Kents Cavern, Torquay, all decked out for Xmas from a photo by Linda Wilson.
Wow! From training days, chilli-fuelled socials and international expeditions, this year has been a packed one to remember.
January kicked off with members scattered in cosy huts across the Mendips, Yorkshire Dales and South Wales…rescue training sharpened our skills, and we triumphantly reclaimed the Richmond Staircase for SRT training to flourish, (which it still is!). In February, Graham’s deep dive gave us access to all incarnations of the newsletter, leading all the way back to our roots in 1919 - you can still find them on our website! While March brought collaboration to UBSS, with joint trips with Manchester Caving and Bristol Climbing societies… and of course NCHECC and SCHECC, capped off with the AGM, where we welcomed a new committee board, followed by a fantastic celebration. May… well digging fever caught the club, and June we were giving our beloved hut much TLC. The height of summer saw the club scattered across the globe. From expos in Ario, Matienzo, Austria and Ireland- a successful trip to the Gouffre Berger, a PSM through-trip and even a trip to the international caving conference in Brazil! And just when we were ready to welcome the beautiful freshers in September, the SU through us a big curveball… so in turn we announced our PREGNANCY! Wow, what a collection of freshers we have… so keen, so much fun and so many! We filled our Autumn term with Goat-church, parties, OFD, bonfires and enthusiasm.
Before we close 2025, we have one last newsletter for you all, with trips up north, down south and brilliant Christmas festivities! We can’t wait to hear all your fantastic adventures in the new year… and as always, we are open to any form of speleo storytelling, whether write-ups, videos, drawings, photos, fiction or anything else you can come up with!
PS If anything is in blue and underlined, it's a clickable link!
January kicked off with members scattered in cosy huts across the Mendips, Yorkshire Dales and South Wales…rescue training sharpened our skills, and we triumphantly reclaimed the Richmond Staircase for SRT training to flourish, (which it still is!). In February, Graham’s deep dive gave us access to all incarnations of the newsletter, leading all the way back to our roots in 1919 - you can still find them on our website! While March brought collaboration to UBSS, with joint trips with Manchester Caving and Bristol Climbing societies… and of course NCHECC and SCHECC, capped off with the AGM, where we welcomed a new committee board, followed by a fantastic celebration. May… well digging fever caught the club, and June we were giving our beloved hut much TLC. The height of summer saw the club scattered across the globe. From expos in Ario, Matienzo, Austria and Ireland- a successful trip to the Gouffre Berger, a PSM through-trip and even a trip to the international caving conference in Brazil! And just when we were ready to welcome the beautiful freshers in September, the SU through us a big curveball… so in turn we announced our PREGNANCY! Wow, what a collection of freshers we have… so keen, so much fun and so many! We filled our Autumn term with Goat-church, parties, OFD, bonfires and enthusiasm.
Before we close 2025, we have one last newsletter for you all, with trips up north, down south and brilliant Christmas festivities! We can’t wait to hear all your fantastic adventures in the new year… and as always, we are open to any form of speleo storytelling, whether write-ups, videos, drawings, photos, fiction or anything else you can come up with!
Lots of Love,
Grace and Linda
Grace and Linda
PS If anything is in blue and underlined, it's a clickable link!
IN THIS ISSUE:
- Diary Dates
- All Dressed Up
- Hish, Hash, Hosh... Bacon!
- Expedition Talks
- Beat the Stress - Go Caving!
- Caves in the News
- Boggarts and Broccoli
- Bouncing Down the Berger
- Tight Holes v. BBC (Bat Bat Choke)
- Grotte de Caramen, Perigord
- The Weasels Welcome You to the End
- Diary Dates
- All Dressed Up
- Hish, Hash, Hosh... Bacon!
- Expedition Talks
- Beat the Stress - Go Caving!
- Caves in the News
- Boggarts and Broccoli
- Bouncing Down the Berger
- Tight Holes v. BBC (Bat Bat Choke)
- Grotte de Caramen, Perigord
- The Weasels Welcome You to the End
DIARY DATES
- 23/25.1.26 - Burns Night weekend at the UBSS Hut.
- 27.1.26 - Expedition talk followed by the usual social.
- 1.2.26 - Paintball Social (contact Billy or Emily asap as there are few spaces left).
- 14.3.6 - UBSS AGM and Annual Dinner. SAVE THE DATE. Details to follow.
- 23/25.1.26 - Burns Night weekend at the UBSS Hut.
- 27.1.26 - Expedition talk followed by the usual social.
- 1.2.26 - Paintball Social (contact Billy or Emily asap as there are few spaces left).
- 14.3.6 - UBSS AGM and Annual Dinner. SAVE THE DATE. Details to follow.
ALL DRESSED UP!
The annual Christmas Dinner was a blast as per usual, with everyone dressed in black-tie rather than the usual over-suits and mud, looking dashing as ever (but in Grace's opinion, and don’t take offence, we look much better in mud). But judge for yourself from these photos of a fantastic night ...
Starting off with a heartwarming Christmas meal at No4 Clifton, everyone soon settled in with their 2-4-1 cocktails. After lots of caving chatter, a speech from our very own president, and lots of tipsy laughter, we went onto Emily’s for a stomppp. A huge thank you to Emily for her house, Joshitha for her planning and everyone else who helped organise… As well as everyone who came!
The annual Christmas Dinner was a blast as per usual, with everyone dressed in black-tie rather than the usual over-suits and mud, looking dashing as ever (but in Grace's opinion, and don’t take offence, we look much better in mud). But judge for yourself from these photos of a fantastic night ...
Starting off with a heartwarming Christmas meal at No4 Clifton, everyone soon settled in with their 2-4-1 cocktails. After lots of caving chatter, a speech from our very own president, and lots of tipsy laughter, we went onto Emily’s for a stomppp. A huge thank you to Emily for her house, Joshitha for her planning and everyone else who helped organise… As well as everyone who came!
Love from Grace
HISH, HASH, HOSH ... BACON!
Left side: Clive, Chris, Si, Andy, Richard. Right side: Wanda, Jacob, Helen, Brian, Kirsten, Jan, Graham. Photo by Linda.
The rituals were performed, the sun rose. Job done!
Twelve UBSS members, one guest and two dogs gathered at the Hut for the New Year's Eve dinner, a tradition that stretches in unbroken line back to the founding of the club in 1919. This year's gathering consisted of Jacob Podesta, Si Hadfield, Andy Farrant (attending his first New Year's dinner, despite having been a member for several decades!), Clive and Wanda Owen, Chris Pepper, Kirsten Hopkins, Brian McLeish, Helen and Richard Rossington, Jan Walker, Graham Mullan and Linda Wilson (accompanied by Trigger and Gwen).
Obligatory cute dog photo. Trigger (left), Gwen (right).
A large and excellent turkey dinner was consumed, followed by Christmas puddings and mince pies, with assorted creams. At midnight we were joined by Liz and Peter Green and the usual rituals were performed: 'sneezing' to absent friends, which includes calling out names of absent friends around the four points of the compass followed by the circle, divided into sections, each yelling their assigned call, either hish, hash or hosh, with one lone voice yelling 'bacon!'. Do we know why we do this? Nope, absolutely no idea, and even the generations above us don't know. This one is very much lost in the mists of time. There's a vague idea that it might be some sort of medics' ritual and that it's called 'sneezing', but that's all. This is followed by the club's own version of the traditional folk song, The Old Crows and the usual Auld Lang Syne, with the club variant that after the first verse, we all charge at each other, still with linked arms.
So, in case we all keel over by next year, you know what you need to do!!
Left side: Clive, Chris, Si, Andy, Richard. Right side: Wanda, Jacob, Helen, Brian, Kirsten, Jan, Graham. Photo by Linda.
The rituals were performed, the sun rose. Job done!
Twelve UBSS members, one guest and two dogs gathered at the Hut for the New Year's Eve dinner, a tradition that stretches in unbroken line back to the founding of the club in 1919. This year's gathering consisted of Jacob Podesta, Si Hadfield, Andy Farrant (attending his first New Year's dinner, despite having been a member for several decades!), Clive and Wanda Owen, Chris Pepper, Kirsten Hopkins, Brian McLeish, Helen and Richard Rossington, Jan Walker, Graham Mullan and Linda Wilson (accompanied by Trigger and Gwen).
Obligatory cute dog photo. Trigger (left), Gwen (right).
A large and excellent turkey dinner was consumed, followed by Christmas puddings and mince pies, with assorted creams. At midnight we were joined by Liz and Peter Green and the usual rituals were performed: 'sneezing' to absent friends, which includes calling out names of absent friends around the four points of the compass followed by the circle, divided into sections, each yelling their assigned call, either hish, hash or hosh, with one lone voice yelling 'bacon!'. Do we know why we do this? Nope, absolutely no idea, and even the generations above us don't know. This one is very much lost in the mists of time. There's a vague idea that it might be some sort of medics' ritual and that it's called 'sneezing', but that's all. This is followed by the club's own version of the traditional folk song, The Old Crows and the usual Auld Lang Syne, with the club variant that after the first verse, we all charge at each other, still with linked arms.
