Post by L Roebuck on Oct 27, 2005 18:33:04 GMT -5
Confronting depths of terror
By Sarah Lefebve
Oct 26, 2005
I feel as though I am in my own grave. I am 50 metres below the ground, wedged between two gigantic rocks, wondering if this is such a good idea.
I am actually caving. And as I lie face down with my arms tucked up against my chest, rock every which way I look, it strikes me that I actually volunteered to do this. I must be mad.
But I was, I felt, left with no option. When I asked the members of the Dudley Caving Club what it was about this sport that made them travel hundreds of miles to do it, why they loved it so much, few of them could explain it.
And so it is that I find myself scrambling sideways through a gap in the cave that I am not completely convinced I will ever emerge from.
I lift my head to get a better perspective of my surroundings, but as my hat hits the rock above I remember there is nowhere for my head to go. I am, it would seem, the filling in a rock sandwich.
This is nothing. I have just hauled myself over a ten-foot rock wall, using nothing but brute strength and a length of rope. Well... that, plus the brute strength of two fellow cavers, a harness and a safety line. I might be mad, but I am not totally daft.
I have also clambered up and down a couple of chimneys – a caving term for small, tight, vertical passages. I have waded through a freezing cold streamline, at some points almost waist deep, so that the water has entered my boots, hitting my skin like a thousand daggers. And I have slid headfirst through slimy muddy tunnels, the angle forcing the water back out of my boots so that it hits my skin like a fresh wave of daggers.
In between these challenges I have found myself in chambers so vast I can hardly see to the top, where the formations are so beautiful they make you realise just what nature is capable of. I am still scrambling, using my forearms, to move sideways, inch by inch, to the open space that I am assured is not that far now.
I keep laughing. It may be hysteria.
"Whose idea was this?" I ask Keith, Emma, Mike and Brendan, the cavers to whom I have entrusted my life for the day.
"Yours," they all answer in unison, as I finally emerge from my grave.
We are in South Wales, in Ogof Ffynnon Ddu – the Cave of the Black Spring. At 50km long and more than 300m deep in places, OFD is Britain's third longest cave system. I am told you can spend many years exploring it and still not see everything.
I have just a few hours, so the cavers from Dudley Caving Club have planned a trip that will encompass a bit of variety. That appears to include turning off all our lamps for a moment. "To show you how dark it is," explains Emma. This is darkness as I have never known it. I can see nothing. Not even my hand in front of my face. What would happen if all of our lamps failed, I want to ask, but conclude I am probably better off not knowing. Instead, I remind myself that I am in good hands.
Next year, Dudley Caving Club will celebrate its 40th anniversary. Originally called the Dudley Cave Rescue Team, it was founded in 1966 by John Smith, who is still a member today. A fireman with the Auxiliary Fire service, John had a keen interest in the Dudley limestone mines, and was often involved in going into the mines to search for missing people.
As the years passed the club became a general caving club, although members are still involved in the occasional cave rescue.
Today, there are 25 members who all travel for miles to explore caves.
Compared to many caving clubs this one is thriving, explains Keith Edwards, who is currently offering words of encouragement as I traverse a rock face, clinging to a metal safety chord as though my life depends on it. It does, incidentally.
"People used to become involved through university clubs, but universities rarely support caving anymore because the grants tend to go to sports where you can get medals," he says.
Keith has been a member for 15 years. "I met some cavers and I thought I would have a go," he says. "The first time I did it I was hooked. It was so much fun. But it is something you can't really explain," he concedes.
I am beginning to understand.
Am I enjoying this? Yes. Why? It is hard to explain.
It is the sense of adventure, of overcoming physical obstacles in order to see something that the vast majority of people have never seen.
And though I am assured I am perfectly safe and that the rock that surrounds me has not moved in thousands of years, it is the adrenalin that pumps through me every time I remember that I am far beneath the ground, my life in the hands of four people I hardly know.
Even so, I have to admit to a sense of relief as we reach the end of the exploration and I begin to ascend the ladder back to daylight.
As I emerge from the cave I am soaked to the skin, so filthy I can hardly believe I will ever be clean again, and fully aware that come the next day every part of my body will hurt. A lot.
But I have had so much fun.
