Lower Cales Dale Cave

Me (Ben T), Josh, Jon, Luke, Rob (supreme cave lord)

Josh and I met up with the others and were immediately hit with the grand opening question: “Would you rather sit on cake and eat cock, or have it the other way round?” It was a memorable first impression from the famous Rob, Lord of Caves, and set the tone nicely for the evening.

Rob, it turned out, was already on his third cave of the day, which was impressive enough on its own, but even more so given that it was also his wife’s 40th birthday and she had apparently been left at home with the kids. A level of dedication to caving that is hard not to respect, even if it raises a few questions.

We drove down to the campsite, parked up, and got changed. Before we had even made it underground, the lads were already ripping into Josh’s suit for being cheap and rubbish, a bit of low-level banter that later turned out to be excellent foreshadowing.

The walk down was actually beautiful, with great views over the valley, and for a brief moment it all felt quite wholesome. Josh had promised me a lovely evening of caving. This was, in hindsight, a lie. It was a shithole.

Before we got properly underway, Jon forced us all into a photoshoot. Then we finally headed in.

The first part of the cave was tolerable enough, though I quickly regretted not bringing elbow pads. At least most of us had knee pads, which already put us one up on Luke,  probably the main reason he looked ready to call it quits after about ten minutes. Things got much worse after that. The next section involved dragging ourselves through mud while lying prone, which was every bit as miserable as it sounds. Josh and I were very much united in our suffering at that point.

One of the evening’s highlights came when Josh got stuck on the way into the Doghouse, which naturally earned him about five uninterrupted minutes of abuse from everyone else.

Not long after that, we were brought to a halt by the sump, just before the T-junction. In the circumstances, it felt less like an obstacle and more like divine intervention. Saved by the sump.

We headed back to the Doghouse and had a go at digging to see whether there was any way around it. Somewhere during all of this, Josh ripped his suit. Not exactly a glowing advert for Geo, although to be fair, it may have been under unusual levels of stress. In practical terms, the ripped suit probably saved us from another four hours of subterranean misery, so perhaps it did us all a favor.

For reasons I still don’t fully understand, I was also gifted the name of Bagshaw by Rob (Supreme Lord of Caves).

Our digging efforts briefly turned us into pioneers of cave engineering. We made some genuinely groundbreaking discoveries, chiefly by literally breaking some of the ground capping while trying to force a way around the sump. It only lasted about ten minutes, but I did at least get to try capping for the first time, which was exciting in its own slightly unhinged way. One question remains, though: why the hell do you point your earhole directly at the small explosive?

Eventually, common sense prevailed and we called it a day. The walk back out was far more pleasant than the journey in, helped greatly by the fact that it was over. At the top of the hill we were rewarded with a lovely moon and a great view, which felt like the cave’s apology for everything that had happened underground.

I also learned that apparently towels are not considered necessary equipment for seasoned spelunkers, which feels like the kind of tradition that should be challenged.

The final image of the night belonged, inevitably, to Josh. In classic fashion, he had forgotten to bring a change of clothes, so for the pub he ended up wearing the woolly long-john outfit he hadn’t taken into the cave. This meant he turned up to the pub looking like a cross between a soiled infant and a 1900s miner in pajamas.

All in all, a horrible evening. Great fun.