Any views expressed by any contributor to the Belfry
Bulletin, including those of officers of the club, do not necessarily coincide
with those of the editor or the committee of the Bristol Exploration Club,
unless stated as being the view of the committee or editor.
Contents
Club Headquarters
The Belfry,
Rd.
Club Committee
Chairman: S.J.
Collins
Minutes Sec: R. Bennett
Members: R. Bagshaw; D.J. Irwin;
M.J. Palmer; N. Jago; T.E. Large; A.R. Thomas; R. Orr.
Officers Of The Club
Hon. Secretary: A.R.
THOMAS, Allens House,
Barrows Lane
Hon. Treasurer: R.J. BAGSHAW,
Knowle,
4. Tel: WHITCHURCH. 5626.
Caving Sec: T.E. LARGE,
Bishopston,
Climbing Sec: N. Jago,
Windmill Hill, Bedminster,
3.
Hut Warden: R. ORR. The Belfry, as above.
Assit H.W. N. TAYLOR, Whiddon,
Chilcote,
Hut Engineer: R.
Rose Cottage, West End, Nailsea,
Tacklemaster: M.A PALMER.
B.B. Editor: S.J. COLLINS, Lavender
Cottage, Bishop Sutton, Nr. Bristol.
Librarian: D.J. IRWIN, Townsend
Cottage, Priddy, Wells,
Pbs. (Sales) C, Howell,
Edgbaston, Birminham.
Publications: D.J. IRWIN. Address as above
B.B. Post: Mrs. K. Mansfield, Tiny
Kott, Little
MENDIP RESCUE ORGANISATION. In case of emergency telephone WELLS 73481
Editorial
Doug Parfitt
We are sure that all club members will join us in expressing
very sincere sympathy to Dougs family following his death on April 19th from
cerebral haemorrhage.
Doug was 54 when he died and his club membership number of 750
belies the fact that he has been associated with the club for many years. He was one of those rare and useful people
who could always be relied upon to work quietly away in the background and it
is to people like Doug that we owe so much of what we enjoy today on
Mendip. His skill as an electrician was
always at the clubs disposal and the ease with which we got our electricity
back so soon after the fire, and subsequently into the present Belfry was due
to his, and his son-in-law Brian Prewers efforts. At one time, Doug and Brian spent every
Monday evening at the Belfry working on the lighting, power and plumbing. His last job was to install the night storage
heaters.
Open Air Caving
Our main feature this month is a series of articles on the
delights of gorges, collected for us by that stalwart contributor to the B.B.,
Kangy King. With the summer months
coming on, it is as well to remember that we are an exploration club and the
traversing of gorges forms a nice summer link between caving and climbing.
Electronics For Caving
From time to time, as in last month’s B.B., we read of the
part which electronics can, or could, play in caving. Since my personal experience of things
electronic puts me somewhere in that no-mans-land between the layman and the
expert. It might be of interest for me
to play Devils Advocate on this subject and to ask just what electronics has
really done for us and whether we are really interested?
Taking the three main headings of the article of last month,
we have COMMUNICATION between caves and the surface; PINPOINTING of underground
places with respect to the surface and finally CAVE FINDING from the surface to
unknown caves. Our record on Mendip of
these three activities over the last thirty years has not been good.
We once had a telephone from the Dining Room in Cuthberts
to the Belfry, but it packed up and was finally abandoned. There was some success at pinpointing places
in Cuthberts, but a record of unreliability on the same sort of exercise in
Wookey. As far as cave finding is
concerned, not a single instance of success has ever been recorded on Mendip to
the editor’s knowledge.
Now why should this be? Over the period in question the state of the art in electronics has
improved out of all recognition. Most of
our present-day electronic engineers have never seen an ordinary radio valve,
yet alone handled one. What is the
trouble?
Taking telephonic communication first, it is true that the
conditions met with in a cave are a little worse than those of the average
living room but, compared to the conditions in a rocket; missile; satellite;
atomic reactor etc. they are mild. It
should be well within our capabilities, if we were so minded, to build handsets
which would stand being in a cave if necessary for years without attention.
Cables should no longer be a problem. The old ex-army ‘Don 8’ cable, with its
rubber insulation is now a thing of the past. Modern insulation can readily cope with any thing a cave can offer, and
with transistor amplification a few ohms here or there cease to matter. Single line and earth return should be
possible even in dry caves.