So, in case we all keel over by next year, you know what you need to do!!
Linda Wilson
EXPEDITION TALKS
Matienzo. Photo by Joshitha Shivkumar.
Fancy an expo this summer? Curious to find out more? Or maybe you just want to hear about really, really (really) cool caving? Well, keep an eye out for talks coming up in the new year, run by our very own student cavers who have experienced a variety of amazing expeditions first hand, from Matienzo to Austria, and many more.
WHAT - These talks will include what expo is, planning a trip, funding, what you need to be confident and competent in caving-wise, safety on expo and much more.
WHERE - They'll be held in our very own museum and library rooms, The Stables (next to Senate House)
WHEN - There will be a few talks throughout February to March so keep your eyes peeled in our newsletters and on the group-chats!
We hope to see you all there, whether you’ve done expo before or not! As a fresher last year, expedition was one of the best things I signed up for, and one of the best things I’ve ever done - exploratory caving is hard but majorly rewarding!!!
There''ll also be information available about the sources of grant funding available to UBSS members going on expo and the application deadlines.
P.S. If you would like to get involved in volunteering some time to talk about your expedition experiences, please don’t hesitate to contact Grace or Linda!
Matienzo. Photo by Joshitha Shivkumar.
Fancy an expo this summer? Curious to find out more? Or maybe you just want to hear about really, really (really) cool caving? Well, keep an eye out for talks coming up in the new year, run by our very own student cavers who have experienced a variety of amazing expeditions first hand, from Matienzo to Austria, and many more.
WHAT - These talks will include what expo is, planning a trip, funding, what you need to be confident and competent in caving-wise, safety on expo and much more.
WHERE - They'll be held in our very own museum and library rooms, The Stables (next to Senate House)
WHEN - There will be a few talks throughout February to March so keep your eyes peeled in our newsletters and on the group-chats!
We hope to see you all there, whether you’ve done expo before or not! As a fresher last year, expedition was one of the best things I signed up for, and one of the best things I’ve ever done - exploratory caving is hard but majorly rewarding!!!
There''ll also be information available about the sources of grant funding available to UBSS members going on expo and the application deadlines.
Grace Smith
P.S. If you would like to get involved in volunteering some time to talk about your expedition experiences, please don’t hesitate to contact Grace or Linda!
BEAT THE STRESS - GO CAVING!
Looking down to the Lake from the ledge. Photo by Grace Smith.
The Monday of exam week, stresses were high, so naturally Clive Owen, Emily Wormleighton, Stanley Lewis, Jess Brock and Grace Smith went on trip down Pen Park Hole! Grace recommends this as a way of beating exam blues.
I realised I’d made the right decision to cave rather than revise as soon as Stanley, Jess and Emily came to pick me up and I packed into the car filled with caving kit, the smell of mud and much laughter.
We met Clive just outside Pen Park Hole in Southmead, Bristol, after driving past all the suburban housing covered in illuminating Christmas lights, drizzled in rain - very, very Christmassy!
We entered the cave through a little hatch, leading into a small passage until we hit the first set of ladders. After passing the ladders we made it into the first small chamber filled with bad air – we were all gasping for it! – but nonetheless covered in beautiful, sparkling crystals… Following the crystals, we made it to the top of the 30m ladder pitch! My biggest ladder yet, and a tiring one to say the least.
Just follow the crystals ... Photo by Jess Brock.
A huge thank you to Clive, who set up our ladder, and then descended to the bottom to see if we could make it to ‘the beach’. Pen Park Hole is a cave with a deep lake at the bottom, but the lake often rises and then lowers again mysteriously (if anyone knows the reason it changes, please tell me!). Luckily for us, the water was low enough for us to descend all the way to the bottom!
Climbing the top section of the pitch. Photo by Grace Smith.
Stopping at the half-way point for a traverse to the nice viewpoint over the lake, Emily and I watched Jess descend the ladder all the way to the bottom of the beach! After taking it in turns to belay each other, I descend to the bottom of the pitch for the first time, to meet Stanley and have a paddle in the water. We then all eventually got to the top of the pitch one by one and headed out of the cave, but not leaving before Clive saved a frog from impending doom. A perfect trip for a stressed-out Grace.
So, alas, if you’re ever stressed at the fact you’re a student, just remember, you’re firstly a caver… go cave.
Looking down to the Lake from the ledge. Photo by Grace Smith.
The Monday of exam week, stresses were high, so naturally Clive Owen, Emily Wormleighton, Stanley Lewis, Jess Brock and Grace Smith went on trip down Pen Park Hole! Grace recommends this as a way of beating exam blues.
I realised I’d made the right decision to cave rather than revise as soon as Stanley, Jess and Emily came to pick me up and I packed into the car filled with caving kit, the smell of mud and much laughter.
We met Clive just outside Pen Park Hole in Southmead, Bristol, after driving past all the suburban housing covered in illuminating Christmas lights, drizzled in rain - very, very Christmassy!
We entered the cave through a little hatch, leading into a small passage until we hit the first set of ladders. After passing the ladders we made it into the first small chamber filled with bad air – we were all gasping for it! – but nonetheless covered in beautiful, sparkling crystals… Following the crystals, we made it to the top of the 30m ladder pitch! My biggest ladder yet, and a tiring one to say the least.
Just follow the crystals ... Photo by Jess Brock.
A huge thank you to Clive, who set up our ladder, and then descended to the bottom to see if we could make it to ‘the beach’. Pen Park Hole is a cave with a deep lake at the bottom, but the lake often rises and then lowers again mysteriously (if anyone knows the reason it changes, please tell me!). Luckily for us, the water was low enough for us to descend all the way to the bottom!
Climbing the top section of the pitch. Photo by Grace Smith.
Stopping at the half-way point for a traverse to the nice viewpoint over the lake, Emily and I watched Jess descend the ladder all the way to the bottom of the beach! After taking it in turns to belay each other, I descend to the bottom of the pitch for the first time, to meet Stanley and have a paddle in the water. We then all eventually got to the top of the pitch one by one and headed out of the cave, but not leaving before Clive saved a frog from impending doom. A perfect trip for a stressed-out Grace.
So, alas, if you’re ever stressed at the fact you’re a student, just remember, you’re firstly a caver… go cave.
Grace Smith
CAVES IN THE NEWS
Did several species of hominins co-exist and meet? New evidence from caves in the African Rift Valley raises the possibility three species of hominins might have overlapped and even met each other, although not all experts are convinved by the claims.
Homo floresiensis may have died out when drought forced them to co-exist with modern humans. A new study claims that a reduction in rainfall may have played a sizable role in the extinction of the archaic human species nicknamed the "hobbit".
Late Miocene Arctic warmth and terrestrial climate recorded by North Greenland Speleothems. Research highlights the sensitivity of the Arctic climate system and permafrost to Modest CO2 levels and provides insights into regional responses to orbital forcing.
Unlocking the secrets of ancient Texas cave paintings. Recent research claims to have decoded the most visible, least accessible remnants of prehistoric hunter-gatherer lives using iconographic analysis, data collection, and an innovative dating technique.
Did several species of hominins co-exist and meet? New evidence from caves in the African Rift Valley raises the possibility three species of hominins might have overlapped and even met each other, although not all experts are convinved by the claims.
Homo floresiensis may have died out when drought forced them to co-exist with modern humans. A new study claims that a reduction in rainfall may have played a sizable role in the extinction of the archaic human species nicknamed the "hobbit".
Late Miocene Arctic warmth and terrestrial climate recorded by North Greenland Speleothems. Research highlights the sensitivity of the Arctic climate system and permafrost to Modest CO2 levels and provides insights into regional responses to orbital forcing.
Unlocking the secrets of ancient Texas cave paintings. Recent research claims to have decoded the most visible, least accessible remnants of prehistoric hunter-gatherer lives using iconographic analysis, data collection, and an innovative dating technique.
BOGGARTS AND BROCCOLI
Dan had to take his SRT kit off for this squeeze! Photo by Dan Jackson and used with permission.
The weekend before exam week, Billy Evans, Ben Morgan and Dan Rose arrived at the Bradford Pothole Club with one aim in mind: bottoming Boggart’s Roaring Holes. Dan tells the tale …
Having planned to remain sober over the weekend, saving ourselves for the UBSS Christmas dinner on the Sunday, we resisted the urge to drink ale for about five minutes, before joining the Bradford and singing songs with Rostam.
