Mike cont'd

As I write this I am looking at a photograph taken by Mike, and this must have been in 1964 or thereabouts. He introduced many of us to the delights of Caving and this photo was taken before our first ever trip underground. His VW camper van is there and at the rear stands the assembled throng, some, about to head underground for the first time. We look a motley bunch and are not particularly well dressed for the day. We all have helmets of course; untli we moved house recently, I still had mine, but that has now gone to the skip, like so much of my life. I remember the names of all but two of the group. There is Pete on the left. He was an avid motorcyclist who owned an Aerial Square Four - 1000ccs of power. Next to him is Roger. I can see from his expression that this was something that he didn't want to do. No doubt, well meaning parents had given him a push, hoping that it might give him some confidence. Then there is me, kitted out in redundant CCF kit andtotally unsuitable tight jeans. I look pensive and seem to have my tongue sticking out. Terry, has his headlamp off to one side and Kieth, as cocky and arrogant as ever seems to have a battery powered lamp that most of us would have liked. John, with the glasses was actually an experienced caver and he would be the one to show us the way and make sure that none of us got lost or damaged!

Being underground is a strange experience. Putting aside the cold, wet and muddy conditions, it is of course totally dark. To get separated from the party with a failed lamp is no fun at all and the lamps we were using were Acetylene lamps, powered by a mix of calcium carbide and water. The flame was bright but oh so fragile. Just a drip of water falling from the roof onto a jet, could extinguish it and frankly, once wet, it was almost impossible to reignite without another flame being present. These lamps were also dangerous. It was possible to set fire to someone else's clothing while crawling throught tunnels and there was always a risk that previous cavers would have left little pockets of spent carbide, which can accumulate their own little clouds of acetylene just waiting for a naked flame.

There is no real objective to most caving trips, other than to get out again with all that you went in with, and most caves that are frequented by the beginner are quite safe. The first one that we were introduced to was dryish and relatively easy to negotiate, apart from a few very narrow crawls.

Later on we were introduced to the more dangerous wet caves and these capricious places are not for the faint hearted. Swildon's cavern, in Somerset, had in those days, and entrance that was a hole in the ground in the middle of a farmer's field. A stream dived into this hole and this was where the errant potholer would follow. Just to get in, it was necessary to sit in the stream and slide feet first down ito the blackness. This cave was wet all the way down; sometimes we were wading thigh deep and sometimes crawling on the stream bed. On other occasions we were abseiling down faces, only to meet the stream again. There were places where the roof of the cave came close to the water and it was necessary to lie on your back with your face close to the roof, and then there were sumps. A sump is like the u bend in a WC. They can only be negotiated by diving under the water and hoping that there is an airspace to come up into. This is where most of us drew the line. I was no swimmer and the thought of the sump was just too much.

Emerging from a cave into the sunlight is a wonderful experience. Normally soaking wet and freezing cold, it was so good to feel warm again and to eat hot food and talk proudly of our achievements. The first trip captured my imagination and I was to carry on caving until I finally got a job.

I miss the cameraderie of the trips, I miss the thrill and the adrenaline rushes that accompanied each new passage or new obstacle and I miss the flexibility in my body that allowed me to enjoy those experiences. Life without danger is not very interesting.