Radio communication is, admittedly, a more difficult subject
because the limitation here is more fundamental that transmitters are very
inefficient at the low frequencies which have to be used. The answer would thus appear to be that of
making sure that receivers are as sensitive as possible to overcome the
deficiencies of the transmitters. When I
was first employed as an electronic engineer, a communication receiver which
could receive very weak signals of the order of a microvolt per metre were
large, heavy boxes weighing as much as 40 or 50 lbs and containing perhaps as
many as twenty or thirty radio valves. Maybe transistors still cannot cope with the very low signal levels that
valves can sort out, but if they still lag behind valves in this respect, I am
sure that it wont be for much longer and we shall be able to build small,
lightweight receivers as sensitive as were the old communication sets.
Turning now to pinpointing, much the same arguments
apply. The transmitter ideally needs a
large loop aerial, laid horizontally on the cave floor for preference and fed
with relatively large currents. However,
the receiver is on the surface and can be relatively big if that is the price
of extreme sensitivity. Maybe the
transmitter should be fed in pulses to enable large currents to be used without
flattening the batteries too quickly. Reliability of equipment should be no
problem.
As for cave finding, the odd exercises involving resistance
measurements which have taken place from time to time seem to me to be a waste
of time. We hear rumours of a possible
gravimeter but, to show what can at least be postulated, it might be as well to
consider the scheme that a B.E.C. member known as ‘Monty’ proposed way back in
1949. The method was a seismic one and
depended on being able to borrow one of those machines which thump up and down
for tamping down odd holes in the road surface – also a number of seismic
microphones, nether of which Monty was able to get his hands on to at the
time. Monty designed all the rest of the
device round radio valves, and with modern equipment it should be a doddle. The idea was that each ‘thump’ should start
up a time base. A variable time delay
narrow band (in time) gate was then manually adjusted until the time interval
coincided with the time delay of a particular echo. Since the whole thing was repetitive, the
signal from the echo could be summed and displayed on an ordinary meter. One would then log the various echoes as a
function of time delay, checking one microphone after another and plotting the
echo depth. By this method, general effects,
such as changes in rock structure could be separated from local effects due to
cave passage.
Perhaps I have been a little harsh with all this, but again
perhaps not. Could any of our current
(note clever pun) electronics types put us wise on all this?
Alfie
Notices
KEYS for the Belfry are now available from the Hut Warden or
his deputy. These keys are serial
numbered and members are reminded that they remain the property of the B.E.C.
and should be returned when no longer required. A deposit of 20p is required for new keys, but old keys can be swapped
for a new one.
The Publications Officer wishes to inform members that the
printing work is being tackled now by Doug Stuckey.
The Tacklemaster asks members who have any difficulty in
finding the right tackle for their purposes – in particular digging ropes – to
contact him. His address is in the front
of this B.B.
MATTRESSES are urgently required for the Belfry. Single size preferred. If you have an old mattress but no way of
getting it up to Mendip – let the Hut Warden or the deputy H.W. know and they
will organise something. Remember, it’s
much easier to let the Belfry have an old mattress than to try burning it in
the garden!
Open Air Caving
KANGY writes
It was Alfie I think who first wrote in the B. B. about open
air caving and it’s not a bad description of the feeling that gorges give.
Fascinating and precious things are gorges, and I don’t
regret badgering friends and relations to record their experiences in this
series.
The gorges written about are amongst the great gorges of the
world. It’s strange, but the feelings of
the writers are similar even though they are respectively an historian; a
translator; an engineer and an eight year old lad. I suppose it’s because we’re all explorers.
The Gorge Of
Samaria
Crete
by MARK JAMES
The guidebook to the Gorge of Samaria has now been published
in all tourist maps of
inevitably, to be remarkably inaccurate. However, an attempt will be made here to recapitulate an enjoyable if
odd expedition.
Probably the best of the Gorge (qua gorge) is the magically
romantic approach to the top and the dizzy strait. After an extremely cultured/hedonistic period
in
drinking and mopping up about half a dozen oranges a day, the spectacle of the
top of he gorge from the refuge at Xiloskalo is breathtaking.