I had read that Boggarts, extended in 2001, offered a trip that, in the opinion of one UKCaving user, was better than the Berger and, crucially for this exceptionally wet weekend, it fared well in water. After waking up on the Saturday feeling reasonably hungover, we were joined at breakfast by Christopher Holt, who, excited by the prospect of going down the Berger-eclipsing Boggarts, joined our party.
The walk up to the cave enjoyed probably the only half hour of the weekend that was free from rainfall, and we found the well-hidden entrance with ease. The first few pitches of Boggarts are pretty straightforward and completely dry. Rigging a traverse line off a well-placed block leads to a pair of P-bolts that drop into a narrow but pleasant free hang. At the bottom of the first pitch comes the first instance of the defining characteristic of Boggarts – a fork in which you must choose the path of most resistance.
To the right of the bottom of the first pitch flows stomping, attractive passage that leads to the old cave. The 2001 extensions that we were interested in, however, demand that you resist the temptation to choose this friendly path, and instead slot through a loose rift that leads to a narrow section of passage that includes the short, second pitch. I rigged these entrance pitches and, while it included nothing unpleasant, it didn’t include anything pleasant either. This rifty passage lowers to a sideways crawl that emerges abruptly at the top of the third pitch. The slightly awkward rigging here, in which you are given little leverage to balance yourself as you tie your Y-hang, marks the first of Boggart’s awkward pitch-heads, which, along with the forks of most resistance, characterise the cave.
Boggarts Roaring Hole. Photo by Dan Jackson and used with permission.
Still, as things were dry, these pitches were little more than exercises in rope-related problem-solving, isolated from any real pressure. The bottom of the third pitch soon led to the fourth, at which Ben went ahead with his bag, finding it very awkward. It’s an irritatingly shaped pitch-head, in which you emerge from a narrow slot to a foothold-less right-angled corner which you must traverse around before finding the pair of bolts.
‘So far it’s a loose shithole,’ Ben stated, once at the bottom. Indeed, choss was everywhere.
Another short pitch led to a crawl. Here, the cave completely changed character. Up to this point it had all been relatively easy, dry SRT. Now we faced a flat-out crawl. Not a problem. What differentiated this, was that it involved crawling underneath showers of water and as we crawled, the sound of streamway grew louder. The crawl soon led to a series of climbs down and, as before, the path of most resistance was correct, slotting into a wet crawl about halfway down, and continuing through the increasingly cold slog.
Soon we met a tight, bending crawl in elbow-deep water. Negotiating the S-bends, I emerged over the next pitch, where the streamway crashed down to the passage below. Having taken over rigging again, I remembered that Not for the Faint Hearted had suggested building ‘a small dam’ to divert the water here. As I rigged, I asked Ben if he could attempt this, but it soon became clear that this bizarre suggestion was futile.
The bottom of the wet descent landed me on a ledge above another pot. I was at the end of the rope. I looked around, confused, but there appeared to be no way on but down. Had I somehow packed the wrong lengths of rope? Getting cold, I scrutinised the surrounding walls for any obscure way on, and soon found that, once again, instead of following the obvious, easy way down, Boggarts was again demanding that we followed the path of most resistance.
This came in the form of a hidden, horizontal squeeze at floor level that demanded the removal of SRT kit, and emerged above the next pitch. Carefully lowering myself onto a ledge at the opposite end of this small chamber, cognisant of not wanting to fall or drop my harness, I waited for Ben and Billy to come through with the rest of the rope. This marked the beginning of the bitterly cold, final two pitches. Ben rigged these, and while the penultimate pitch was only 24m long, the entire thing was underneath a significant waterfall. Although this was certainly low enough to be safe, it was absolutely freezing. An extremely inhospitable place, and once we got to the bottom of the final pitch we wasted no time turning around and prussiking out as fast as our jammers would take us. Ascending the penultimate pitch, I heard Ben manically sing-shouting to himself to keep warm, and as Billy derigged the entrance pitches he vocally revelled in the euphoria of escaping the shivery conditions below.
Boggarts is a really good trip, and was perfect for the ridiculously wet weekend we went to Yorkshire in. It’s probably usually much drier than the torrential waterfalls that we abseiled through, but it never felt particularly intimidating. Though tough, it provides a wholesome dose of awkward SRT, wet crawling, and precarious squeezing above pitches. As we returned to the Bradford we gorged on a cheese and broccoli dish that Billy had masterfully prepared, happy to have snatched such a great trip from such dire weather conditions.
Dan had to take his SRT kit off for this squeeze! Photo by Dan Jackson and used with permission.
The weekend before exam week, Billy Evans, Ben Morgan and Dan Rose arrived at the Bradford Pothole Club with one aim in mind: bottoming Boggart’s Roaring Holes. Dan tells the tale …
Having planned to remain sober over the weekend, saving ourselves for the UBSS Christmas dinner on the Sunday, we resisted the urge to drink ale for about five minutes, before joining the Bradford and singing songs with Rostam.
I had read that Boggarts, extended in 2001, offered a trip that, in the opinion of one UKCaving user, was better than the Berger and, crucially for this exceptionally wet weekend, it fared well in water. After waking up on the Saturday feeling reasonably hungover, we were joined at breakfast by Christopher Holt, who, excited by the prospect of going down the Berger-eclipsing Boggarts, joined our party.
The walk up to the cave enjoyed probably the only half hour of the weekend that was free from rainfall, and we found the well-hidden entrance with ease. The first few pitches of Boggarts are pretty straightforward and completely dry. Rigging a traverse line off a well-placed block leads to a pair of P-bolts that drop into a narrow but pleasant free hang. At the bottom of the first pitch comes the first instance of the defining characteristic of Boggarts – a fork in which you must choose the path of most resistance.
To the right of the bottom of the first pitch flows stomping, attractive passage that leads to the old cave. The 2001 extensions that we were interested in, however, demand that you resist the temptation to choose this friendly path, and instead slot through a loose rift that leads to a narrow section of passage that includes the short, second pitch. I rigged these entrance pitches and, while it included nothing unpleasant, it didn’t include anything pleasant either. This rifty passage lowers to a sideways crawl that emerges abruptly at the top of the third pitch. The slightly awkward rigging here, in which you are given little leverage to balance yourself as you tie your Y-hang, marks the first of Boggart’s awkward pitch-heads, which, along with the forks of most resistance, characterise the cave.
Boggarts Roaring Hole. Photo by Dan Jackson and used with permission.
Still, as things were dry, these pitches were little more than exercises in rope-related problem-solving, isolated from any real pressure. The bottom of the third pitch soon led to the fourth, at which Ben went ahead with his bag, finding it very awkward. It’s an irritatingly shaped pitch-head, in which you emerge from a narrow slot to a foothold-less right-angled corner which you must traverse around before finding the pair of bolts.
‘So far it’s a loose shithole,’ Ben stated, once at the bottom. Indeed, choss was everywhere.
Another short pitch led to a crawl. Here, the cave completely changed character. Up to this point it had all been relatively easy, dry SRT. Now we faced a flat-out crawl. Not a problem. What differentiated this, was that it involved crawling underneath showers of water and as we crawled, the sound of streamway grew louder. The crawl soon led to a series of climbs down and, as before, the path of most resistance was correct, slotting into a wet crawl about halfway down, and continuing through the increasingly cold slog.
Soon we met a tight, bending crawl in elbow-deep water. Negotiating the S-bends, I emerged over the next pitch, where the streamway crashed down to the passage below. Having taken over rigging again, I remembered that Not for the Faint Hearted had suggested building ‘a small dam’ to divert the water here. As I rigged, I asked Ben if he could attempt this, but it soon became clear that this bizarre suggestion was futile.
The bottom of the wet descent landed me on a ledge above another pot. I was at the end of the rope. I looked around, confused, but there appeared to be no way on but down. Had I somehow packed the wrong lengths of rope? Getting cold, I scrutinised the surrounding walls for any obscure way on, and soon found that, once again, instead of following the obvious, easy way down, Boggarts was again demanding that we followed the path of most resistance.
This came in the form of a hidden, horizontal squeeze at floor level that demanded the removal of SRT kit, and emerged above the next pitch. Carefully lowering myself onto a ledge at the opposite end of this small chamber, cognisant of not wanting to fall or drop my harness, I waited for Ben and Billy to come through with the rest of the rope. This marked the beginning of the bitterly cold, final two pitches. Ben rigged these, and while the penultimate pitch was only 24m long, the entire thing was underneath a significant waterfall. Although this was certainly low enough to be safe, it was absolutely freezing. An extremely inhospitable place, and once we got to the bottom of the final pitch we wasted no time turning around and prussiking out as fast as our jammers would take us. Ascending the penultimate pitch, I heard Ben manically sing-shouting to himself to keep warm, and as Billy derigged the entrance pitches he vocally revelled in the euphoria of escaping the shivery conditions below.
