Cavers: Chris Scaife, Don Miller, Ron Price
A rare Sunday afternoon trip for Black Rose.
We were just about to enter the cave and you’ll never guess who emerged. Only Darren bleeding Jarvis, as I live and breathe. Himself. Anyway, he chatted away and after a while we realised the clock was ticking and we really ought to go underground. There were some among us who thought Daz_of_practical_jokes might have put rocks over the entrance lid while we were down there, but no, he’s matured or just didn’t think about it.
Don rigged the first pitch gracefully, then we were into Ann Summers Passage. We were trying to work out why it’s called that and the best we could come up with is that you have to keep getting down on your knees like some kind of gimp. But that’s probably not it.
I rigged the second pitch – a bit of an odd one, with a traverse above the stream and a swing around the corner. All of us now gimps or swingers, Don and I did a dos-à-dos so that he could rush forth and rig the final pitch. The formations were impressive down there and after enjoying them to the full we danced our way back out. Daz_of_newfound_maturity was nowhere to be seen.
It’s a short caving trip – poor old Don Miller spent more time driving each way than he spent underground – but it’s a bit of fun, isn’t it.
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