From Khania – the old capital of Crete – one drives South
towards the White Mountains and, after going through the richly endless orange
graves, snakes up increasingly open hillside from which the oranges, olives and
vines gradually disappear until one comes to the plain of Omalos. These Cretan plains sound romantic – a flat
bowl in the midst of fairly sparse mountains but, in fact, I found them rather
dull, enlivened only by the wild tulips that flower there. The inhabitants can grow little but potatoes
and, like most Cretans, are a little haughty especially if there are women in
evidence.
Up from the plain one follows a barren valley and the road
leads up the right hand side of the pass to the refuge of Xiloskalo. This refuge has a wide balcony facing South
though, even on a brilliant April morning, it was very cold at 9.30 when we
arrived. As we stood and looked down the
apparently sheer drop on the South side of the pass into which we were to
descend, an enormous bird floated effortless beneath us. To the right and left were shapely, if not
dramatic, snow-clad peaks. Before us the
bottom valley was darkly, mistily indistinct. I can imagine no more marvellous setting in which to see my first
eagle. He gave us two demonstration
circular glides at a pace that would have seemed slow had one not realised the
scale, then disappeared towards the mountains high on our left.
The Greek’s principal tourist selling point seems to be
woollen bags woven in traditional patterns and in bright colours, to be
suspended from the shoulder by a thickly plaited cord. Roger, who, when not enjoying holidays in
traditionally cultured parts of the world, is an administrative Officer for the
Ministry of Defence, was slung about with two of these. I had one and a haversack of my mother’s –
the net effect of the two of us was somewhat dangling. We had, however, brought our boots.
The track was obviously designed for mules, and for the
first thousand feet zigzagged down very steeply indeed though perfectly
comfortably. The pines grew thickly on
the slopes and one could often lean out from the path and rest on a tree whose
roots were fifteen or twenty feet below. There were fascinating glimpses back to the blue, white and black of the
peaks.
After the first sheer section, the track kept fairly close
to the stream which was clear in the main though sometimes cloudy with melt water. Flowers increased; trees thinned and we came
out at the first habitation – the little
standing in a small grassy alp with a couple of now deserted buildings
alongside it. The sun was now higher and
it was pleasurably hot. Beside the path
I found the wild white peony – the flower we had been looking for throughout
the Cretan holiday. I was the only one
lucky enough to find it. If anything, it
looked better than I had expected.
The day was gorgeous (let us hope that the pun was an
accident! – Ed.) and we carried on easily to the waters meet, a mile or so
below, and thence to the first olive trees we had seen this side of the
mountains which heralded our arrival at the
bridge was like, but I know that crossing from West to East of the river, we
looked down from forty to fifty feet into deep, still pools with occasional
enormous boulders.
itself was deserted, though it seemed from the condition of one or two of the
houses that there is still some seasonal occupation – possibly pastoral. Certainly there are enough olive trees to
merit a harvest. After an idyllic lunch
Roger, ever the scholar gypsy, was settling down to his book of poetry, but I
drove him to his feet and we set off for the gorge proper.
I think really that I enjoyed the morning, with its wonderful
lights and sunshine, more than the gorge itself impressive though it was. The walls close in South of Samaria and are
often overwhelmingly tall above one, though I question whether they are really
the 3,000 feet that the guidebook mentions – perhaps a thousand feet would be
nearer the mark for much of the way. The
walls are full of orange brown colours and there are many folds and contortions. At intervals, small caves mark the cliff with
black openings. The path stays on the
East side, much smaller now than the mule track down to Samaria though still
marked, in bizarre fashion, by green litter bins at quarter mile
intervals. (This in spite of the fact
that we saw not a soul between Xiloskados and Ayia Roumeli!) The length of the gorge where one feels
really tightly enclosed is not really more than about a mile, and culminates
dramatically in the Portes or gates.
Though the immediate stretch of cliff here is probably not
above three or four hundred feet, the gap narrows to some thirty feet. There is no path, so it was off with the
boots and trousers and hope for the best. In fact, the water never went above our knees and, though swift, was not
as pushing as many a Welsh or Scottish stream. Some fifty yards downstream, we came out of the water and hopped about
to warm ourselves up.