Boggarts is a really good trip, and was perfect for the ridiculously wet weekend we went to Yorkshire in. It’s probably usually much drier than the torrential waterfalls that we abseiled through, but it never felt particularly intimidating. Though tough, it provides a wholesome dose of awkward SRT, wet crawling, and precarious squeezing above pitches. As we returned to the Bradford we gorged on a cheese and broccoli dish that Billy had masterfully prepared, happy to have snatched such a great trip from such dire weather conditions.
Dan Rose
BOUNCING DOWN THE BERGER
The entrance to the Gouffre Berger.
Dan Rose, Billy Evans and Ben Morgan took advantage of the annual Gouffre Berger Camp for a memorable trip down one of the world's finest caves. They weren't expecting the random Bulgarian, but then no one expects random Bulgarians. Let Dan explain, with the aid of photos taken by the team ...
The Gouffre Berger is probably the most famous cave in the world. The first to descend below a thousand metres, it holds a place more special within the history of spelaeology than any other site on Earth. For years I had been told of its unique allure; ‘The best sporting trip in the world’, one caver told me; ‘Ridiculously, unbelievably spectacular’, said another. Andrew Atkinson, meanwhile, had pejoratively termed it an ‘old man’s cave’. Beautiful AND easy! What more could I ask for?
Hence, Billy Evans, Ben Morgan, Jasper Crab (Aber CC) and I planned a relaxing getaway to the Vercors to join Remy Limange on his annual ‘Berger Camp’, when the entire cave is pre-rigged for two weeks. This would allow us to bottom the cave without spending countless trips rigging it ourselves. Offensive to the purists perhaps, but this allowed us to enjoy the Berger together amid busy summer schedules, and to meet cavers from all over Europe and beyond. Driving to Grenoble, we spent our first day at the camp enjoying the surrounding Via Ferrate and taking part in a Petzl-organised event in which we all won disparate, randomly allocated prizes. I won a glorified plastic nappy (which is apparently designed to protect your bum while caving?), while Billy won a pro-traxion, which he immediately tried to sell to me for £160. Fortune is a cruel thing.
The night before our Berger attempt we made two baguettes each, stuffed with cheese, hummus and olives, and arranged the various bits of chocolate and miscellaneous snacks we were taking. Having just spent two weeks in Ario, my plan was to descend the Berger in the most relaxing way possible, maximising pleasure at any opportunity. I manufactured what were some of the tastiest sandwiches I had ever eaten, complemented by intensely indulgent flapjack and chocolate fridgecakes. Typically, my actions embody a strange complex of mine where I neglect anything that furthers the pursuit of comfort or pleasure. This frustrating trait means I live my life in unnecessary discomfort, realising only that I am living uncomfortably when I consciously compare my conditions to others. This time I vowed to break from this. The Berger would be leisurely and pleasurable.
We got to the entrance some time before midday and descended the first few pitches. Right from the beginning, though the passage is not large, the Berger feels a friendly place. There is nothing awkward, merely meandering traverses followed by large, easy pitches that drop into impressive chambers. When it’s pre-rigged, it’s a jolly. Speaking almost exclusively in French accents, we shouted ‘mon mon, oui oui! Jassie le Crab! Je Voudrais le speleologie! Bof!’. This never got old, and we probably spoke a strange form of pidgin-French as much as we spoke English all the way to the end of the Pseudo-Siphon.
Descending the final one of the entrance pitches, the 42 metre deep ‘Aldo’s Pitch’, we broke through to the Petzl Gallery, named after Fernand Petzl’s work in the 1950s, though, to the uneducated, this likely sounds like tacky product placement. The drop into here is fantastic, and is where the character of the Berger really kicks in. After quite a while of pleasant, but pretty, routine meandering and pitch-descents in roomy, but not large, passage, you drop down into a vast expanse, with the void extending far ahead, beckoning you deep into the belly of the beast. Stomping down the sublimity, we made fast progress to Lake Cadoux, passing fine stalagmites all the way that dwarf 99% of formations found in British caves.
Passing the ‘lake’ which was dried up, our surroundings became only more gorgeous, dropping down the small ‘Little General’ pitch, apparently named after a small, angry man who would often shout at his comrades when exploring the Berger, and descending a short Tyrolean traverse – the first of a few that require clipping a pulley to a tensioned rope above the descent rope, to guide one’s movement away from rub points or water, we reached the great rubble heap.
This blows your socks off, the Sofirn’s turbo mode able only to light up a small fraction of the heap’s upper slopes. It’s a mountain underground, and walking down its boulders feels more like the end of a day out in Snowdonia than one spent underground. A headtorch at the top of the slope, viewed from the bottom, feels like looking up at a satellite. The fact that this is part of a space inside a mountain, that for whatever reason happened to form, is marvellous. Just awesome.
The team in the Hall of the Thirteen. Left to right: Billy Evans. Ben Morgan, Dan Rose and Jasper Crab.
Shortly after descending the rubble heap, we reached the Hall of the Thirteen, where camp 1 is located. This is the most famous location in the Berger, with its thirteen pristine stalagmites and clear pools forming the popular imagination of Berger imagery. It’s a serene place and we were pleasantly surprised to discover that, contrary to statements from some, the camp here does not smell! Years of clean-up operations here have restored it to its natural beauty, and it feels untouched by any human-inflicted pollution.
We sat down at the camp next to a group of Bulgarians who were lighting some cigarettes and I took the first bite out of my first baguette.
‘Hello’, came an Eastern European voice. ‘You go to the bottom?’
‘Yes,’ we replied. ‘All the way to the end of the Pseudo-Siphon, 1,122 metres…
‘OK…’ the voice pondered. ‘I… uh… I come with you?’
Bemused, we asked him why he didn’t want to descend with his group.
‘They tired’, he said as he pointed to the three women sat next to him, all exhaling puffs of smoke.
This was Vasily, a police officer from Sofia who we proceeded to adopt for the rest of our journey. A mysterious man, he initially introduced himself under the alias of ‘Vince’, and refused any offer of photography, actively shying away from any videos we took. Bit of fun, we thought, meeting someone new, so we agreed to take him to the bottom with us, and continued our journey.
Vasily, International Man of Mystery.
Passing through more spectacular passage, we dropped down some more pitches, before reaching the Canals. Here, the Berger undergoes a complete change of character, becoming much more strenuous and exciting. The canals are a long section of handline traverses over flowing water that are most easily done by liberally weighting your cows tails, with a few Tiroleans at various points. This leads to some of the best pitches in the cave, huge drops alongside crashing waterfalls which you descend enamoured by a constant buzz of inspired awe. It’s fantastic.
Throughout all of this, Vasily kept up with us very well, leading us to all assume he was just as competent as any of us. The first sign that something was amiss came while descending the Grand Canyon, another colossal slope that comes shortly after the pitches mentioned above. Here, we passed another Bulgarian group, and one of them stopped and looked perplexed as soon as he saw Vasily. They exchanged some choice words in Bulgarian, with the unknown Bulgarian mentioning something about ‘women at the camp’. We speculated that perhaps he had abandoned a group he had been tasked with looking after, but had no real evidence to back this up, so simply resumed our journey without thinking much of it.
Dan Rose, having fun.
Now we were near the bottom. Here, some exciting traverses led over the top of the final two pitches – Little Monkey, another name that, to a slightly more niche audience, could be mistaken for product placement – and Hurricane. These are wonderful descents, with Hurricane’s line adjacent to an impressive waterfall. I descended first, and got to the bottom feeling truly chuffed, looking forward to embracing my friends, Billy, Jasper, Ben and … Vasily?
Unfortunately, Vasily never did make it down Hurricane. To Ben’s horror, literally seconds before Vasily was going to rig his descender and reach the bottom of the Berger, another caver reached the pitch head from below, having ascended a parallel rope. A large, grizzly Bulgarian, with ‘Kitten’ written in tape across his helmet in Cyrillic, took one look at Vasily and exploded with rage.
‘WHAT’… ‘WHY YOU HERE?’ Eyes bulging, he glared at Ben. ‘HIM. BEGINNER. WHY HE HERE?’
Commence five minutes of enraged Bulgarian, unintelligible to Ben, but extremely angry. Ben made a timid effort to try to convince Kitten to let poor Vasily descend the final pitch considering he’d come all this way, but Kitten continued shouting. Eventually, Vasily, soul and confidence deflated, looked at the ground with a sad frown, and made his way back up Little Monkey, to be escorted out of the cave by this apparent figure of enraged authority. We were in disbelief at what we had witnessed, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Still, we had made it to the bottom of the Berger, and it had been one of the best trips any of us had ever done. Only one obstacle remained: the Pseudo-Siphon. This is a section right at the end of the Berger, which most people do not attempt, the passage that leads up to the sump. This demands wading through increasingly deep water, followed by about a 20 metre swim to the very end of the cave. My completionist instincts demanded that we saw it through to the bitter end. With the water temperature lying at a crisp 6 degrees Celsius, this was not going to be fun. Off came our clothes, not wanting to complete our ascent in wet gear, until we were all butt naked.
