain he must have a large tear somewhere unfortunate in his oversuit (and probably his undersuit as well). Then, on finally standing up and followed the direction of our amused looks, he found himself staring at the padlock – serenely hanging open, and undoubtedly laughing at us all.
Much later, back in the UK, Tony looked at a photo he’d taken of the entrance before we'd started wriggling through. Yes, the bloody padlock was hanging open right from the start. In our defence, we’ve always maintained he’d been standing in front of the lock by the time we got there.
Fast forward to the beginning of June 2005 and on a walk in the, by now much more touristy but still equally beautiful, Tolmin Gorge, Helen (now Rossington), her husband Richard and myself made our way out of the gorge intending to visit the entrance of the cave marked on the walking trails, even though we knew there was no access, but if you put a bunch of cavers near a cave, even an entrance is worth the detour.
The cave is called Zadlaska Jama (named after the nearby village) sometimes known as Dante's Cave. The name was vaguely familiar but as we climbed up the steps to the cave entrance, recognition set in.
I was facing an incredibly familiar entrance. The shape was the same as the one in my memory of long ago (triangular) and the gate was much newer (but with no convenient gaps). It was our long-ago cave from 1993. I was sure of it. I took a photo of the entrance and WhatsApped it to Graham, who hadn’t fancied a long, steep walk on a very hot day. He promptly WhatsApped back: "They’ve repaired the gate!"
The red triangle shows the section we squeezed through. The entry hate was smaller and more to the left in 1993.
In fact, the gate has been completely replaced and is now very shiny stainless steel. A sign explains how to gain access and there are even ‘adventure caving’ tours available, as well as access via the local caving club.
It was great to return to the site of much amusement for our past selves. Somewhere, that original photo still exists! My log entry certainly does ...
Linda Wilson
Once upon a time (September 1993) a small group of UBSS members drove to Slovenia for a caving holiday. A recent return to the same area brought back some memories for Linda Wilson and these have formed a new addition to our ongoing project to collect a record of at least 100 Memories of UBSS and its activities.
Four people and caving gear in a car. In the '80s and '90s that was quite normal (whereas now it seems to take an entire car just to take the two of us away for the weekend even without any caving gear included!), and so I duly packed myself along with Graham Mullan, Helen Wills (now Rossington) and the late Tony Boycott and all our kit. We headed to Slovenia via a bunch of showcaves in Germany and on down into the north of Slovenia. Knackered from a long drive, we stopped at the first hotel we could find on the Slovene side of the Julian Alps.
We then hit our first snag. The receptionist didn’t speak English. I tried French. No luck. Graham and Helen tried German. Nope. The receptionist tried in Italian. As one, three heads swiveled to look at Tony who had lived in Naples for a while in 1961/3. Tony rose to the occasion and, in his best Italian (learned playing on the streets with the local kids but not spoken in decades), secured three rooms with breakfast. We were impressed. So impressed that this got a mention in his eulogy (Tony had latterly taken to having his sat nav announce directions in Italian so he could stay in practice).
The following day, on a recommendation from our friend Andrej Mihevc (now also sadly deceased) from the Karst Institute in Postojna, we headed down to the Tolmin Gorge to do a caving trip on our way south to Postojna. Andrej had given us a detailed location description so we parked, got changed and hiked up an almost impossibly picturesque section of the Soča River, with its emerald green water rushing over small cascades in pale grey limestone in a steep sided wooded gorge.
As ever, Tony was first around the last corner and into the entrance. As we slogged up to join him, we heard him call: “There’s a problem – it’s locked!” A moment later, he added, “But it’s all right.”
We scrambled up to join him to find that Andrej had omitted to mention the padlock securing the rusty iron gate covering the triangular entrance. Bugger.
“What’s all right about it?” we muttered, or words to that effect, probably accompanied by a few choice expletives, as it had been a hot walk.
Tony waved expansively at the left-hand side, at a small gap between the gate and the wall. “We can get through there.”