From here on, the gorge gradually opens. Strange flat sheets of puddingstone
conglomerate afforded amusing walking. In places, the river had cut through it in such a narrow channel that it
was possible to leap from one side to the other, and before we had realised how
far we had gone, we were surprised to hear voices. The small hamlet, which is improperly marked
on the map, was in fact on the West side of the stream and boasted an inn – if
that is the word for it – perhaps a shelter for selling wine to
travellers. The two old crones who
served us had a great thrill in uncorking the retsina, whose smooth yet tart
flavour we were longing for, and were delighted to discover our
nationality. Memories of 1941 are still
very much alive, and it is better to be British than German in those parts.
So on, somewhat headily, to the sea at Ayia Romeli. The place itself was seedily attractive. The inevitable police station (police always
seem to make up about a quarter of the visible population in rural
of what looked as if it could in the future be chalets for wealthy
tourists. We had heard that one could
get boats out, but had decided to walk out next day along the coast to Khora
Sjakion.
The inn was prepared to put us up – though I am at a loss to
know where – and we then sat for a long time appreciating the boredom that
seems to be a hallmark of rural
polite conversation we endured for an hour and then, leaving our things, we set
out to look at the ancient site of Tara (very unexciting) and for a swim in the
and empty coast.)
We returned to find a German party that had followed us down
the gorge had arrived and were hoping to get a boat out (there is, of course,
no motor road.) This was a great
occasion and produced prodigious police activity. When it was over, they returned to their H.Q.
and had a parade!
Supper was an omelette – excellent – and stale bread over
which our host sprinkled water liberally to freshen it up. Diet in Ayia Romeli was dependant on the weekly
boat. The boat came and went after
supper. The policemen eventually
finished their latest game of cards and, at last, the mystery of our sleeping
place was revealed. Two cot beds were
brought in and we bedded down in the bar (lounge, dining room) of the inn. I think there were only two rooms altogether,
but there might have been three.
Relieving myself in the middle of the night, the stars were
shining, but the moon was brighter and the one impressive thing in that seedy
little village – the Venetian fort that towered five hundred feet above it –
was clearly picked out amongst the eroded gullies of the hillside.
The walk out to Khora Sjakion next day was much longer and
harder than the descent of the gorge. It
took us ten hours with only brief stops for food, a swim and wine at the
attractively set village of Lautron which took us seven hours to reach. It was not a beautiful walk. The vegetation is low coarse scrub with
scarcely a tree till the olives of Lautron. Naked, eroded slopes are every where and though we kept close to the
coast, we wondered sometimes whether we were mistaken, as the only creatures we
met were goats. There were a few
highlights. The
was a perfect little Byzantine shrine just above high water, excellently kept
up, we guessed, by the handsome priest in Ayia Romeli. We approached it over yet larger sheets of
the strange conglomerate. Our swimming
place was superb, a small enclosed rocky bay we climbed down to, and which gave
us fine sand and smooth rocks on which to dry our nakedness. Finally, the last section of walk gave us one
giddily dramatic stretch of path where it traversed a ledge with a sheer face
above and plunged two hundred feet below into a deep turquoise sea.
Its a wonderful walk. Do it when you can! Perhaps it
will whet your appetite for summer action!
Shooting the
Grand Canyon
by Mlle. Nicole
Malagutti.
If you have ever dreamed of spending some time away from the
most overrunning aspects of our civilization, such as T.V., cars, etc., I would
advise you to take a trip down the
on a rubber raft.
You start from a
place called Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the
Canyon
can hire a mule or hike. Having ridden
the mule, I would recommend hiking, if you are prone to vertigo as the tracks
are very narrow and the bends very sharp.
The raft is waiting for you, and your seven day trip starts
immediately. It is a good start, as soon
after departure you go through the first rapid. This is Horn Creek, rated 7-9 (The scale of difficulty goes from 1 to
10). These rapids, and there are 93 of
them, are a thrilling experience. “Hang on! hang on!” recommends the boatman – and here you go,
grabbing at a rope as strongly as you can. At the top of the wave, you are thrown in the air, your only contact
with the raft being the rope to which you cling tightly. A second later, you go through a tall wall of
water which covers the entire raft. You
do not have time to be frightened (this comes later!). Of course, you wear a life jacket and, should
you be washed away into the river, the best thing to do is to grab the first
rock you meet, hang on and wait for rescue.