Our heroes on the way to the very end, preserving public decency, naturally.
The Pseudo-Siphon begins with traversing over the streamway until the walls get too far apart from each other, forcing you to drop into the water. This wading then continues for about ten minutes, and is mostly at chest height. Following this, you reach a short dry section, in which you assess your body temperature and evaluate whether completing the rest of the passage remains a good idea. At the end of this dry passage comes the real test: a 20 metre swim that has a dive line running through the first half, but nothing for the second half, forcing you to rely just on your cold-water swimming ability to stay afloat. Here Jasper turned back as he couldn’t swim, while Billy swam the first few metres, began to splutter, and turned around, wishing to avoid death by cold shock. Ben and I, meanwhile, braved the chill and swam to the end, climbed onto the land bank just before the actual sump, celebrated our small victory of seeing the unimpressive end of the cave, and swam back before any further cold could bite us. On the return swim my left shoulder subluxed, which forced me to knee bar against the wall to stay afloat while I popped it back into place; an unpleasant, but controllable, experience.
After this we slipped back into our gear and began the long journey out. On the way we caught up with the Bulgarians who had exiled Vasily to the front, under supervision, but socially isolated.
Overall, the Berger was a fantastically euphoric experience and I highly recommend all able cavers to experience it for themselves. The following days were spent shitting ourselves and vomiting as we had picked up bugs from drinking unpurified water from the Starless River. Learn from our mistakes and do not do this – bring chlorine! Vasily, meanwhile, was kicked out of his club and seemingly ostracised from all Bulgarian caving. We wish him well.
Dan Rose
The entrance to the Gouffre Berger.
Dan Rose, Billy Evans and Ben Morgan took advantage of the annual Gouffre Berger Camp for a memorable trip down one of the world's finest caves. They weren't expecting the random Bulgarian, but then no one expects random Bulgarians. Let Dan explain, with the aid of photos taken by the team ...
The Gouffre Berger is probably the most famous cave in the world. The first to descend below a thousand metres, it holds a place more special within the history of spelaeology than any other site on Earth. For years I had been told of its unique allure; ‘The best sporting trip in the world’, one caver told me; ‘Ridiculously, unbelievably spectacular’, said another. Andrew Atkinson, meanwhile, had pejoratively termed it an ‘old man’s cave’. Beautiful AND easy! What more could I ask for?
Hence, Billy Evans, Ben Morgan, Jasper Crab (Aber CC) and I planned a relaxing getaway to the Vercors to join Remy Limange on his annual ‘Berger Camp’, when the entire cave is pre-rigged for two weeks. This would allow us to bottom the cave without spending countless trips rigging it ourselves. Offensive to the purists perhaps, but this allowed us to enjoy the Berger together amid busy summer schedules, and to meet cavers from all over Europe and beyond. Driving to Grenoble, we spent our first day at the camp enjoying the surrounding Via Ferrate and taking part in a Petzl-organised event in which we all won disparate, randomly allocated prizes. I won a glorified plastic nappy (which is apparently designed to protect your bum while caving?), while Billy won a pro-traxion, which he immediately tried to sell to me for £160. Fortune is a cruel thing.
The night before our Berger attempt we made two baguettes each, stuffed with cheese, hummus and olives, and arranged the various bits of chocolate and miscellaneous snacks we were taking. Having just spent two weeks in Ario, my plan was to descend the Berger in the most relaxing way possible, maximising pleasure at any opportunity. I manufactured what were some of the tastiest sandwiches I had ever eaten, complemented by intensely indulgent flapjack and chocolate fridgecakes. Typically, my actions embody a strange complex of mine where I neglect anything that furthers the pursuit of comfort or pleasure. This frustrating trait means I live my life in unnecessary discomfort, realising only that I am living uncomfortably when I consciously compare my conditions to others. This time I vowed to break from this. The Berger would be leisurely and pleasurable.
We got to the entrance some time before midday and descended the first few pitches. Right from the beginning, though the passage is not large, the Berger feels a friendly place. There is nothing awkward, merely meandering traverses followed by large, easy pitches that drop into impressive chambers. When it’s pre-rigged, it’s a jolly. Speaking almost exclusively in French accents, we shouted ‘mon mon, oui oui! Jassie le Crab! Je Voudrais le speleologie! Bof!’. This never got old, and we probably spoke a strange form of pidgin-French as much as we spoke English all the way to the end of the Pseudo-Siphon.
Descending the final one of the entrance pitches, the 42 metre deep ‘Aldo’s Pitch’, we broke through to the Petzl Gallery, named after Fernand Petzl’s work in the 1950s, though, to the uneducated, this likely sounds like tacky product placement. The drop into here is fantastic, and is where the character of the Berger really kicks in. After quite a while of pleasant, but pretty, routine meandering and pitch-descents in roomy, but not large, passage, you drop down into a vast expanse, with the void extending far ahead, beckoning you deep into the belly of the beast. Stomping down the sublimity, we made fast progress to Lake Cadoux, passing fine stalagmites all the way that dwarf 99% of formations found in British caves.
Passing the ‘lake’ which was dried up, our surroundings became only more gorgeous, dropping down the small ‘Little General’ pitch, apparently named after a small, angry man who would often shout at his comrades when exploring the Berger, and descending a short Tyrolean traverse – the first of a few that require clipping a pulley to a tensioned rope above the descent rope, to guide one’s movement away from rub points or water, we reached the great rubble heap.
This blows your socks off, the Sofirn’s turbo mode able only to light up a small fraction of the heap’s upper slopes. It’s a mountain underground, and walking down its boulders feels more like the end of a day out in Snowdonia than one spent underground. A headtorch at the top of the slope, viewed from the bottom, feels like looking up at a satellite. The fact that this is part of a space inside a mountain, that for whatever reason happened to form, is marvellous. Just awesome.
The team in the Hall of the Thirteen. Left to right: Billy Evans. Ben Morgan, Dan Rose and Jasper Crab.
Shortly after descending the rubble heap, we reached the Hall of the Thirteen, where camp 1 is located. This is the most famous location in the Berger, with its thirteen pristine stalagmites and clear pools forming the popular imagination of Berger imagery. It’s a serene place and we were pleasantly surprised to discover that, contrary to statements from some, the camp here does not smell! Years of clean-up operations here have restored it to its natural beauty, and it feels untouched by any human-inflicted pollution.
We sat down at the camp next to a group of Bulgarians who were lighting some cigarettes and I took the first bite out of my first baguette.
‘Hello’, came an Eastern European voice. ‘You go to the bottom?’
‘Yes,’ we replied. ‘All the way to the end of the Pseudo-Siphon, 1,122 metres…
‘OK…’ the voice pondered. ‘I… uh… I come with you?’
Bemused, we asked him why he didn’t want to descend with his group.
‘They tired’, he said as he pointed to the three women sat next to him, all exhaling puffs of smoke.
This was Vasily, a police officer from Sofia who we proceeded to adopt for the rest of our journey. A mysterious man, he initially introduced himself under the alias of ‘Vince’, and refused any offer of photography, actively shying away from any videos we took. Bit of fun, we thought, meeting someone new, so we agreed to take him to the bottom with us, and continued our journey.
Vasily, International Man of Mystery.
Passing through more spectacular passage, we dropped down some more pitches, before reaching the Canals. Here, the Berger undergoes a complete change of character, becoming much more strenuous and exciting. The canals are a long section of handline traverses over flowing water that are most easily done by liberally weighting your cows tails, with a few Tiroleans at various points. This leads to some of the best pitches in the cave, huge drops alongside crashing waterfalls which you descend enamoured by a constant buzz of inspired awe. It’s fantastic.
Throughout all of this, Vasily kept up with us very well, leading us to all assume he was just as competent as any of us. The first sign that something was amiss came while descending the Grand Canyon, another colossal slope that comes shortly after the pitches mentioned above. Here, we passed another Bulgarian group, and one of them stopped and looked perplexed as soon as he saw Vasily. They exchanged some choice words in Bulgarian, with the unknown Bulgarian mentioning something about ‘women at the camp’. We speculated that perhaps he had abandoned a group he had been tasked with looking after, but had no real evidence to back this up, so simply resumed our journey without thinking much of it.
Dan Rose, having fun.
Now we were near the bottom. Here, some exciting traverses led over the top of the final two pitches – Little Monkey, another name that, to a slightly more niche audience, could be mistaken for product placement – and Hurricane. These are wonderful descents, with Hurricane’s line adjacent to an impressive waterfall. I descended first, and got to the bottom feeling truly chuffed, looking forward to embracing my friends, Billy, Jasper, Ben and … Vasily?
