It was 10.30 by the time we set out on the walk to Gaping Gill from Clapham village. The walk was said to take an hour, so it was cutting it a little fine for arriving by noon to book in for descent into the cave. I am not a fast walker—in fact I am rather slow—so I asked Richard and 'ö-Dzin to go on without me in the hope that they would get there in time. It is not a difficult walk to Gaping Gill. The first third of the walk is through a nature trail bordering the river, with a wide and easy path. The path is steadily uphill but without any difficult or steep ascents. This stage of the path brings one to Ingleborough Showcave – another of the caves in this complex. The second stage of the walk is more open through rocky moorland and brings one to Trow Gill, an impressive juncture of two rocky crags. This is the most challenging part of the walk with a stony ridge about 10m high to be climbed – but having braved the near-vertical, 100m scree at Cadair Idris a couple of years ago it was not too daunting. The final stage of the walk follows a dry stone wall on one side and hillside on the other for much of the way. The ground is soft and springy, and a little wet in places.I met several people at different times who declared that bookings for descents into Gaping Gill had been closed and we were too late… that it was still a very long walk to get there… that the wait to use the winch was four hours or more… and other such discouraging tales. It seemed unlikely that even Richard and 'ö-Dzin would have arrived in time to book, but I carried on, determined to get there even if we could not visit the cavern.
Eventually I saw Ngakpa-la coming towards me. He had found himself unable to keep up with Richard's pace and so had sent him on alone. Ngakpa-la was pleased to see that I had made it so far and we walked the last part together. He and Richard had also heard that bookings had been closed, but had decided to crack on regardless.
It was easy to recognise when one had arrived at Gaping Gill as quite an encampment was established. Many of the members of Bradford Pothole Club—who organise the May open event—camp at the site for the week. We walked down to the marshalls' tent and were greeted by Richard walking towards us with a big grin on his face and giving us the thumbs up. He had succeeded. We were booked in to descend into Gaping Gill. We picked up our dog tags – numbers 190, 191 and 192. Later we learned that they had closed bookings at 11 am at 180 people, but had decided to reopen the bookings a little later and eventually let 203 people descend that day. I was so happy and excited.It was a long wait to use the winch. The chair takes approximately 4 minutes to be winched down and back up again, so in theory that meant 40 minutes for every set of ten people. We had to wait for about a hundred people to descend before it was our turn, so that meant a possible wait of over six hours. We spent some of the waiting time walking to Ingleborough peak – although the cloud was so low that we did not make it to the top.
A member of Bradford Pothole Club was particularly attentive to us, and most kind and friendly. He told us a lot of interesting details about Gaping Gill. The little river by the gill usually runs straight down to the mouth of Gaping Gill and plunges into the cave. However it is diverted through the 'Rat Hole' for the duration of the winching, so that people are not being lowered through a waterfall in full flow. However—inevitably—it is not possible to fully divert the flow of water, so for the first part of the descent into Gaping Gill you are passing through the remains of the waterfall. He explained that Gaping Gill is a 'wild' cave – that is it is not usually accessible and and so remains a natural, untouched cave. He told us of two passage ways—trade routes they call them—that we could scramble through to see other parts of the cave complex. We did not in fact attempt these as we did not have head torches and found the waterproof suits they provided rather cumbersome. We were also cold and a little stiff by the time we eventually got down there.
The people gathered to wait their turn to enter the cave were a mixed bunch. Some were ordinary members of the public like us, who had no experience of potholing. Ages ranged from young to old. Members of the public ready to descend were recognisable by the borrowed green suits and white hard hats. There were also a lot of people from other potholing groups who had all the potholing gear: well-fitting wetsuits or waterproof boiler suits with elbow and knee pads; climbing equipment and ropes; special lamps and safety items. It was cold waiting by the stream and Richard's teeth were starting to chatter, so we got him into one of the waterproof suits. Eventually—after a 6 hour wait—it was our turn to descend into the cavern.At the beginning of the descent into the cave, sitting in the bosun's chair with legs and hands well tucked in, you are plunged into darkness and are only aware of the sound and wetness of the waterfall. It is not a frightening experience at all – just a little disorientating. The cave is massive and the sound of the waterfall dominates one's senses. Underfoot is a layer of large pebbles that are quite difficult to walk on. As one's eyes adjust to the low light level more and more features of the cavern become apparent: the angle of the fault that forms the 'roof' of the cave; the white porcellaneous band; the glimmer of moving lights indicating people climbing in or out of the southern and eastern passages; the brown stallagtites; the varying textures of the rockface; and everywhere water, and the falling of water. At the eastern end of the cavern is a mud flat and it was interesting to recognise the change of one's balance and footing moving from the pebbly surface to the smoothness of the mud. The Bradford Pothole Group had set up lights, and a number of information boards that explained different features of the cavern. The water falling from the Rat Hole is about half the height of the cascade from the Gaping Gill pothole. It must be extraordinary for the potholers who enter the cavern when there is no winch and diversion of the river to see the waterfall cascading from Gaping Gill itself.
