Team: Scott, James and (report by) Ami
After a week of biblical rain I wasn’t sure I was going to get to do this long-awaited trip, but a few dry days meant we were ON!
Scott was the only one silly brave enough to be doing this one again, and expertly led us over the moors to the entrance. He also suggested from experience that the whole trip could be done head first, so after the first pitch, I happily plunged into our first squeeze (of many). However, having rounded the very snug corner – kit scraping along the walls – I found myself head and torso over quite a drop. I could see the issue – a taller caver could probably reach the far wall as a brace, meaning they could slide out slowly and get their legs underneath them for the drop. No such luck for me, so the boys had to wait patiently while I forced myself inexpertly uphill, back through the squeeze in order to turn around. Pippikin had begun!
Pippikin then continues in the most fascinating and unique way – absolutely teeney tiny holes followed by pretty, flowy pitches (often almost immediately, making for precarious redressing if you’ve had to take your kit off). James certainly lived up to his reputation of self-squashing (cries of ‘My Bones!’ echoing from the walls) but overall we were making fun progress.
The third pitch however posed me a problem. About 8m down you hit a bedding plane, but the rope continues into a very narrow, v-shaped crack. Assuming there was a reason for that, and remembering my trouble earlier, I decided to remain on cow’s tails and squeeze through feet first. After a few metres, my feet were hanging in air. No issue, I thought – I’m attached. I kept wriggling, still not finding a floor, using my knees to brace against the walls. Finally my head popped out and I found myself bridged over a 3m drop, with my ‘safety’ rope hanging limply beneath me. With a few choice words I traversed out further and got hold of the precarious looking stemple and hand line that is unhelpfully placed a considerable distance from the head of the drop. I made it down gracelessly, blew a sigh of relief and called Rope Free.
I thought it best to wait for James and talk him through his upcoming adventure. When I heard him reach the squeeze, I suggested he come head first, to avoid my fright of an unprotected drop. He did as instructed, head appeared, then shoulders, then the proclamation ‘My legs are stuck’. He pushed and pulled, with assistance from Scott behind, but nothing seemed to be doing the trick. Eventually I had to scramble back up the handline and revisit my precarious wedged position above the pitch, to act as a human rock for James to leverage himself off. My knee kept slipping off the sheer wall, but eventually my shoulder was sturdy enough for James to lift himself out of the rift and out over my head. Hooray.
Scott, having witnessed this ordeal, decided to face the opposite wall to avoid the same fate. But Pippikin had other ideas. Scott got his head out above the pitch before realising his legs had too slipped down into the bottom of the crack, meaning he wasn’t able to move. At least we knew the drill this time – back up I went, braced between stemple and wall, to be Scott’s extra handhold and allow him to free himself.
After all that, we had our Pippikin snacks early, before setting off once more. It was easier going now, with some real pretties and a fun traverse down into the streamway. Thankfully it wasn’t too wet at all, as I’m not sure our enthusiasm would have withstood needing to go back out the way we came.
Scott knew his way, and led us out Mistral, showing us the many other route options for future trips. This one was even better than I hoped and we’re absolutely raring for the Easegill traverse now, though conscious what an ask it is to go through all that but uphill. Dare I say it, perhaps even Bye George is on the cards?!
