Swildon's Hole

I'm a climber, not a caver. However, living on the edge of The Mendips, one of the three most cave-ridden areas of the UK (the others being South Wales and Yorkshire) it's easy to see why many climbers also cave, and the other way around. Many skills are transferable, especially in terms of ropework. The advantage of caving is that one is not dependent on weather conditions, and can do it all year around. Some of the adventurehut.com crowd are very experienced cavers indeed. My occasional climbing partner Paul used to cave quite a bit during winter time, before he had children. Now that play time is more of a premium for him, he tends to stick to climbing. Paul took me caving a few times, starting out in Goatchurch Cavern, a dry cave which is rated as easy and requiring no ropework. I really enjoyed it - a real adventure feel to it. As I'd never done it before it was hard to know how I'd react to the inevitable claustrophobia. It turned out to be a real riot. We basically ticked the whole cave, including 'The Drainpipe', a 15m long squeeze tube. As we completed the roundtrip, I realised that this was something I'd like to do again. Maybe not to the same level of addiction as climbing, but every now and then.

In many ways, caving is much more serious than climbing. A leg breaking fall is probably terminal, as rescue is problematical, if not impossible, depending on the cave. Something as inocuous as your head torch running out of battery could have serious consequences. A few of the guys in the St Wereburgs crowd are world class cavedivers, with the late Rob Parker still holding the depth record, set in Wookey Hole.

My next cave was to be the uber-classic 'Swildons Hole', a wet cave. Most of this cave is only accessible to divers, with seven or so 'sumps' guarding the way. A sump is a water-filled dip in a passage that can only be negotiated by swimming under water. Sometimes, it's just a quick duck, but other times it can involve several tens of metres of swimming. In Swildon's, the first two sumps are free divable, whereas the rest require full SCUBA. Paul had managed to beg, steal and borrow full kit for me, wellies, fleece under overalls, caver's outer overalls, kneepads, helmet, waterproof headtorch. A caver's roll-up wire ladder, 30m of static rope and a few old krabs completed the kit.

This was a Thursday in December, and it was uncharacteristically cold for the UK with a couple of degrees below. The farmer on whose land the cave entry is situated kindly lets the caving community use an old barn as changing rooms, asking only for a small cash donation for its upkeep. The grass is crunchy with frost under foot as we plod across the fields. Suddenly, a fast-flowing stream comes into view, which curiously disappears into a small building. Welcome to Swildon's Hole. Wet cave indeed. Suddenly, the whole thing seems preposterous. It's freezing. It's December. It's dark. We're about to go swimming. Paul grins, and points down the narrow hole into which the stream is disappearing. "Your cave, mate". I realise that backing out now is not an option, as I'd have to endure relentless mickey-taking for the rest of my life. I sigh, and sit myself down in the stream, and ease myself down the passage. The stream is hitting my helmet, and progressing down the inside of my caving suit. The cold is numbing. The cave is worn smooth by thousands of pairs of boots, and the cascade itself. After some tens of metres the passage levels out, and instead of having the stream down my neck, I'm now standing waist-deep in water, waiting for Paul to join me. I'm wet, but actually not that cold anymore. The fleece underwear is sodden, but warming up from the exertion under my oversuit. Caving is a full body workout. We start moving. Route finding is not a problem in this cave, just follow the stream. I'm really enjoying this, to my surprise. We squeeze through narrow passages, bridge our way across bottomless chasms, plunge into pools, admire cathedral-like caverns that our lights can barely span. The first obstacle is what looks like a huge drop into the dark from a narrow opening in the passage. Paul says that there is a deep pool at the bottom, and that it's a safe jump. He's clearly insane. I lean over, and I can see the black surface of the pool below. "Go on, just jump, you poof, or we won't make the pub on the way back", Paul offers, helpfully. I finally take the step into the abyss, and plunge into the pool below. It's deep, probably about two and a half metres, but I still end up crouching on the bottom - it's sandy, and perfectly flat. I 'swim ashore' and look up to see Paul's light. It looks worse than it is from the top - the jump itself is probably no more than three or four metres or so. We press on, and get to the one place where we have to rope up. It's a bigger version of the drop we just negotiated, minus the nice pool, and 15 metres instead of 3. Paul pulls out the rolled-up wire ladder he's been carrying, handing it to me. "There are three expansion bolts drilled into the rock over there" he says, pointing. Clip the ladder to two, and a krabs through the other for the backup rope. I clip myself into the rope, and Paul's rigged a belay at another bolt. I lean over, groping for the bolts. They're all rattling; loose. Sure, caving is body-weight only, so no shock loading should occur, but still. I unroll the ladder and hook the rope through the krab for a directional. The ladder runs straight down the fall line of the water fall, helpfully. This seems to be a recurring theme. Climbing down a free hanging, narrow wire ladder in the middle of a water fall is surprisingly hard. I eventually get down, and belay Paul, and we leave the gear for the return journey. We carry on, with me leading the way. The stream is calmer, and the passages appear to change to become lower, frequently requiring us to wriggle on our bellies. Suddenly, the cave ceiling appears to meet with the stream, and there's nowhere to go. I can see a bolt with a dirty rope attached to it, cutting the surface, snaking its way below. We have arrived at sump 1. I know the details, in theory. Paul explains again. It's only five metres or so under water, and you just pull on the rope to make progress. The passage itself starts perhaps half a metre under the surface from where we're sitting, and it's perhaps two metres wide. At its narrowest, it's perhaps 40 cm, so it's best to twist your head sideways to avoid getting your helmet stuck half way, which would be unpleasant. I can't back out now. Kneeling down, I try to feel the entry. My heart is pounding in my ears. Deep breath, I slowly let myself sink down and start pulling on the rope. The passage is really narrow, and even twisting my head, my helmet scrapes both the bottom and the top. Ten seconds later I breech the surface on the other side, elated. I give the rope a couple of tugs to signal that I'm safely across, and sit down to wait for Paul. There is a huge road sign here, saying "Wookey Hole, 10 miles". Probably an example of a caver's sense of humour. Paul's head pops up, and after a quick rest we move on. Before long we arrive at the start of sump 2. Although apparently free divable, this is a different proposition altogether, being considerably longer, and we have no masks, and both wearing contacts. We decide to leave it for another day, as the clock's ticking, and instead start our way back, retracing our steps.

And we just about made it to the pub, too.