Exploration Club, The Belfry,

, Priddy, Wells,

Editor: Dave Turner

I must apologies for the lateness of this BB, working as I
do for myself means that I am not always able to put the BEC first, and in the
last couple of months I have had a continuous stream of rush jobs.

I don’t feel I am giving the post of BB editor the attention
which it deserves and so am intending not to stand for the post at the next
AGM.  I think that the time has come for
one of the younger members with more time and enthusiasm to take on this
job.  I have kept the BEC membership
records on one of my computers for many years and am quite prepared to continue
doing that job and producing labels for the BB etc.  I can also then concentrate on helping to
typeset books such as the Cuthbert’s Report.

The Cuthbert’s Report

To assist financing the Cuthbert’s Report, a Building
Society Account has been opened in the name of “Cuthbert
McDonald”.  If you have £5 to spare
why not give it to J-Rat and secure your copy when it arrives?  This will also help finance its actual
production.  J-Rat and his magic book
will note down your particulars.  Full
refunds will be available if the worst should happen, God forbid.  If you dilly-dally, it will cost £6 over the
counter.  Cheques should be payable to
“Cheltenham & Gloucester Building Society” please, and not the


Membership changes

New members

William Curruthers         Brewery Lane
, Holcombe
Barbara Williams          
Gary Trainer                  Hampstead,
Peter Hopkins               Keynsham,


Craig Bale                    Brislington,


Maurice van Luipen        Hayes, Middsex
Charles Hay                  Croscombe,


Brian Gilbert                 Chinford,


Bill Murkett                   Buckhurst
Sarah Macdonald          address unknown
Christopher Proctor       Radstock,


Nicholas Cline               Wells,


Mark Philpott                Wells,


Dr. Tony Boycott           Westbury-on-Trym,


Simon Mendes              Droitwich, Worcs

Dennis Bumford            Westcombe,
Shepton Mallet
Terry Phillips                 Demead,

Address changes

Roy and Joan
Bennett   Newtonmore, Invernesshire
Ross White                  c/o Mike
Chrissie Bissett            Ottery St
Mary, E. Devon
Richard Clarke              Axbridge,


Dr. Peter Glanvill           Chard,


Robert McNair               Oltley,
Rob Harper                   Wells,
Brian Prewer                 Priddy,


[Editors note: some of the changes may not be exactly
correct ­ the note containing them was illegible!]


Flooding Incident In Eastwater Cavern

On the 16th April a party of eight B.E.C. and three W.C.C.
members were undertaking various climbing, digging and surveying projects in
the remote parts of West End Series, Eastwater Cavern.  Another
team were digging in the upper passages of
West End
and two tourist parties were also in the cave. Those working in the bottom had enjoyed a relatively easy and dry trip,
there being only a trickle of water at Lolley Pot and through the flood-prone
crawl into Blackwall Tunnel, the writer even remarking to Kevin Gurner that
Lolley Pot is much more entertaining when it is taking a stream.

On the surface, during the early afternoon, there occurred a
brief, torrential downpour which seems to have been centred over the
Priddy-North Hill area, only steady rain being noted at nearby Wells.  This fell onto hard, dry ground and the major
Eastwater catchment took much of this excessive rainfall, causing the entrance
to become impassable and temporarily trapping all parties in the cave.

In lower
West End the
B.E.C. team were commencing a survey of the deepest part – the Chamber of
Horrors.  At about 4.30 p.m. a roaring
mass of water erupted from the too-tight inlet passage leading in from
Blackwall Tunnel and the floor of the chamber rapidly began to fill up –
possibly helped by water from a theoretical streamway below the chamber floor.

Tom Chapman was hastily despatched to the Tunnel to check on
conditions and use his own judgement on whether to try and get out and organise
a possible rescue.  In the meantime the

team was
contacted by the writer and warned of conditions.  Being only four bolts away from new passage
at the top of an eighty foot aven they were at first sceptical, and then
reluctant to leave – they were already prepared for an overnight stay in the
cave.  Graham Johnson, though,
accompanied the writer to Blackwall Tunnel, and both realized by the tremendous
draught and the roar of the stream that things could be serious.  Tom had not returned and it was assumed that
he had got out, so all those remaining slithered down the Tunnel to the low
crawl.  Here the previously dry passage
was now occupied by a swirling mass of inflowing, brown water with a foot of
froth on top – like a Guinness drinker’s dream! After watching the four inch air-space drop half an inch in fifteen
minutes it was decided to “go for it”, as on a previous occasion the crawl had
been sumped up for over two years!