Presuming that the padlock was an administrative mishap that had slipped Andrej's mind, we breathed out and wriggled through the gap.
Taken from detail on an information board in the car park 2025.
We spent a couple of hours in the cave, enjoying some decent sized passages, nice formations, climbs, crawls and all the things that make up a very pleasant caving trip. The only thing in my memory that was less than pleasant was touching my left knee to the rock anywhere as I’d been stung by a wasp on my kneecap just before leaving the UK.
When we got back to the gate, Graham was last to reprise the wiggle back to the outside world. As he came through the gap, he heard us all laughing and was certain he must have a large tear somewhere unfortunate in his oversuit (and probably his undersuit as well). Then, on finally standing up and followed the direction of our amused looks, he found himself staring at the padlock – serenely hanging open, and undoubtedly laughing at us all.
Much later, back in the UK, Tony looked at a photo he’d taken of the entrance before we'd started wriggling through. Yes, the bloody padlock was hanging open right from the start. In our defence, we’ve always maintained he’d been standing in front of the lock by the time we got there.
Fast forward to the beginning of June 2005 and on a walk in the, by now much more touristy but still equally beautiful, Tolmin Gorge, Helen (now Rossington), her husband Richard and myself made our way out of the gorge intending to visit the entrance of the cave marked on the walking trails, even though we knew there was no access, but if you put a bunch of cavers near a cave, even an entrance is worth the detour.
The cave is called Zadlaska Jama (named after the nearby village) sometimes known as Dante's Cave. The name was vaguely familiar but as we climbed up the steps to the cave entrance, recognition set in.
I was facing an incredibly familiar entrance. The shape was the same as the one in my memory of long ago (triangular) and the gate was much newer (but with no convenient gaps). It was our long-ago cave from 1993. I was sure of it. I took a photo of the entrance and WhatsApped it to Graham, who hadn’t fancied a long, steep walk on a very hot day. He promptly WhatsApped back: "They’ve repaired the gate!"
The red triangle shows the section we squeezed through. The entry hate was smaller and more to the left in 1993.
In fact, the gate has been completely replaced and is now very shiny stainless steel. A sign explains how to gain access and there are even ‘adventure caving’ tours available, as well as access via the local caving club.
It was great to return to the site of much amusement for our past selves. Somewhere, that original photo still exists! My log entry certainly does ...
The folk tradition associating Dante Alighieri with the name of the cave comes from 16th century written sources asserts that whilst being hosted by the local aristocracy he sat there on a rock and was inspired by visiting the Tolmin Gorges to write the Divine Comedy.
Linda Wilson
HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN
Left, an idyllic Mendip scene. Right, Billy recording stuff for posterity.
On a recent trip to Mendip, Billy and Emily eschewed caving and even managed an in situ write up of their activities, thanks to Emily's genius in taking paper and pen!
Billy: Hello dearest Newsletter readers,
Today we bring you a tale not of subterranean adventure; not of extreme daring or precocious ambitions squandered. But of a lovely countryside stroll 😊.
We are sitting writing this on the logs outside the hut. Emily is currently taking a picture of me (see below). The birds are singing delightful, and the trees are golden-green.
Kenneth set off for a trip to Pierre’s at 10am. Freshers Piotr and Toby and us in tow. The day seemed a bit too nice to spend underground so Emily and I set off with our picnic up the hill onto Blackdown. With nowhere in particular to be and with plenty of time to kill we meandered our way up and over, eventually happening upon the WW2 generator/battery room. A quick water break and some Wikipedia research on the history of Blackdown’s wartime past later and we became joined by tree shire horses. The riders, up over two metres, asked us very politely to open a gate for them - we happily obliged, taking the opportunity to compliment the size and sheer power of their beautiful beasts.
We followed on - and before long were spat out at Tyning’s Barrow Swallet - a corner of the road I know very well. Up past GB and back onto a footpath when we came to the valley of the lambs.