Unfortunately, Vasily never did make it down Hurricane. To Ben’s horror, literally seconds before Vasily was going to rig his descender and reach the bottom of the Berger, another caver reached the pitch head from below, having ascended a parallel rope. A large, grizzly Bulgarian, with ‘Kitten’ written in tape across his helmet in Cyrillic, took one look at Vasily and exploded with rage.
‘WHAT’… ‘WHY YOU HERE?’ Eyes bulging, he glared at Ben. ‘HIM. BEGINNER. WHY HE HERE?’
Commence five minutes of enraged Bulgarian, unintelligible to Ben, but extremely angry. Ben made a timid effort to try to convince Kitten to let poor Vasily descend the final pitch considering he’d come all this way, but Kitten continued shouting. Eventually, Vasily, soul and confidence deflated, looked at the ground with a sad frown, and made his way back up Little Monkey, to be escorted out of the cave by this apparent figure of enraged authority. We were in disbelief at what we had witnessed, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Still, we had made it to the bottom of the Berger, and it had been one of the best trips any of us had ever done. Only one obstacle remained: the Pseudo-Siphon. This is a section right at the end of the Berger, which most people do not attempt, the passage that leads up to the sump. This demands wading through increasingly deep water, followed by about a 20 metre swim to the very end of the cave. My completionist instincts demanded that we saw it through to the bitter end. With the water temperature lying at a crisp 6 degrees Celsius, this was not going to be fun. Off came our clothes, not wanting to complete our ascent in wet gear, until we were all butt naked.
Our heroes on the way to the very end, preserving public decency, naturally.
The Pseudo-Siphon begins with traversing over the streamway until the walls get too far apart from each other, forcing you to drop into the water. This wading then continues for about ten minutes, and is mostly at chest height. Following this, you reach a short dry section, in which you assess your body temperature and evaluate whether completing the rest of the passage remains a good idea. At the end of this dry passage comes the real test: a 20 metre swim that has a dive line running through the first half, but nothing for the second half, forcing you to rely just on your cold-water swimming ability to stay afloat. Here Jasper turned back as he couldn’t swim, while Billy swam the first few metres, began to splutter, and turned around, wishing to avoid death by cold shock. Ben and I, meanwhile, braved the chill and swam to the end, climbed onto the land bank just before the actual sump, celebrated our small victory of seeing the unimpressive end of the cave, and swam back before any further cold could bite us. On the return swim my left shoulder subluxed, which forced me to knee bar against the wall to stay afloat while I popped it back into place; an unpleasant, but controllable, experience.
After this we slipped back into our gear and began the long journey out. On the way we caught up with the Bulgarians who had exiled Vasily to the front, under supervision, but socially isolated.
Overall, the Berger was a fantastically euphoric experience and I highly recommend all able cavers to experience it for themselves. The following days were spent shitting ourselves and vomiting as we had picked up bugs from drinking unpurified water from the Starless River. Learn from our mistakes and do not do this – bring chlorine! Vasily, meanwhile, was kicked out of his club and seemingly ostracised from all Bulgarian caving. We wish him well.
Dan Rose
TIGHT HOLES v. BBC (BAD BAT CHOKE)
The Blue Greenies, Daren Cilau. Photo by Dan Rose.
A tale of the journey of five UBSS members to the end of Daren Cilau, told by Ben Morgan, with photos by Ben, Dan, Joe and Kenneth.
On Friday evening after the last day of work before Christmas, Stanley Lewis, Joe Bidie, Kenneth McIver, Dan Rose and I tucked into a feast around my table in Bristol. Surrounded by a cornucopia of drybags, tacklesacks, and instant porridge, this curry would be our last meal above ground until Sunday. We planned to camp two nights at Hard Rock Café, with Saturday being a push to the final reaches of the cave followed by a subterranean Christmas party.
Uncharacteristically, the trip has been well prepped on Thursday and we set off to Wales with hopes of reaching Hard Rock by 1 or 2 am. Alas, things could never be that easy.
Ten minutes away from Whitewalls, panic erupted in the back seats of my car. Someone had forgotten their oversuit. We pulled over and a quick search showed that it was most definitely nowhere to be seen.
Now forgetting your oversuit and only realising after driving to the next country over is one of the most shameful fresher moves that can be made. To not embarrass the perpetrator further I have agreed to not name and shame them in this writeup. I can however reveal that their name begins with S and ends with anley Lewis.
I drove back to Bristol and picked up the suit. As punishment, the guilty party agreed to take the largest bag both ways through the entrance crawl.
We reached Whitewalls at half past midnight and Dan, Stan and I made a very tired journey to Hard Rock where Joe and Kenneth had already set up camp. We opened up our drybags with the desperation of kids on Christmas day and discovered that all our clothes and sleeping bags were nice and dry.
By about 6am we were ready to sleep. We were awoken for a brief chat with a group of BPC members who had left early in the morning to bounce the Blue Greenies. To their amusement we were still only just getting out of bed when they returned to Hard Rock.
What the well dressed cavers are wearing! Left, Dan Rose,; right, Ben Morgan.
After a nice leisurely breakfast at about 5pm we were ready to set off towards Restaurant at the End of the Universe. With only some snacks and water bottles, we made pleasant progress through the Ovaltinies and Rocksteady Cruise. Acupuncture Passage was as always disappointingly blunt and soon we were at the bottom of the Micron facing the fork between the Ankle Grinder Bypass and Borrowed Boots Streamway. At this point, cavers must note that the CSS route description is quite confusing. It tells you to take the right turn but also to avoid the "sirens’ song of rushing water". However, the right turn is where the rushing water can be heard and leads the wrong way to Borrowed Boots Streamway and Psychotronic Strangeways. Instead, Ankle Grinder and the correct way on is to the left. I assume this confusion comes from twisting around in the Micron. So from some perspective the route description is probably correct but future groups should take care here.
Ankle Grinder Bypass was pleasant and its almost Swildonesque nature brought special happiness to Joe Bidie. Soon we were at the duck which was pleasantly low allowing us to all get to Restaurant with a dry torso.
Dan Rose and Ben Morgan admiring the Blue Greenies.
We ate some snacks at Restaurant and then took the detour to see the pretty Blue Greenies. They are wonderful formations and I highly recommend giving them a visit if you’re ever in the area. The BPC crew said they’re better than Neverland in Upper Flood. I wouldn’t go quite that far but they’re lovely.
We passed back through Restaurant and set off through the back of the camp through some lovely phreatic tube and shortly were at the top of the ladder over big chamber. Finally we had reached ground which was new to all the members of the group. Big Chamber is phenomenally large.
Just chillin'. Left to right: Stanley Lewis, Ben Morgan, Dan Rose, Kenneth McIver.
The Inca Trail, Machu Pichu, and Agua Colorado were all lovely with an amazing amount of wide open passage and walking considering how far into the cave you are at this point. Trouser Filler was unpleasant but we avoided the Warren and were soon at the Friday the 13th series.
After some easy caving, we reached a small chamber with some digging supplies and a first aid kit. There were two obvious ways on and unfortunately we took the right hand turn into what turned out to be Bad Bat Choke. Descriptions of this had warned of bad air. We followed a series of dug crawls and the only squeezes in the cave which forced me to take off my helmet. The ceiling was also loose and in one of the squeezes, which I tacked on my back, a fist sized rock fell off and landed on my cheekbone. Fortunately, the squeeze was tight enough that it only had a couple centimeters to fall and did no harm. The air worsened as we continued until we reached a BEC sticker and a sad face drawn onto the wall in mud - a bad omen. Naturally, we wrote MCCB in the mud next the sticker. Joe and I continued with Dan following until to our horror the passage ended at a hopeless looking dig. Clearly this was not the way and we had taken a wrong turn. At this point ,with a splitting headache, Joe and I played a game of underground twister to turn ourselves around at the dig face and we headed back. Joe, Dan and I got back to the antechamber desperate for a final push to Spaderunner, but alas morale had dropped low enough with one of the group that they asked to turn back to Hard Rock. We considered drawing lots and splitting the group so some of us could reach the end but we decided this would be a shame so instead all turned back together.
Joe Bidie by the Choke. Of course he's enjoying himself!
The way back to Hard Rock was uneventful and soon we were sitting around at camp marveling at the delightful rations we had brought in. We all consumed as much curry as could fit and tucked into our grog rations.
Recipe Excerpt:
Ben’s Glorious Grog (Victory Grog)
Ingredients per person
1 plastic bottle
1 metre Duct tape
150ml Whiskey
150ml Smirnoff vodka
150ml Dark rum
~8TBS brown sugar
1 lime
Method
Take the duct tape and cover the entire outside of the bottle - this will prevent the it from piercing and wasting your rations. Dissolve the sugar in some of the spirits and pour it into the bottle. Squeeze in the lime and add the rest of the spirits.