With considerable trepidation all passed the tube to be
confronted by an almost solid column of water hurtling down Lolley Pot –
proving to Kevin that it was indeed much more entertaining with a stream in it.

The ascent of the pot under these conditions was something
of a frightening epic, especially when the flood water and Trevor Hughes both
began hurling T.V. sized rocks down the pitch. From here everyone made their way out at their own speed, noting scores
of small streams entering
West End and Ifold’s
Series from unexpected places.  No
further problems were encountered on the way out, apart from those of a normal
trip in this strenuous cave, and upon reaching the entrance the water was down
enough for an easy exit.

In the meantime the other

party, Pete and Alison
Moody, had only got out of the entrance because of three rescuers sitting in
the stream to form a temporary human dam.

Tom Chapman had valiantly fought his way out to summon
assistance and a goodly team of prospective divers and rescuers was standing by
at Upper Pitts and the Belfry, with the possibility of Fire Brigade help not
being ignored.  Our grateful thanks to
all concerned.

The tourist parties in the cave had not realized that the
flood had occurred, being in drier parts of the system at the time of the

All those involved agree that this was a very close call.

Anyone in Blackwall Tunnel squeeze or climbing Lolley Pot at
the time of the initial flood pulse would have been very lucky to survive.  The easily blocked sink at the bottom of the
Tunnel was fortunately operating fairly well thanks to the efforts of

teams over the last year and the flood may even have helped to clear it.  Should it have become blocked and the whole
stream backed up the consequences could have been disastrous.  The wet and extremely draughty conditions
could have easily led to hypothermia if anyone had been forced to stay beyond
the Tunnel and, as stated before, rescue from this remote and difficult area is
nigh on impossible with an incapacitated person.

Those working here have learnt several more important
lessons from this event and a rescue dump will shortly be installed beyond the
Tunnel.  This should be used ONLY in

It is once again stressed that this is arguably the most
difficult Mendip trip – one of those present on this occasion stating that, in
comparison, “Daren Cilau is a piece of cake … ”  Add to this the ever present danger of flash
floods and you have a bit of cave to treat with the utmost respect.  Also be warned of the dangers of the cave
entrance flooding and the ever present possibility of movement in the Boulder
Ruckle and Boulder Chamber the latter being actively “on the move” at
the present time.

Have a nice trip.

(also reproduced in Descent)

Tony Jarratt


Council of Southern Caving Clubs

At the recent CSCC AGM Martin Grass was defeated in the
election for Secretary.  With over 120
clubs the voting was 3 for Martin and 4 for Alan Butcher.  So Butch is now the new Secretary.

So Near but Yet So Far


During an enforced clear-out of my loft recently I found my
old Belfry Bulletins dating back to the year I joined the Club (1955).  One particular journal stood out because of
its bright yellow cover, a BB Digest dated 1959.  In it were many articles dating as far back
as 1951 and one article in particular, by John Ifold, caught my attention.  His article, dated 1951, described the
discovery of the Ifold Series in Eastwater and his thoughts on the future

Now read on.

A New System in Eastwater Cavern

J.W. Ifold

If Harris’s passage is followed up-stream, the canyon
formation merges into a steeply inclined bedding plane, which is sectioned off
by loose and dangerous boulder chokes. During Easter l95l, the author removed a small boulder choke and
penetrated into further extensions. Whether these extensions are of the same bedding plane or not can only
be settled by a survey.  At present the
system appears to penetrate for about four hundred feet, and there are
possibilities that it may be further extended. An interesting observation is the presence of two streams which seem to
disappear in a
North Westerly direction.  Another feature unusual to Eastwater is the
presence of large eroded stalagmite sheeting. This is eroded not only on its upper surface, but at many points is
completely hollowed out from beneath. Its markings include scalloping and several concentric circles, which
are possibly the remains of completely eroded stalagmites. This discovery led
to a discussion of the complete absence of stalagmitic formations in Eastwater
as compared with the abundance in nearby Swildons.  An interesting point is the phreatic
sponge-work, smaller than that in Ffynnon Ddu, but otherwise very similar.