Emily: Cue 30 minutes of squealing as we walked through many little lambs.
They were so white and stumbled playfully around their mums and their friends, occasionally giving us adorable little bleats as their ears and heads perked up to watch us go by. Upsettingly our awe for this green, sunny and adorable serotonin boost was overshadowed by horror as we came across two lambs laying lifelessly amongst the innocent happy and healthy lambs. We left this tainted but still gorgeous scene onto another footpath (via a slightly less conventional and awkward wire fence hop) which took us to another idyllic clearing. We soaked in the long, green grass, bathed in sun and littered with bluebells, and carried on our journey.
Eventually we found ourselves on a road to take us back round to the cavers. This was potentially not the best idea with many bends and little space available on the sides to walk on, nevertheless we easily stumbled upon Pierre’s. After much hunger induced complaining from me I reluctantly settled for a picnic spot at the cave entrance. Here we joined in a heavenly, spiritual, godly rediscovery of garlic and herb Boursin along with some lower tier soft cheese, a crusty tiger loaf (the baguettes weren’t up to Billy’s freshness standards) and some much-needed vitamins in the form of strawberries. This was paired with our favourite Starbucks caramel macchiato (other brands are available) in mega carton size. This was an especially exciting discovery in the Tesco since we at last found the grande size as opposed to the regular size. This served as a refreshing sugar flow throughout our trip with the added appreciation for our discovery.
ANYWAY, we spotted the face of a man blowing (see my artistic recreation below) in the tree right by the entrance and decided this was Pierre. Perhaps this is well-known knowledge I am claiming as my own from my subconscious but Billy (and I) will claim the credit, nonetheless.
And so the final breathtaking, back-breaking, mental-and-physical-strength-testing uphill climb began from the legend of ‘tree Pierre’ and his tight mazey hole to heaven, also known as the UBSS hut.
Quick water refill and to writing we go thanks to my genius in bringing a pad and pen.
BIlly Evans and Emily Wormleighton
Left, an idyllic Mendip scene. Right, Billy recording stuff for posterity.
On a recent trip to Mendip, Billy and Emily eschewed caving and even managed an in situ write up of their activities, thanks to Emily's genius in taking paper and pen!
Billy: Hello dearest Newsletter readers,
Today we bring you a tale not of subterranean adventure; not of extreme daring or precocious ambitions squandered. But of a lovely countryside stroll 😊.
We are sitting writing this on the logs outside the hut. Emily is currently taking a picture of me (see below). The birds are singing delightful, and the trees are golden-green.
Kenneth set off for a trip to Pierre’s at 10am. Freshers Piotr and Toby and us in tow. The day seemed a bit too nice to spend underground so Emily and I set off with our picnic up the hill onto Blackdown. With nowhere in particular to be and with plenty of time to kill we meandered our way up and over, eventually happening upon the WW2 generator/battery room. A quick water break and some Wikipedia research on the history of Blackdown’s wartime past later and we became joined by tree shire horses. The riders, up over two metres, asked us very politely to open a gate for them - we happily obliged, taking the opportunity to compliment the size and sheer power of their beautiful beasts.
We followed on - and before long were spat out at Tyning’s Barrow Swallet - a corner of the road I know very well. Up past GB and back onto a footpath when we came to the valley of the lambs.
Emily: Cue 30 minutes of squealing as we walked through many little lambs.
They were so white and stumbled playfully around their mums and their friends, occasionally giving us adorable little bleats as their ears and heads perked up to watch us go by. Upsettingly our awe for this green, sunny and adorable serotonin boost was overshadowed by horror as we came across two lambs laying lifelessly amongst the innocent happy and healthy lambs. We left this tainted but still gorgeous scene onto another footpath (via a slightly less conventional and awkward wire fence hop) which took us to another idyllic clearing. We soaked in the long, green grass, bathed in sun and littered with bluebells, and carried on our journey.