In between rapids, you have a more relaxed time during which
you can enjoy the magnificent scenery offered by the high pink cliffs steeply
rising over the dark brown river, the fantastic architecture carved by erosion,
the lava fingers solidified thousands of years ago, and many other beauties.
Some time during the afternoon you stop to collect drift
wood to cook the evening meal and, at about tea time, you stop by a beach,
choose a place where you want to install your camping equipment which is
limited in fact to a sleeping bag.
After a good meal cooked by the boatman, I guarantee you
will have a wonderful evening by the fire with no noise except the chatting and
singing of the ‘river runners’ under a wonderful collection of stars.
Next morning, after a good night’s sleep (good, that is, if
you are not too worried about the snakes and scorpions that might visit you)
you will be up at 5.30 and after a substantial breakfast and shower under the
nearby waterfall (what a massage!) you will be off again on the trail of Major
Powell, who first went down the river about a hundred years ago, losing three
men in the adventure.
Gorges
Du Verdon ,
France
by Jonathan King.
We were on our summer holidays with mummy and daddy and
Philip. We set off to walk the Gorges du
Verdon because daddy suggested it. We
went up the valley in the car. It was
hot. We got to the starting place at
about half past ten. We stopped the car
in the parking place in the middle of the gorge a long way down. We got ready by putting on our, shoes and our
equipment which was a bottle of lemon; cheese and other things to eat. We put all this in the rucsacs one for me and
one for daddy. Mummy stayed behind to
film us starting off and then we walked till we got to a tunnel. We waited for daddy who had filmed us going
up to the tunnel. We started going
through the tunnel. I used torch and my
brother used his. We walked on through
the tunnel until we got to another tunnel, that tunnel was the last tunnel for
a long way. When we got to the other end
of the tunnel we stopped to have a rest and wait for daddy who was trying to
find another path outside the tunnel but couldnt. Daddy joined us and we had some sweets and
then went on through a deep gorge until we came to an ideal spot to stop for
lunch. It was a shelter in the rock like
a cave. It was out of the sun which was
very hot. After lunch we started walking
again.
Our plan was to follow he gorge down to the end of the
difficult bit and then to find the end of the big tunnel so that we could get
back to our starting place without redoing the difficult bit.
We found the top end of the tunnel and the source which was
he only chance for water. We didn’t fill
our bottle because we thought we were going to come back to it. We came to the difficult bit and walked along
the paths with steep cliffs on one side. Some of the path had a cliff hanging over it. There were long ladders going up a steep
gully in the cliff. Going down the other
side we found another path which was a junction. There were lots of trees so we couldnt see
the river very well (it was a long way down). We started to look for the bottom end of the tunnel but we didnt
succeed. Daddy and I went on ahead to
try to find out where we were. We came
to a standstill by a river. We felt
thirsty because there was no more clean water so we took some glasses down to
the river and swilled our mouths out. We
noticed the Touring Club de France hut perched high above on the cliff side, so
Daddy went back to fetch Mummy and Philip who werent having a nice time.
From there we went all the way back up the steep slope to
the hut because we couldnt find the tunnel to go back. By this time everybody had had enough and
they were thirsty and tired. Daddy was
red and sweating and couldnt hardly speak. I was a bit thirsty. Then we went
up a steep ladder and walked along to the hut and had a litre of water
each. There was a nice man in the hut
who drove us back to our car and one of the nice things in the walk was some of
the fossils Philip had discovered.
I think we did well despite the lack of water and the heat.
Editors
Note: I
think he did well, too. In these days,
when so few people seem to be able to write, it is heartening to see the son of
one of our most regular correspondents breaking into print. Keep it up!
Les Gorges Du Tarn
by Kangy.
The sight of the deep cut Tran Gorge from Le Rozier is very
good. The guide will tell how many
thousands of years the
eroded their separate ways through the massive limestone beds that form the
high plateau of the causes. Only going
to see can strike home the singular effect of a deep gorge powerfully incised
into a horizontal plateau.
The Gorge of the
many viewpoints, from Le Rozier where its setting can be appreciated; from Pont
Sublime where its grandeur can be seen, and from the course of the river which
is almost inaccessible.