Fortunately it was only an hour's wait to go back up. A couple of people in green suits were standing under the waterfall waving their arms about and clearly thoroughly enjoying themselves. Those of us who were ignorant were amused, but the experienced potholers went over to talk to them, indicating that the large rounded stones that litter the floor of the cavern had arrived via that waterfall. If one of those large rocks should hit you on the head it could kill you. As we waited in the queue a young member of Bradford Pothole Club came round with cups and a thermos of hot juice. This was so thoughtful, as it was a cold wait in the cave. They operate the winch for 12 hours a day during open week. They do charge for the service, but by the time they have paid for hire of the equipment, insurance, and transportation of the equipment up the mountain, they make very little profit. They have been offering this opportunity for one week every year since 1959. A second potholing group offers the same service for a second open week in August. It is a rare and valuable opportunity. Being there is like being invited into a family group for a while. The pleasure they take in people's enjoyment and appreciation of the opportunity to enter Gaping Gill is tangible. Their enthusiasm is infectious and they seem to thrive on the joyful expressions on the faces of those emerging from the cavern.
At last it was my turn to ride the chair back out of the cavern. This was quite a different experience to the descent. Because my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the cavern, what had been blackness on the way down was now quite visible on the way up. It was a little unnerving to see quite how close the chair goes to the rockface – I could see why they told us to keep our arms and legs tucked in. All too soon we were back at the top and struggling out of our wet suits. We handed in our dog tags to show that we were safely out, and offered our profuse thanks to the marshalls. We set out on the walk back to Clapham feeling elated and inspired, eventually arriving back with Daniel and the van at about 8.30 – it has been a long day. Daniel had been becoming concerned because we are so much later than we'd expected, and was very glad to see us. We were all hungry and felt that fish and chips would be a good idea, but there did not seem to be a chip shop in Clapham, so we set off for the campsite. Bertie was also hungry. As we had been in a rush in the morning I had not been able to stop to buy petrol. It was starting to get dark as we drove along and then the fuel guage started to show red. I was not sure how urgent it was to buy petrol once the red warning light was illuminated, but I was a little concerned. Then we saw a sign to Settle indicating that there was a petrol station there, but it was after 9 pm by then, and sometimes petrol station close quite early in rural areas. We had to make the decision: did we risk using up petrol to get to Settle where there may be an open petrol station; or did we press on to the campsite and hope that there was enough to get us there and then to a petrol station in the morning? We decided to go to Settle.
The lane to Settle was lovely in the setting sun, with rolling hills and woodland on one side, and craggy outcrops on the other. We drove into the village and found that not only was the petrol station open, but next to it was a car park, and opposite that was a fish and chip shop. How delightful. So we fed Bertie and then fed ourselves. They may possibly have been the best fish and chips I have ever eaten.
By the time we have finished eating it is nearly dark. The van's headlights are rather poor by modern standards and the main beam would not work. Eventually we found the entrance to the campsite and were soon parked up by the awning—though not quite close enough—and settled in for the night.
We set off for home the next morning and had an easy journey back to Cardiff, via a quick visit to my aunt in Birmingham. Bertie had behaved beautifully the whole trip which amounted to over 500 miles. He had earned his keep already and provided us with inexpensive and comfortable accommodation for this wonderful expedition.
To see all of Richard's photographs of this expedition please visit his flickr page.
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