Eventually we found ourselves on a road to take us back round to the cavers. This was potentially not the best idea with many bends and little space available on the sides to walk on, nevertheless we easily stumbled upon Pierre’s. After much hunger induced complaining from me I reluctantly settled for a picnic spot at the cave entrance. Here we joined in a heavenly, spiritual, godly rediscovery of garlic and herb Boursin along with some lower tier soft cheese, a crusty tiger loaf (the baguettes weren’t up to Billy’s freshness standards) and some much-needed vitamins in the form of strawberries. This was paired with our favourite Starbucks caramel macchiato (other brands are available) in mega carton size. This was an especially exciting discovery in the Tesco since we at last found the grande size as opposed to the regular size. This served as a refreshing sugar flow throughout our trip with the added appreciation for our discovery.
ANYWAY, we spotted the face of a man blowing (see my artistic recreation below) in the tree right by the entrance and decided this was Pierre. Perhaps this is well-known knowledge I am claiming as my own from my subconscious but Billy (and I) will claim the credit, nonetheless.
And so the final breathtaking, back-breaking, mental-and-physical-strength-testing uphill climb began from the legend of ‘tree Pierre’ and his tight mazey hole to heaven, also known as the UBSS hut.
Quick water refill and to writing we go thanks to my genius in bringing a pad and pen.
BIlly Evans and Emily Wormleighton
DEEP INTO THE VOID - A Belgian Thriller
Heartened by the critical acclaim for their magnum opus, S. L. Walkon has granted serialisation rights, so Merryn can read another chapter to the puzzled members of CUCC, and we're sure they'll be delighted to know that BBC Radio Sounds are threatening to produce a radio play. So get ready to venture underground again with our intrepid bunch of cheese scientists ..
Chapter 2: Misgivings and Morbier
"HALT!" A voice barked from the darkness, thick with bureaucratic outrage, nasal vowels, and an odor somehow sharper than the damp Camembert splattering the floor. Three figures strode into the beam of Professor Witty’s torch, all bristling with clipboards, bespoke cheese-tasting spoons, and uniforms with badly-stitched yellow epaulettes.
"What the actual fuck -" muttered Fulbright, quickly changing his camera to selfie mode and turning his back on the intruders.
Olivia Witty executed an Olympic-standard eye roll. Lucille promptly awarded full marks for artistic impression. “Nous avons un permit.” She pulled the item in question out of a pocket and thrust it at oncoming officials who looked thoroughly unimpressed with her execrable accent and dubious command of the international language of cheese.
The tallest of them fixed her with a scowl and proceeded to drive his disapproval home with perfectly articulated English. “Cheese Standards Inspection Board. And you are…?”
“Dr. Olivia Witty, Mendip University Caving Society. We have a permit for scientific research …
“Merde! Not another lot. You English are always breathing. Ruining the aromas. With each of your ill-timed exhales, entire colonies of precious volatile compounds are annihilated!” To prove a point, one of the others jabbed a thermometer into a streak of Morbier on the wall. “Last week, this passage graded ‘good’. Now?” She sniffed in disgust. “Only… ‘acceptable’.” She spat out the last word like a spec of Philadelphia Low Fat Original had some how crept into her mouth and died.
Suraya tried sucking in a deep breath and promptly fainted as the stench delaminated her nostrils.
Olivia tried not to think about what would happen when she filed the inevitable incident report with the SU.
The third official, a pimply youth with a nose running as much as an over-ripe Gorgonzola, circled the group, grimacing and wafting a portable wind gauge at Fulbright’s arse with visible disgust. “They should be fined per fart,” he muttered. “All those British beans.”
The lead inspector scribbled something on a triplicate carbon form and slapped a lurid orange cheese-sticker over Lucille’s tacklesack. “Do not let me catch you vaping—your e-liquids are catastrophic for Gruyère’s gentle notes. Remember, respect the affinage ecosystem or you will be deemed unacceptable.” With that, the inspection team strode off, leaving behind a faint reek of Bleu d’Auvergne and a vague sense of institutionalised menace.