To Serve
Best drunk watered down with some cave water and a dash of cordial from the hard rock bar.
It is rumored that as much as 5 litres of this grog has been secreted in hiding places underneath the Llangattock escarpment by Ben Morgan and Dan Rose
Anyway, back to the trip. After the plentiful meal at Hard Rock, we fell asleep and slept in. By the afternoon, we headed out and had an uneventful journey to the surface. On the way out, I went first and managed my all time entrance crawl record of 45 minutes with a full tackle sack (shame on the naughty boys and girls who do the crawl with zero tackle and proudly write their speed records on the gear store wall beating the times of those who dragged full weekend camping kit).
The midnight shower in Whitewalls was bliss and after an hour or so we were nice and warm and ready for the drive back to Bristol. All in all, it was a lovely pre Christmas send off to what has been a great year of caving.
The Blue Greenies, Daren Cilau. Photo by Dan Rose.
A tale of the journey of five UBSS members to the end of Daren Cilau, told by Ben Morgan, with photos by Ben, Dan, Joe and Kenneth.
On Friday evening after the last day of work before Christmas, Stanley Lewis, Joe Bidie, Kenneth McIver, Dan Rose and I tucked into a feast around my table in Bristol. Surrounded by a cornucopia of drybags, tacklesacks, and instant porridge, this curry would be our last meal above ground until Sunday. We planned to camp two nights at Hard Rock Café, with Saturday being a push to the final reaches of the cave followed by a subterranean Christmas party.
Uncharacteristically, the trip has been well prepped on Thursday and we set off to Wales with hopes of reaching Hard Rock by 1 or 2 am. Alas, things could never be that easy.
Ten minutes away from Whitewalls, panic erupted in the back seats of my car. Someone had forgotten their oversuit. We pulled over and a quick search showed that it was most definitely nowhere to be seen.
Now forgetting your oversuit and only realising after driving to the next country over is one of the most shameful fresher moves that can be made. To not embarrass the perpetrator further I have agreed to not name and shame them in this writeup. I can however reveal that their name begins with S and ends with anley Lewis.
I drove back to Bristol and picked up the suit. As punishment, the guilty party agreed to take the largest bag both ways through the entrance crawl.
We reached Whitewalls at half past midnight and Dan, Stan and I made a very tired journey to Hard Rock where Joe and Kenneth had already set up camp. We opened up our drybags with the desperation of kids on Christmas day and discovered that all our clothes and sleeping bags were nice and dry.
By about 6am we were ready to sleep. We were awoken for a brief chat with a group of BPC members who had left early in the morning to bounce the Blue Greenies. To their amusement we were still only just getting out of bed when they returned to Hard Rock.
What the well dressed cavers are wearing! Left, Dan Rose,; right, Ben Morgan.After a nice leisurely breakfast at about 5pm we were ready to set off towards Restaurant at the End of the Universe. With only some snacks and water bottles, we made pleasant progress through the Ovaltinies and Rocksteady Cruise. Acupuncture Passage was as always disappointingly blunt and soon we were at the bottom of the Micron facing the fork between the Ankle Grinder Bypass and Borrowed Boots Streamway. At this point, cavers must note that the CSS route description is quite confusing. It tells you to take the right turn but also to avoid the "sirens’ song of rushing water". However, the right turn is where the rushing water can be heard and leads the wrong way to Borrowed Boots Streamway and Psychotronic Strangeways. Instead, Ankle Grinder and the correct way on is to the left. I assume this confusion comes from twisting around in the Micron. So from some perspective the route description is probably correct but future groups should take care here.
Ankle Grinder Bypass was pleasant and its almost Swildonesque nature brought special happiness to Joe Bidie. Soon we were at the duck which was pleasantly low allowing us to all get to Restaurant with a dry torso.
Dan Rose and Ben Morgan admiring the Blue Greenies.
We ate some snacks at Restaurant and then took the detour to see the pretty Blue Greenies. They are wonderful formations and I highly recommend giving them a visit if you’re ever in the area. The BPC crew said they’re better than Neverland in Upper Flood. I wouldn’t go quite that far but they’re lovely.
We passed back through Restaurant and set off through the back of the camp through some lovely phreatic tube and shortly were at the top of the ladder over big chamber. Finally we had reached ground which was new to all the members of the group. Big Chamber is phenomenally large.
Just chillin'. Left to right: Stanley Lewis, Ben Morgan, Dan Rose, Kenneth McIver.
The Inca Trail, Machu Pichu, and Agua Colorado were all lovely with an amazing amount of wide open passage and walking considering how far into the cave you are at this point. Trouser Filler was unpleasant but we avoided the Warren and were soon at the Friday the 13th series.
After some easy caving, we reached a small chamber with some digging supplies and a first aid kit. There were two obvious ways on and unfortunately we took the right hand turn into what turned out to be Bad Bat Choke. Descriptions of this had warned of bad air. We followed a series of dug crawls and the only squeezes in the cave which forced me to take off my helmet. The ceiling was also loose and in one of the squeezes, which I tacked on my back, a fist sized rock fell off and landed on my cheekbone. Fortunately, the squeeze was tight enough that it only had a couple centimeters to fall and did no harm. The air worsened as we continued until we reached a BEC sticker and a sad face drawn onto the wall in mud - a bad omen. Naturally, we wrote MCCB in the mud next the sticker. Joe and I continued with Dan following until to our horror the passage ended at a hopeless looking dig. Clearly this was not the way and we had taken a wrong turn. At this point ,with a splitting headache, Joe and I played a game of underground twister to turn ourselves around at the dig face and we headed back. Joe, Dan and I got back to the antechamber desperate for a final push to Spaderunner, but alas morale had dropped low enough with one of the group that they asked to turn back to Hard Rock. We considered drawing lots and splitting the group so some of us could reach the end but we decided this would be a shame so instead all turned back together.
Joe Bidie by the Choke. Of course he's enjoying himself!
The way back to Hard Rock was uneventful and soon we were sitting around at camp marveling at the delightful rations we had brought in. We all consumed as much curry as could fit and tucked into our grog rations.
Recipe Excerpt:
Ben’s Glorious Grog (Victory Grog)
Ingredients per person
1 plastic bottle
1 metre Duct tape
150ml Whiskey
150ml Smirnoff vodka
150ml Dark rum
~8TBS brown sugar
1 lime
Method
Take the duct tape and cover the entire outside of the bottle - this will prevent the it from piercing and wasting your rations. Dissolve the sugar in some of the spirits and pour it into the bottle. Squeeze in the lime and add the rest of the spirits.
To Serve
Best drunk watered down with some cave water and a dash of cordial from the hard rock bar.
It is rumored that as much as 5 litres of this grog has been secreted in hiding places underneath the Llangattock escarpment by Ben Morgan and Dan Rose
Anyway, back to the trip. After the plentiful meal at Hard Rock, we fell asleep and slept in. By the afternoon, we headed out and had an uneventful journey to the surface. On the way out, I went first and managed my all time entrance crawl record of 45 minutes with a full tackle sack (shame on the naughty boys and girls who do the crawl with zero tackle and proudly write their speed records on the gear store wall beating the times of those who dragged full weekend camping kit).
The midnight shower in Whitewalls was bliss and after an hour or so we were nice and warm and ready for the drive back to Bristol. All in all, it was a lovely pre Christmas send off to what has been a great year of caving.
Ben Morgan
GROTTE DE CARAMEN, PERIGORD
Old flowstone wall on the east side of the main passage.
On their latest trip to France, Linda and Graham finally fulfilled a quest that's frustrated them for over 20 years, as Linda relates ...
Most French caving areas have reasonably up to date guidebooks. Sadly, the Dordogne is not one of them. The nearest we come to it in our adopted homeland, is Pierre Vidal's Cavernes en Périgord (second edition, 1987). Graham and I bought our copy of this sometime in the mid '90s when we first started visiting this area. In 2007, after one of those plans hatched on the back of several bottles of red wine, we bought a plot of land in the Coly valley and had a house built. At about the same time, we went on a hunt for a nearby cave, mentioned on page 139 of Vidal's book, Grotte de Caramen. The only information we had to go on was:
And the survey:
We thought we'd narrowed down a search area to the area shown in red on the extract from Google Maps below. The yellow cross is a very approximate marker for where the cave turned out to be.