One member of the party advanced the theory that at one time
Eastwater had taken a very much larger proportion of the North Hill drainage
than it now does, while near-by Swildons was left comparatively dry. This heavy
flow might have caused very rapid and complete erosion, thus explaining the
almost complete absence of formations in Eastwater, and these strangely eroded

The direction of the system leads to the belief that it is
under the boulder maze, but it is possible that the two small streams at the
end of the series may come from the 380 foot way.  This system may yield to further exploration.


BEC Parachuting Weekend

Would anyone interested in going on a weekend parachuting
course please get in touch.  When we have
a rough idea of numbers we’ll start sorting out dates and a venue.  There’s a list in the Belfry so just sign
your life away and try a BEC first of falling off things while sober.


Club Trip Abroad 1989 Or 1990

So many people enjoyed the club trip to the Berger a few
years ago that it is about time we did something similar.  One possibility that comes to mind is a trip
to the P.S.M., or perhaps the Trou de Glaz area, maybe even the Berger
again.  If anyone is interested in this
idea then let me know, tell me which area you’d rather go to.  There’s no reason why this should get in the
way of the


project, it’s just a more caving holiday type of trip that can be arranged as
well.  Also there’s a distinct possibility
that the Dachstein will be closed to foreign cavers in the near future.

While on the subject of

, I don’t recollect having
seen a report in the BB about the trip there last summer!


Article For


Alan Thomas wishes to sell 6 berth Conway Trailer Tentin
excellent condition including Calor stove with full cylinder of Calor Gas and
Tilly Lamp.  Reason for selling – Too
difficult for Alan on his own.  Price

West End Series – Eastwater Cavern


Diggers And Explorers – Cast In Order Of Appearance

Keith Gladman – BEC

Andy Lolley – BEC

Tim Large – BEC

Stuart Macmanus – BEC

Phil Romford – BEC

Tony Jarratt – BEC

John Watson – BEC

Jim Smart – BEC

Mark Lumley – CSS

Glyn Bolt – WCC

Darren Granfield – BEC


-Jones – BEC

“Bucket” Tilbury – BEC

Jane Clarke – BEC

Andy Sparrow – BEC

Trevor Hughes – BEC

Rob Harper – BEC

Edric Hobbs – BEC

Matt Tuck – BEC

Brian Prewer – BEC

Hark Brown -BEC

Dave Turner – BEC

Paul Hodgson – BEC

Andrew George – BEC

Ian Caldwell – BEC

Wharton – BEC

Dave Newsom – US of A

Pete Hann – WCC

Julie Bolt – WCC

Pete Glanville BEC

Tony Boycott – UBSS

Neill Scallon – CSS

Angie Glanville – BEC

Martin Grass -BEC


Debbie Armstrong – BEC

 – BEC

Chris Birkhead – ICCC

Mark Bound – BEC

Peter Bolt – BEC

Howard Limbert – NCC

Decbie Limbert – NCC

Alan Box – NCC

“Noddy” – NCC

Mike Duck – BEC

Robin Gray – BEC

Nick Hill – SMCC

Mike ? – ex ACG

Jeremy Henley – BEC

Tim Swan

Pete Moody – WCC

Alison Moody – WCC

Rich Websell -WCC

Ian Mackenzie –


Alistair Neill & friends – PCG

Chris Larkin – S. African SS

Pete Watts – WCC

Paul Whybro – WCC

Geoff Newton – WCC

Mike Davies – NUCC

Andy Lovell – BEC

Dave Shand – BEC

Tim Gould – BEC

Lisa Taylor – BEC


Steve Milner – BEC

Chris Batstone – BEC

Martin Buckley – WCC

Paul Sutton – WCC

John Dukes – BEC

Pete Rose – BEC

Pete “Snablet” Macnab –

Tom Chapman – BEC


Tim Robbins-SVCC

Rich York – BEC

Bob Lewis – SVCC

Dave ? – SVCC

Mike ? – SVCC

Doug Mills – WCC

Simon ? – WCC

Duncan Frew – WCC




Aggy at Easter, one foot deep and flooded

The sun was shining at 7.40 a.m. as I drove across Mendip to
Crickhowell to breakfast at the corner cafe with Mac, Bishop, John Dukes and
others.  At 8.59 a.m. I walked through
the cafe door to cries of, “He’s a minute early,” and the rain that
had emptied on the campers that morning started again.