Commerce has solved the problem of inaccessibility by
providing rapid-shooting, long, narrow barges which start at St. Enimie and
land at Les Bawnes, giving a 25 kilometre excursion for about five pounds. Having leisurely absorbed the region and
become enamoured of it, the prospect of a descent of the river became more and
more alluring. Spice was added by the
possibility of doing it in an inflatable dinghy and avoiding unnecessary
expense.
So on the next family holiday, the inflatable was dragged
along with us in the hope that, if my reconnaissance was successful, we could
all make the descent. Easy access to the
river is limited to only a few places along the 25 Km of the recommended
section. We decided to start at St.
Enemie and Ann would go and wait at Les Bawnes. This would give us views of the most spectacular parts and keep our
driving to minimum, quite apart from the fact that the cirque at Les Baumes has
a pebble beach which would greatly amuse the family while dad did his stuff.
We pumped up the inflatable by the side of the road, just
downstream of the large signs exhorting the thrills of the barges and, feeling
slightly criminal, carried it to the water. Ann passed me the waterproof bag with camera and din-din and, bidding me
a fond farewell, pushed the boat off into the rapid running section of the
river. That bit went rather quickly what
with an imprecise directional control; swift current and lack of practice. Two oars and a round boat dont make for a
quiet life!
Suddenly the bank loomed and branches threatened the
boat. I thrust off ineffectively but got
a couple of good bites with the paddles into the solid mass of swiftly moving
steely-coloured water of the deep channel and, spinning wildly, found myself in
the rough shallows fending off frantically at sharp, teeth-like rocks
protruding from the white foam. Furious
arm work, a certain detached feeling which slowed time down, and I was once
again in the dark water, in the calm before the rapid. Quick flicks of the paddles lined me up to
shoot what I hoped was the best gap. It
happened. A smooth whoosh; an abrupt
lurch; no time to think; paddle like a maniac and – – – suddenly all was calm –
the first of a series of deep pools. Deep, clear water; tall, smooth limestone cliffs enclosed by a narrow
strip of sky.
I allowed the inflatable to drift, and started to think
about stowing the gear which had been dumped quickly into the boat in the
excitement of the start. I was reminded
of my camera and took some photographs. I drifted into pebbly shallows and, by pushing down on the oars and
raising myself, I scooted along trying not to worry too much about the abrasive
effect on the buoyancy. Once more into a
long pool, and then I settled down into a steady rhythm of rowing, and
progressed.
Pool led to rapid; rapids to shallows all encased between
the vertical, smooth walls of the gorge. Time passed. My shoulders ached
with the unexpected effort required to traverse the deep, slow sections of the
drifting would have been more pleasant and appropriate, but I still had an
ambition to return with my boys and wanted to get on.
At mid-day, the sun warmed a long bank of shingle heaped
against the rock wall and I made my first landfall. Dragging the expedition vessel high enough up
the bank to be sure that it would not be washed away, I got out the expedition
rations and ate. I felt very
possessive. My bank; my provisions; my
river; my boat. Especially my boat,
because if that went there was no alternative but to swim until the gorge sides
diminished sufficiently for me to climb out.
Advancing shadows cut short my reverie, and the reduced
stores were repacked and the voyage resumed. The gorge began to open out past this point and the enclosed private
feeling gave way to a more touristic one. The river still flowed between rock walls, but lower ones, topped by
vegetated limestone scree slopes and completed by cirques which gave the impression
of mountain peaks. All was light white
stone, dry, protruding through a cover of light green shrubs and trees. Upstream, from where I’d come was the primal
gorge, simple and sure, rising on the right to a well shaped limestone peak.
The sun rays began to redden; the regular paddling numbed
the tired feeling as I crossed long wide stretches of the river. Beaches began to appear and all was calm and
peaceful. In the distance a wide bend
followed the direction of a deep and high cirque which must be Les Baumes and I
started to look for my family. A white
dot of a dress became larger and I soon distinguished the energetic shapes of
two small boys happily heaving stones into the water. I made my second landfall and kissed Ann and
nobody mentioned a second trip and I didnt insist.
*****************************************
The Annual Mendip Barbecue is normally held on the Saturday
nearest to Midsummer Day. This year it
will be SATURDAY JUNE 23rd. Keep this
date free for the usual festivities round the bonfire if fine or festering in
the Belfry if it turns out to be a typical Mendip summer day.