Fullbright shrugged, panned his phone around, and announced, “You heard them, folks, like and subscribe if you want to see the next episode of Cheese Bureaucracy! And don’t forget to send us a tenner if you support independent journalism!”
Lucille looked genuinely anxious. “What happens if they think we’re ‘unacceptable’?”
Olivia shrugged. “If we’re lucky, a stiffly worded email and a two year ban.”
“If we’re unlucky?”
“Don’t ask.”
* * *
The cave widened, walls tunnelling into creamy gold, and the group’s boots squished from greasy Roquefort rind onto something paler, pocked with holes.
“Swiss cheese layer,” Suraya whispered in awe, poking a gigantic, pale eyelet with her pencil. “Look at the porosity. You could park a Bongo van in some of these.”
It was Fulbright who saw the movement first. “Uhhh, guys? Is that supposed to be wiggling?”
A glistening tube, as long as Olivia’s arm and twice as slippery as a politician’s promise, undulated out of a hole in the cave wall. Its skin shimmered, translucent as over-washed grundies, and golden slime trailed in its wake, making the air hum with the unsettling tang of Reblochon and aftertaste of a Bonfire Night party at the Hut.
“Swiss cheese hagfish!” Lucille murmured reverently, delight flickering at the corners of her mouth. “They’ve only been spotted three times outside the Alps and one time might have been a decaying power cable.”
The creature rippled languidly, leaving streaks of cheese curds as it slipped through another hole. Suraya filmed furiously, Fullbright tried to snap a selfie with it while Lucille scrambled to draw it, producing only a nervous oval and a lot of question marks.
Olivia tapped the wall. “The slime interacts with the milk that seeps down from cows in the fields above. Turns liquid to cheese—nature’s slowest, slipperiest fondue. Also blocks most English jungle music frequencies, thank God.”
The hagfish glared at them with two tiny, overly bright eyes, then vanished, both elegantly and appallingly, into the next chamber.
“Behold,” Olivia said, trying (and failing) to look and sound suitably professorial, “the only creature alive that can turn UHT into Gruyère in under twelve hours. Do not get any on your sandwiches.”
* * *
It was noon—at least, according to the assorted Fitbits and the app on Suraya’s phone that insisted she had an optimal vitamin D deficiency. The group settled on a relatively dry patch of hard Mimolette shale to eat lunch.
The cave was not entirely on board with this plan. A cloud of insects, tiny black fiends with a taste for unwashed skin, arose from a glistening puddle of Saint-Nectaire and immediately began a mass synchronised attack.
“Is… this normal?” gasped Suraya, swatting wildly as another mosquito committed suicide into her Nutella sandwich.
Fulbright peered at one. “Their legs are fuzzy with blue mould!”
“Cheesequitoes,” Lucille said earnestly. “Unique to this region. Their bite injects a mild Gorgonzola. Some locals claim it makes you dream of cycling up hills in the rain forever.”
Olivia glared at the creature that had just landed on her Cheddar and pickle sandwich. “Just think of them as added protein and hurry up.”
Something rustled in the dark. The team froze. Torchlight flicked onto a silhouette in the gloom skittering between a waxy wedge of Edam and a rotten Raclette outcrop.
Suraya shrieked. Lucille reached for her notebook. Fulbright readied his phone. Olivia, with yet more professorial dignity, threw a the rest of her lunch at the intruder.
A large mouse, its nose twitching, eyes red with dairy induced madness, darted out, grabbed what it could carry (which proved to be a surprising amount) and disappeared into a Gouda-blistered fissure.
“Mouse!” Fulbright announced to his phone. “Wildlife encounter! Hashtag blessed.”
Olivia raked the group with a cold stare. “All right. That’s enough excitement for now. Lunch is over. The place will be swarming with the little sods in a minute. Remember the safety brief: in caves, always expect the unexpected. Especially if it bites. Or grades cheese.”