This heralded many, many walks in company with many friends including Tony Boycott, Andrew Atkinson and Juliet Morse (who walked the whole valley down to the main road to Montignac, and Louis Lawrence (who vaguely remembered going there with some local friends about 15 years ago when he was only in his early teens) but all without success. The woodland is the usual fairly young deciduous (mainly oak) woodland, with a fairly dense underbrush in places and large patches of bramble, so walking it systematically is hard and you can be within a couple of metres of a cave and not notice it. And yes, that was the case.
Linda and Gilles Dulon in the Grotte de Caramen.
Eventually, during a visit to the former neighbour of friends who recently sold their second home here, I thought to ask them for local knowledge as I knew Gilles and Ghislaine Dulon had always lived in this area. I started to get my hopes up at that point, as they'd both heard of the cave, but knew it by the name of Caramel, not Caramen. We'd also heard that form of the name when making enquiries of someone in the Speleo Club de Périgord who had heard of it but didn't know the location, but did tell us it had been extended beyond the length record in Vidal's book. Ghislaine promised to make enquiries and less than a week later I got an email to say they'd found it and Gilles could take us there!
Yes, it really does exist!
With the aide of Gilles' Jeep, we got to a place on the track, right in the middle of the area we'd searched loads of time. The marker, as told to Ghislaine by the landowner, was a lone oak tree close to the track on the right hand side (yes, one oak tree in a forest of the blasted things!), then walk 14 paces back up the track and look for a minuscule, overgrown path, no more than an animal track, leading straight up the hill and follow it until you come to a very obvious entrance at the bottom of a small cliff. We were absolutely bloody overjoyed, and knew we'd probably thrashed our way through the undergrowth probably no more than four or five metres away from the elusive spot.
Graham looking towards the northerly end of the cave.
We scurried into the hole like rats down the proverbial drain and were really surprised by the size of the entrance passage. Straight ahead let down to a descending, obviously dug tube, and to the left was a maze of walking sized passages that gradually diminished to crawls. We took loads of photos, amused ourselves with the rather splendid 'cave art' and vowed to return with an oversuit, kneepads and survey gear.
The main westerly passage. I know I shouldn't approve of modern graffiti, but these were rather cute, particularly the tortoise!
Ghislaine says the owner is happy for us to go back, and we have his phone number, so now we know where to go, we will certainly be back. I'd also like to spend time looking for the possible prehistoric marks referred to in the entry, and yes, I did take a photo of the lone oak tree!
One tree in a forest!
Thanks to all those people who helped on this quest, but in particular to Gilles and Ghislaine!
Old flowstone wall on the east side of the main passage.
On their latest trip to France, Linda and Graham finally fulfilled a quest that's frustrated them for over 20 years, as Linda relates ...
Most French caving areas have reasonably up to date guidebooks. Sadly, the Dordogne is not one of them. The nearest we come to it in our adopted homeland, is Pierre Vidal's Cavernes en Périgord (second edition, 1987). Graham and I bought our copy of this sometime in the mid '90s when we first started visiting this area. In 2007, after one of those plans hatched on the back of several bottles of red wine, we bought a plot of land in the Coly valley and had a house built. At about the same time, we went on a hunt for a nearby cave, mentioned on page 139 of Vidal's book, Grotte de Caramen. The only information we had to go on was:
And the survey:
We thought we'd narrowed down a search area to the area shown in red on the extract from Google Maps below. The yellow cross is a very approximate marker for where the cave turned out to be.
This heralded many, many walks in company with many friends including Tony Boycott, Andrew Atkinson and Juliet Morse (who walked the whole valley down to the main road to Montignac, and Louis Lawrence (who vaguely remembered going there with some local friends about 15 years ago when he was only in his early teens) but all without success. The woodland is the usual fairly young deciduous (mainly oak) woodland, with a fairly dense underbrush in places and large patches of bramble, so walking it systematically is hard and you can be within a couple of metres of a cave and not notice it. And yes, that was the case.
Linda and Gilles Dulon in the Grotte de Caramen.
Eventually, during a visit to the former neighbour of friends who recently sold their second home here, I thought to ask them for local knowledge as I knew Gilles and Ghislaine Dulon had always lived in this area. I started to get my hopes up at that point, as they'd both heard of the cave, but knew it by the name of Caramel, not Caramen. We'd also heard that form of the name when making enquiries of someone in the Speleo Club de Périgord who had heard of it but didn't know the location, but did tell us it had been extended beyond the length record in Vidal's book. Ghislaine promised to make enquiries and less than a week later I got an email to say they'd found it and Gilles could take us there!
Yes, it really does exist!
With the aide of Gilles' Jeep, we got to a place on the track, right in the middle of the area we'd searched loads of time. The marker, as told to Ghislaine by the landowner, was a lone oak tree close to the track on the right hand side (yes, one oak tree in a forest of the blasted things!), then walk 14 paces back up the track and look for a minuscule, overgrown path, no more than an animal track, leading straight up the hill and follow it until you come to a very obvious entrance at the bottom of a small cliff. We were absolutely bloody overjoyed, and knew we'd probably thrashed our way through the undergrowth probably no more than four or five metres away from the elusive spot.
Graham looking towards the northerly end of the cave.
We scurried into the hole like rats down the proverbial drain and were really surprised by the size of the entrance passage. Straight ahead let down to a descending, obviously dug tube, and to the left was a maze of walking sized passages that gradually diminished to crawls. We took loads of photos, amused ourselves with the rather splendid 'cave art' and vowed to return with an oversuit, kneepads and survey gear.
The main westerly passage. I know I shouldn't approve of modern graffiti, but these were rather cute, particularly the tortoise!
Ghislaine says the owner is happy for us to go back, and we have his phone number, so now we know where to go, we will certainly be back. I'd also like to spend time looking for the possible prehistoric marks referred to in the entry, and yes, I did take a photo of the lone oak tree!
One tree in a forest!
Thanks to all those people who helped on this quest, but in particular to Gilles and Ghislaine!
Linda Wilson
THE WEASELS WELCOME YOU TO THE END!
Thanks to Haydon Saunders for the adorable weasels!
Thank you to all our readers over the past year, whether you read every one or just dip in and out as the fancy takes you. We really love getting all your reactions, by email and on WhatsApp. It's a great way of staying in touch and it massages our fragile editorial egos to know what you enjoy and that people are reading! So keep those reactions coming, and get your name in print for posterity. Have a very weasely new year!
- Welcome, new co-editor Grace! Some outstanding photos - and the bunkroom one sums up student trips perfectly! [Sharon Wheeler and the faintly nostalgic FT Bear]
- Good to see the UNESCO decision in the newsletter! What will UBSS do on 13 September 2026? Also loved the stunning photos from Mallorca. Sadly, there are no real caves in Malta! [Hans Friederich]
- Hi, great newsletter. Apologies that I didn't attend the EGM...but support you all and Graham doing the paperwork. [Eve Gilmore]
- Sweet fluffy critter! Of course, I read to the end. Some fabulous trips, and amazing photos. Kudos to Graham for Proceedings as well. [Jan Walker]
- I read to the end. good effort on the newsletter! [Stu Walker]
- I would be up for a museum sketching session next term, it sounds very fun!! [Lee Okoh]
- A great read. I particularly enjoyed Mowgli's recount of the leader training at checc, as his partner in crime that day. I hope my next visit to Aggy will be with less of a hangover! [Tom Headington]
- Great newsletter as always! I always fancied a trip to Croatia! [Paul Savage]
Darling weasels, of course I made it here!
THE END
Thanks to Haydon Saunders for the adorable weasels!
Thank you to all our readers over the past year, whether you read every one or just dip in and out as the fancy takes you. We really love getting all your reactions, by email and on WhatsApp. It's a great way of staying in touch and it massages our fragile editorial egos to know what you enjoy and that people are reading! So keep those reactions coming, and get your name in print for posterity. Have a very weasely new year!
- Welcome, new co-editor Grace! Some outstanding photos - and the bunkroom one sums up student trips perfectly! [Sharon Wheeler and the faintly nostalgic FT Bear]
- Good to see the UNESCO decision in the newsletter! What will UBSS do on 13 September 2026? Also loved the stunning photos from Mallorca. Sadly, there are no real caves in Malta! [Hans Friederich]
- Hi, great newsletter. Apologies that I didn't attend the EGM...but support you all and Graham doing the paperwork. [Eve Gilmore]
- Sweet fluffy critter! Of course, I read to the end. Some fabulous trips, and amazing photos. Kudos to Graham for Proceedings as well. [Jan Walker]
- I read to the end. good effort on the newsletter! [Stu Walker]
- I would be up for a museum sketching session next term, it sounds very fun!! [Lee Okoh]
- A great read. I particularly enjoyed Mowgli's recount of the leader training at checc, as his partner in crime that day. I hope my next visit to Aggy will be with less of a hangover! [Tom Headington]
- Great newsletter as always! I always fancied a trip to Croatia! [Paul Savage]
Darling weasels, of course I made it here!
THE END