Breakfast took an hour, arrived lukewarm in slow relays as
the cafe staff struggled inadequately and the air grew steadily more foul from
partly digested beer and an unhealthy food eaten the night before.

At about 11.30 a.m. a motley crew of eight signed into the
cave and, exhausted by the walk to the cave and wondering what I was doing
there, I immediately took up the rear. Aggy really is the ultimate bore for great stretches between little climbs
that require longer legs than I seem to have, and sections of stream passage
with lively water.  Water – there seemed
to be a lot more than I could remember. An hour or so in there were mutterings from the aficionados, “It
sometimes sumps before the third boulder choke. Just as well we decided to go this way rather than through
Southern Streamway first.”

We entered a long canal of deep water which nobody could
remember. “Perhaps there was a climb out of the water further back,”
suggested one. “No, it’s straight on down the streamway,” asserted
another, so we went on a few yards to where the passage widened and progress
could only be made by swimming, the three non-swimmers in the party buoyed up
by their wetsuits and encouraged by the rest of us.  The roof came down to a foot from the
water.  We turned left, went on for just
a few paces, and the roof met the water. Sumped.  Consternation.  Another party caught us up.  We chatted awhile but there was only one
thing to do and that was to head back out, disappointed.

However, there was a problem which had delayed us about ten
minutes.  Whilst swimming I had kicked
off a wellington boot which promptly sank in eight feet of water.  A search had revealed nothing so a makeshift
boot of four armbands had been wrapped around my right foot.  Finally, with jokes in very poor taste about
spare boots being available from a late cave diver we set off to find that the
air space of a foot was now a matter of inches and urgency and much
encouragement was needed to get everyone through.  Even amongst the hard-nosed there were signs
of singular relief.

Two hours later we were back at the entrance.  My makeshift boot had served its purpose and,
for the record books, I became the first person to do one third of the

Grand Circle
on one
foot, four Mars bars, a currant bun, six slices of toast, two cans of coke and
a shot from a disposable syringe.

Jeremy Henley


Notes From The Librarian

Tony Jarratt

Two new trends have been started in the Library.  One of these is the hopeful collection of a
selection of caving videos.  Anyone who
has videos which they would care to donate or lend for copying should see the
Librarian.  Likewise anyone with video
copying facilities would be welcomed with open arms.  Mark has started the ball rolling.

The other new idea is the collection of copies of members
personal caving logs.  Much useful
information may be contained in these and if they are lost or destroyed it
cannot be replaced. Should anyone care to let the club have a copy of their log
they will receive their own photocopy free as a safeguard against loss.

Additions to the Library

* 3 mss Logbooks (Xerox copies)
A. Jarratt – donated by J.Rat.
* Video – Hard Rock Cafe, Daren Cilau & extract from “Blue Peter”

* Irish Speleology Vol 4 No. 1 1987
* The
Adventure (American Caving)
* Beneath the Mountains (Expedition to N.Spain)
* The Mysterious World of Caves
* Caves and Caving in


(written by E.J. Mason a BEC member)
* Trapped! (the attempted rescue of Floyd Collins – gripping!)
* Cave Photography – A Practical Guide (Chris Howes new book)
* SRT (by D. Elliot – tells you how to place red bolts)
* Devenshire Sump Index 1985
Vol 1 East Devon

Vol 2 – Chudleigh &

Vol 3 – N. Torbay
* Local Caving – Caving in the Crickhowell area
* Speleo Sportive dans Ie Vercors (useful French guide)
* Caves of Derbyshire (1984 edition)

All the above were bought by the Club to enhance the new
library.  They were chosen by the
Librarian. Anyone wanting a specific book please inform Tony Jarratt.