She checked her map, brushed a mosquito from her nose, and stomped onward - sliding reluctantly into a darker dimension of dairy.
Far behind them, the mice formed a chain, passing what they could salvage from paw to paw and the hagfish burped loudly after gorging on Nutella and artisanal sourdough. The walls trembled. And if it was possible to anthropomorphise cheese, an observer might be forgiven for thinking the Morbier seam looked positively depressed to be abandoned.
On a temperature probe dropped by one of the Standards Team in their surprise at meeting intruders, a small green light switched to orange and the LED display read: ‘Quality - questionable’.
Olivia trod the probe into the pulsating mass under her best size 42 caving wellies and marched resolutely on, deeper into the stink and into whatever had devoured last year’s expedition - because destiny, much like a ripe Camembert, waits for no one.
Heartened by the critical acclaim for their magnum opus, S. L. Walkon has granted serialisation rights, so Merryn can read another chapter to the puzzled members of CUCC, and we're sure they'll be delighted to know that BBC Radio Sounds are threatening to produce a radio play. So get ready to venture underground again with our intrepid bunch of cheese scientists ..
Chapter 2: Misgivings and Morbier
"HALT!" A voice barked from the darkness, thick with bureaucratic outrage, nasal vowels, and an odor somehow sharper than the damp Camembert splattering the floor. Three figures strode into the beam of Professor Witty’s torch, all bristling with clipboards, bespoke cheese-tasting spoons, and uniforms with badly-stitched yellow epaulettes.
"What the actual fuck -" muttered Fulbright, quickly changing his camera to selfie mode and turning his back on the intruders.
Olivia Witty executed an Olympic-standard eye roll. Lucille promptly awarded full marks for artistic impression. “Nous avons un permit.” She pulled the item in question out of a pocket and thrust it at oncoming officials who looked thoroughly unimpressed with her execrable accent and dubious command of the international language of cheese.
The tallest of them fixed her with a scowl and proceeded to drive his disapproval home with perfectly articulated English. “Cheese Standards Inspection Board. And you are…?”
“Dr. Olivia Witty, Mendip University Caving Society. We have a permit for scientific research …
“Merde! Not another lot. You English are always breathing. Ruining the aromas. With each of your ill-timed exhales, entire colonies of precious volatile compounds are annihilated!” To prove a point, one of the others jabbed a thermometer into a streak of Morbier on the wall. “Last week, this passage graded ‘good’. Now?” She sniffed in disgust. “Only… ‘acceptable’.” She spat out the last word like a spec of Philadelphia Low Fat Original had some how crept into her mouth and died.
Suraya tried sucking in a deep breath and promptly fainted as the stench delaminated her nostrils.
Olivia tried not to think about what would happen when she filed the inevitable incident report with the SU.
The third official, a pimply youth with a nose running as much as an over-ripe Gorgonzola, circled the group, grimacing and wafting a portable wind gauge at Fulbright’s arse with visible disgust. “They should be fined per fart,” he muttered. “All those British beans.”
The lead inspector scribbled something on a triplicate carbon form and slapped a lurid orange cheese-sticker over Lucille’s tacklesack. “Do not let me catch you vaping—your e-liquids are catastrophic for Gruyère’s gentle notes. Remember, respect the affinage ecosystem or you will be deemed unacceptable.” With that, the inspection team strode off, leaving behind a faint reek of Bleu d’Auvergne and a vague sense of institutionalised menace.
Fullbright shrugged, panned his phone around, and announced, “You heard them, folks, like and subscribe if you want to see the next episode of Cheese Bureaucracy! And don’t forget to send us a tenner if you support independent journalism!”
Lucille looked genuinely anxious. “What happens if they think we’re ‘unacceptable’?”
Olivia shrugged. “If we’re lucky, a stiffly worded email and a two year ban.”
“If we’re unlucky?”
“Don’t ask.”
* * *
The cave widened, walls tunnelling into creamy gold, and the group’s boots squished from greasy Roquefort rind onto something paler, pocked with holes.