Source: Midlands Life
www.expressandstar.com/articles/features/life/article_82209.php
By Sarah Lefebve
Oct 26, 2005
I feel as though I am in my own grave. I am 50 metres below the ground, wedged between two gigantic rocks, wondering if this is such a good idea.
I am actually caving. And as I lie face down with my arms tucked up against my chest, rock every which way I look, it strikes me that I actually volunteered to do this. I must be mad.
But I was, I felt, left with no option. When I asked the members of the Dudley Caving Club what it was about this sport that made them travel hundreds of miles to do it, why they loved it so much, few of them could explain it.
And so it is that I find myself scrambling sideways through a gap in the cave that I am not completely convinced I will ever emerge from.
I lift my head to get a better perspective of my surroundings, but as my hat hits the rock above I remember there is nowhere for my head to go. I am, it would seem, the filling in a rock sandwich.
This is nothing. I have just hauled myself over a ten-foot rock wall, using nothing but brute strength and a length of rope. Well... that, plus the brute strength of two fellow cavers, a harness and a safety line. I might be mad, but I am not totally daft.
I have also clambered up and down a couple of chimneys – a caving term for small, tight, vertical passages. I have waded through a freezing cold streamline, at some points almost waist deep, so that the water has entered my boots, hitting my skin like a thousand daggers. And I have slid headfirst through slimy muddy tunnels, the angle forcing the water back out of my boots so that it hits my skin like a fresh wave of daggers.
In between these challenges I have found myself in chambers so vast I can hardly see to the top, where the formations are so beautiful they make you realise just what nature is capable of. I am still scrambling, using my forearms, to move sideways, inch by inch, to the open space that I am assured is not that far now.
I keep laughing. It may be hysteria.
"Whose idea was this?" I ask Keith, Emma, Mike and Brendan, the cavers to whom I have entrusted my life for the day.
"Yours," they all answer in unison, as I finally emerge from my grave.
We are in South Wales, in Ogof Ffynnon Ddu – the Cave of the Black Spring. At 50km long and more than 300m deep in places, OFD is Britain's third longest cave system. I am told you can spend many years exploring it and still not see everything.
I have just a few hours, so the cavers from Dudley Caving Club have planned a trip that will encompass a bit of variety. That appears to include turning off all our lamps for a moment. "To show you how dark it is," explains Emma. This is darkness as I have never known it. I can see nothing. Not even my hand in front of my face. What would happen if all of our lamps failed, I want to ask, but conclude I am probably better off not knowing. Instead, I remind myself that I am in good hands.
Next year, Dudley Caving Club will celebrate its 40th anniversary. Originally called the Dudley Cave Rescue Team, it was founded in 1966 by John Smith, who is still a member today. A fireman with the Auxiliary Fire service, John had a keen interest in the Dudley limestone mines, and was often involved in going into the mines to search for missing people.
As the years passed the club became a general caving club, although members are still involved in the occasional cave rescue.
Today, there are 25 members who all travel for miles to explore caves.
Compared to many caving clubs this one is thriving, explains Keith Edwards, who is currently offering words of encouragement as I traverse a rock face, clinging to a metal safety chord as though my life depends on it. It does, incidentally.
"People used to become involved through university clubs, but universities rarely support caving anymore because the grants tend to go to sports where you can get medals," he says.
Keith has been a member for 15 years. "I met some cavers and I thought I would have a go," he says. "The first time I did it I was hooked. It was so much fun. But it is something you can't really explain," he concedes.
I am beginning to understand.
Am I enjoying this? Yes. Why? It is hard to explain.
It is the sense of adventure, of overcoming physical obstacles in order to see something that the vast majority of people have never seen.
And though I am assured I am perfectly safe and that the rock that surrounds me has not moved in thousands of years, it is the adrenalin that pumps through me every time I remember that I am far beneath the ground, my life in the hands of four people I hardly know.
Even so, I have to admit to a sense of relief as we reach the end of the exploration and I begin to ascend the ladder back to daylight.
As I emerge from the cave I am soaked to the skin, so filthy I can hardly believe I will ever be clean again, and fully aware that come the next day every part of my body will hurt. A lot.
But I have had so much fun.
Source: Midlands Life
www.expressandstar.com/articles/features/life/article_82209.php