With any luck, there will be a more detailed announcement in
the next B.B. in time for the event, but if not, please contact “Mr.”
NIGEL TAYLOR at the Belfry or at Whiddons, Chilcote. Telephone number WELLS 72338.
A.G.M. of the C.S.C.C.
This account was written and
supplied for the B. B. by Dave Irwin. A
full copy of the minutes will be in the club library when available.
The A.G.M. of the C. S. C. C. was held in the Hunters with
Allan Thomas as Chairman. Several
interesting points were discussed apart from the normal routine election of subcommittees
and officers.
Tim Reynolds was re-elected as Hon. Secretary/Treasurer and
informed the meeting that the Council had finished the year with a surplus of
£23. He also informed the meeting that
the National Caving Association (N.C.A.) had discussions in hand relating to a
national insurance cover to protect landowners against claims from cavers. If this happened, the need for indemnity
chits (‘blood chits’) would probably disappear.
Tim was given permission to go ahead with the formation of
the Southern Council Company Limited – a scheme to enable the council to
purchase caves should the need arise. This would, the meeting was informed, take from three to six months to
set up. The cost of setting up the
Southern Council Company Limited is, it is hoped, to be financed by funds from
the
The N.C.A. minutes were also read out to the meeting and an
interesting point came out regarding interim payments to member organisations
of the N.C.A. About £950 is to be
distributed this year from Sports Council funds to members of N.C.A. Of the interim payment authorised by N.C.A.
of £450, payments ranged from £10 to the Southern Council to £200 for the
British Association of Caving Instructors (Editor’s Note: There you are, I said
that my crystal ball really worked! – See last Christmas B.B.)
During discussion on matters arising, Box Stone Mines was
the principal subject. Closure of some
entrances by a farmer has been causing problems. However, this has been, left in the hands of
the C.C.G. and further moves are to be carefully watched. Mike Collins, M.N.R.C., proposed setting up a
conservation Corps to form a central body to organise the routine clearing up
of caves. This was voted out on the
basis that conservation should be the responsibility of all cavers and not of
some national body.
The Conservation Sub-Committee (Rich. Witcombe, Chairman) is
to look into the problems of caves requiring special protection and access.
The most controversial proposal came from S.M.C.C. (Bob
Mayhew.) Bob proposed, in a very tightly
constructed formula, the centralisation arrangements for access to all Mendip
caves. As this proposal had a large
number of clauses, it was withdrawn and a simpler one submitted. This basically gave the Hon. Secretary of the
C.S.C.C. the right to renegotiate existing access arrangements with the
landowners. He, at the next A.G.M. in
May, 1974, is to produce a report for submission to the Council for the
necessary ratification. Tony Knibbs,
Hon. Secretary of the C.C.C. gave his support to this system.
One weakness of the C.S.C.C. was highlighted by Bob Mayhew
in his proposal and that was that clubs wishing to join the C.S.C.C. should be
proposed and seconded. This is worthy of
thought, but as the whole proposal was withdrawn it did not arise. The current method of getting on to the
council is by merely sending 25p and stating the name of the club! – Perhaps a
useful weapon to partisan cavers!
Another Knot
A contribution from your
overworked and underpaid Editor.
Well, no – you can’t actually invent a new knot to-day, as
generations of people have twiddled rope into every conceivable shape before
you. However, I managed to tie this knot
more or less accidentally the other day and thought that it may – or may not –
be of interest.
Before describing how to tie it, a few words about this knot
might be as well. Like most knots, it
has its advantages and disadvantages. Its main advantages are twofold. Firstly, it is an extremely non-slip sort of knot. Even with a slippery rope, it is guaranteed
to lock up into a solid chunk – and stay there. In spite of this, it is comparatively easy to undo. Secondly, if a loop is made in a rope using
this knot, either or both ends may be pulled upon without running any risk of
shortening the loop. Thus, if you do
this sort of thing with it
.
the loop will stay open. This might be useful when, say, guiding an injured man up an awkward
pitch.
Unfortunately – AND A WORD OF WARNING MUST BE GIVEN HERE its
very non-slip properties are caused by the vicious, and sharp bends it puts
into the rope. An ordinary bowline will
reduce the strength of any given rope by half and this knot is very
considerably worse. So a rope must be of
VERY adequate strength before you trust your entire weight plus snatch to this
knot. Like all such knots, it becomes
kinder to the rope if it is tied on a bight by doubling the rope and tying the
mat in the doubled end of rope. This
lessens the sharpness of the bends which the knot causes.