“Swiss cheese layer,” Suraya whispered in awe, poking a gigantic, pale eyelet with her pencil. “Look at the porosity. You could park a Bongo van in some of these.”
It was Fulbright who saw the movement first. “Uhhh, guys? Is that supposed to be wiggling?”
A glistening tube, as long as Olivia’s arm and twice as slippery as a politician’s promise, undulated out of a hole in the cave wall. Its skin shimmered, translucent as over-washed grundies, and golden slime trailed in its wake, making the air hum with the unsettling tang of Reblochon and aftertaste of a Bonfire Night party at the Hut.
“Swiss cheese hagfish!” Lucille murmured reverently, delight flickering at the corners of her mouth. “They’ve only been spotted three times outside the Alps and one time might have been a decaying power cable.”
The creature rippled languidly, leaving streaks of cheese curds as it slipped through another hole. Suraya filmed furiously, Fullbright tried to snap a selfie with it while Lucille scrambled to draw it, producing only a nervous oval and a lot of question marks.
Olivia tapped the wall. “The slime interacts with the milk that seeps down from cows in the fields above. Turns liquid to cheese—nature’s slowest, slipperiest fondue. Also blocks most English jungle music frequencies, thank God.”
The hagfish glared at them with two tiny, overly bright eyes, then vanished, both elegantly and appallingly, into the next chamber.
“Behold,” Olivia said, trying (and failing) to look and sound suitably professorial, “the only creature alive that can turn UHT into Gruyère in under twelve hours. Do not get any on your sandwiches.”
* * *
It was noon—at least, according to the assorted Fitbits and the app on Suraya’s phone that insisted she had an optimal vitamin D deficiency. The group settled on a relatively dry patch of hard Mimolette shale to eat lunch.
The cave was not entirely on board with this plan. A cloud of insects, tiny black fiends with a taste for unwashed skin, arose from a glistening puddle of Saint-Nectaire and immediately began a mass synchronised attack.
“Is… this normal?” gasped Suraya, swatting wildly as another mosquito committed suicide into her Nutella sandwich.
Fulbright peered at one. “Their legs are fuzzy with blue mould!”
“Cheesequitoes,” Lucille said earnestly. “Unique to this region. Their bite injects a mild Gorgonzola. Some locals claim it makes you dream of cycling up hills in the rain forever.”
Olivia glared at the creature that had just landed on her Cheddar and pickle sandwich. “Just think of them as added protein and hurry up.”
Something rustled in the dark. The team froze. Torchlight flicked onto a silhouette in the gloom skittering between a waxy wedge of Edam and a rotten Raclette outcrop.
Suraya shrieked. Lucille reached for her notebook. Fulbright readied his phone. Olivia, with yet more professorial dignity, threw a the rest of her lunch at the intruder.
A large mouse, its nose twitching, eyes red with dairy induced madness, darted out, grabbed what it could carry (which proved to be a surprising amount) and disappeared into a Gouda-blistered fissure.
“Mouse!” Fulbright announced to his phone. “Wildlife encounter! Hashtag blessed.”
Olivia raked the group with a cold stare. “All right. That’s enough excitement for now. Lunch is over. The place will be swarming with the little sods in a minute. Remember the safety brief: in caves, always expect the unexpected. Especially if it bites. Or grades cheese.”
She checked her map, brushed a mosquito from her nose, and stomped onward - sliding reluctantly into a darker dimension of dairy.
Far behind them, the mice formed a chain, passing what they could salvage from paw to paw and the hagfish burped loudly after gorging on Nutella and artisanal sourdough. The walls trembled. And if it was possible to anthropomorphise cheese, an observer might be forgiven for thinking the Morbier seam looked positively depressed to be abandoned.
On a temperature probe dropped by one of the Standards Team in their surprise at meeting intruders, a small green light switched to orange and the LED display read: ‘Quality - questionable’.
Olivia trod the probe into the pulsating mass under her best size 42 caving wellies and marched resolutely on, deeper into the stink and into whatever had devoured last year’s expedition - because destiny, much like a ripe Camembert, waits for no one.
WIGGLES SQUIRMED HERE, DID YOU?
In honour of the absurdly tight squeeze on the way to Swildon's 9, we thought a worm would be appropriate this time and, amazingly, Bing AI has managed to speel correctlyly this week, although why the worm on the newsletter cover has a three-eyes pair of goggles is something of a mystery! Thank you as ever to everyone who used the link at the end or just replies to the newsletter. We love hearing from you, and the little snippets of UBSS history that sometimes emerge, such as Trat's occasionally testy relationship with Lloyd are always fun! So thank you all for your support!
- Yikes! I think that I shivered a bit at the photo at the end. Superb newsletter, terrific trips, and congratulations to Jess for her entirely appropriate jobs! [Jan Walker]
- Great to hear about the Aggy-Daren project, having been digging there almost 40 years ago. Maybe soon Clive Gardner can complete the final part of his series of articles on that theme.I love the tale of the Oily Mouse, and picture, at the end, although ZOM seems to have swapped its rodent dentition for those of an insectivore. This AI stuff clearly not all it's cracked up to... [Mike Simms]
- Great to find new books appearing ... and zombie mouse as well! [Chris Howes]
- Is it because I iz Belgian? I want to know whether le basset est interdit in the thriller! [Sharon Wheeler and the faintly bemused FT Bear]
- Thanks, I read the cheese cave story to some CUCC members who were very confused, do not want context, but do want a sequel 😆 [Merryn Matthews]
- It gets better and better. Also very enjoyable. [Bob Churcher]
- “Kit commented that it had been hard to find a photo of Trat without a pint in his hands,” Personally, I’d have thought it would have been much more difficult to find a photo of Trat and Oliver within 3m of each other. [Dick Willis]
- MUD MUD MUD [Megan Malpas, getting this month's Late Responder prize, as this was sent to Mr Prickles not Zombie Oily Mouse!]
Wiggles, you are wonderful!
THE END
In honour of the absurdly tight squeeze on the way to Swildon's 9, we thought a worm would be appropriate this time and, amazingly, Bing AI has managed to speel correctlyly this week, although why the worm on the newsletter cover has a three-eyes pair of goggles is something of a mystery! Thank you as ever to everyone who used the link at the end or just replies to the newsletter. We love hearing from you, and the little snippets of UBSS history that sometimes emerge, such as Trat's occasionally testy relationship with Lloyd are always fun! So thank you all for your support!
- Yikes! I think that I shivered a bit at the photo at the end. Superb newsletter, terrific trips, and congratulations to Jess for her entirely appropriate jobs! [Jan Walker]
- Great to hear about the Aggy-Daren project, having been digging there almost 40 years ago. Maybe soon Clive Gardner can complete the final part of his series of articles on that theme.I love the tale of the Oily Mouse, and picture, at the end, although ZOM seems to have swapped its rodent dentition for those of an insectivore. This AI stuff clearly not all it's cracked up to... [Mike Simms]
- Great to find new books appearing ... and zombie mouse as well! [Chris Howes]
- Is it because I iz Belgian? I want to know whether le basset est interdit in the thriller! [Sharon Wheeler and the faintly bemused FT Bear]
- Thanks, I read the cheese cave story to some CUCC members who were very confused, do not want context, but do want a sequel 😆 [Merryn Matthews]
- It gets better and better. Also very enjoyable. [Bob Churcher]
- “Kit commented that it had been hard to find a photo of Trat without a pint in his hands,” Personally, I’d have thought it would have been much more difficult to find a photo of Trat and Oliver within 3m of each other. [Dick Willis]
- MUD MUD MUD [Megan Malpas, getting this month's Late Responder prize, as this was sent to Mr Prickles not Zombie Oily Mouse!]
Wiggles, you are wonderful!
THE END