The knot is commenced as in the figure opposite by making a
small loop as shown and passing the end of the rope under the loop after having
passed it round your body or the object to be fastened to the rope
The free end of the rope is then worked over, under, over,
under and over as shown in the next figure opposite. After this, the knot must be pulled
together as it does not self-tighten very well owing to its high internal
friction.
A view of the completed knot in a single rope end is shown
opposite. The knot is undone by pulling
the uppermost loop forward with no tension on the hauling end of the rope. The knot will then loosen.
Below is shown front and back views of the knot as tied with
a double end to the rope. In practice
all rope ends should be longer than shown in the diagrams.
The most strenuous job so far carried out using this knot
was the hauling up a fairly steep incline of a quarter of a ton of ‘Rayburn’
cooker – a loop being made in each end of the rope by the knot described with
one end round the Rayburn and the other end loop attached to a 30 cwt winch. The tension in the rope was very
considerable. No visible permanent
damage appeared to have been caused by the knots but this does not mean that no
damage in fact occurred to fibres inside the rope.
I finally found this knot described in – of all places one
of Sally’s books on embroidery. It is
used in its opened out form as a decorative knot in macramé work where it is
known as the Josephine knot.
Hardly the right sort of image for caving or climbing~
Library Notes
Some of the recent additions to
our expanding library, sent in by the Hon. Librarian .
Rocksport Various copies have been donated by Nigel
Jago and we now have a complete run from 1969 to May 1971.
Mountain
Number 8
The
Climber Volume 8 number 7 July 1969.
Rock
Climbs at the Wyndcliffe (F. Cannings.)
Newsletter Autumn 1950, June and July 1951, August 1952.
C.S.S.
Newsletter Vol 11 No 12, Vol 15 No 1 and 2
S.W.C.C.
“Our Caves” Nos 3-7 and Caving Knots.
S.M.C.C. Library
list, 1972, Journal Series 5 No 4.
C.R.G.
Constitution; Transactions, Vol 2 No 4, Vol 14 No1 —- Vol 14 No 3; Newsletter
No 132.
W.C.C. ‘Pioneer
under the Mendips’
A.C.G.
Newsletters June 1967, December 1972
M.N.R.C. Development
of Artificial Climbing particularly suitable for Cave Exploration. D.P. Turner, 1964. Newsletters numbers 43, 44.
B.E.C.
B.B.’s nos 31-41; 53-76 Caving Reports Nos 3A & 11.
M.C.G.
Newsletter number 9 March 1956.
G.S.S.
Newsletters Feb/Jul/Aug/Oct/Nov/Dec 1968, Jan/Feb/Mar/Apr 1969 May 1965.
D.S.S.
Journals Nos 100-104 (1967-69)
SWETCCC
Spelio Vol 7.No 1.
Orpheus
C.C. Newsletter Volume 8 number 9
N.
Pennine C.C. Newsletter No 31 June 1969.
Red
Rose C.P.C. Journal Number 6.
Die
Hohle Volume 23, numbers 3 and 4.
Soterra Number 31, April 1972.
Northern
Caves Volume 1. Wharfedale.
Current
Titles in Spelaeology – International.
Calcott, 1972.
The
Caves of
Oldham, J. Smart. Dec 1972.
Celebrated
Complete
Caves of Mendip (
and Stanton.)
Monthly Crossword Number 33.
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Across:
1. North plus Mendip hole give
light. (4)
3. Short formation. (4)
6. A hundred talked otherwise and put ladders in. (7)
9. Cross
11. Take sights on. (3)
12. U.E. twist for caving wear. (7)
15. Working found in many a ditty. (4)
16. Short cave dweller. (4)
Down:
1. Formation gone hence unable
to make bricks? (2,5)
2. Ready and able. (3)
4. Caving beverage? (3)
5. Soot cup for Cuthberts chamber. (7)
7. Meadow form of 4. (3)
8. Holding back, not swearing! (7)
(3)
13. All caves come to this. (3)
14. Hilliers Hall (3)
Solution to Last Months Crossword
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