Though not a novel idea, it is nice to see the dedication of
two of our new members who now each proudly sport a Bertie tattooed on their
chests.  Perhaps some of the lady members


Thanks to all those who helped on the hut over the past week.
We managed to do the following jobs:-

* Mowed lawn
* Cut down nettles
* Chucked out all rubbish including old lockers and heaters
* Disinfected and cleaned floors in
Shower Drying & both bunk rooms
* Cleared rubbish from Hut Warden’s locker
* Cleaned walls of Drying Room
* Cleaned all woodwork ready for painting
* Cleaned bunks and repaired 2 bunks. Bolted bunks to wall
* Raised furniture so main can be hosed down
* Fixed temporary step outside Main Room Fire exit
* Painted bog walls and cleaned bogs
* Fitted First Aid box
* Fitted new signboard
* Inspected Roof
* Repaired second shower
* Replaced third shower
* Repaired Main Room water heater – installed new tap
* Rewired storage heater time clock
* Replaced hose
* Hung up 3 new mirrors
* Preparation for 1 new socket in large Bunk Room
* Rodded out drains
* Cleaned out gully
* Cleaned cookers
* Refilled Fire Extinguisher
* Cleaned all crockery
* Stocked up on cleaning materials
* 40w bulbs in Bunk rooms & hallway
* Lampshade in big bunk room
* Painted windows in Women’s Bunk Room
* Removed all gas bottles to store, re-piped all gas feeds to store
* Painted walls of Main Room
* Removed old cupboard & ordered new shelving

Wanted For The Belfry

Digging tools
Coat Hooks
Benches for shower room
Extractor Fan
Bags of cement to stabilise car park
Tins of white emulsion paint
Tins of white undercoat and gloss
Carpet for Library (10ft. square)



BEC Pens


Pens are constructed of £2 x 1” Keruing (Malayan Hardwood)
throughout with a “2 x 2” bucket rail complete with hoops of 5/16ths” steel
rod.  Joints in key places are double
bolted for extra strength.

Standard pens are 6’ x 3’ x 3’6” high, giving an 18sq.ft.
floor area.  They can be tailor made to
fit existing buildings in single or double rows of any length and with slatted
or solid sides.  If the walls of the
buildings are suitable they can be used, thus eliminating the need for wooden
pen backs and sides at the ends of the row. This type of unit makes the most economical use of the building.

There are two bucket openings per pen, preventing the
fouling of dry food.  Fronts are
completely removable or can be hinged either way, allowing easy calf
access.  Pens can be dismantled simple in
seconds, without the use of spanners, for cleaning or convenience.


e.g Based on a row of 20 standard pens with slatted sides: –

Complete Pen £33.64/pen

Without Backs £24.55/pen

Without Backs & End Sides £23.10/pen

Double Pen Front £19.91 each

Double Hayrack £19.91 each

2 Gallon Bucket £19.91 each


West Virginia
U.S.A April 1988

” Ere Wang” says Stumpy, ”Where’s that atlas and
that pin?”  ‘Wot do yer want that
for?” replies Trebor.  “To find
out where we’re going for our hols, of course.” “Ah so” says
Trebor.  STAB. “Ok,

West Virginia
is” says Trebor triumphantly. ‘Where’s that?” questions Stumpy. Trebor leaves, exasperated.


So commenced the “Pesky Critture” caving
expedition to
Monroe, Greenbrier and Pocohontas
West Virginia,

which by this time had
accumulated that varmint, Stuart MacManus. A bit of research soon threw up a good number of caves and contacts, so
after some letter writing and favourable replies, off we went.

Unusually for a BEC trip, our vague plan of campaign held
together and we spent days mellowing (‘moseying’ in US slang) on down the Blue
Ridge Mountains, 100 miles west of Washington, heading south west for West
Virginia.  Mac thoroughly enjoyed the
cold night air up in the

National Park
particularly as the Bishop had neglected to include the feathers when he sold
Mac his apology for a sleeping bag.  Just
as well Bish was 3000 miles away.  Mac it
seems doesn’t like bogeyman that go bump, rattle or roar in the night so he
wouldn’t relieve himself from his tent. Pat and Trebor were snug as a bug, giving extra credence to the well
known local saying that ”


is for lovers”.

TIPS FOR TRIPPERS. Hire a car.  They are pretty cheap
and smart but insurance can be about 10 dollars a day.  Speed limit slow at 50­55nph depending on the
state.  Petrol very cheap at 85c a gal.

On our way down the
Park, which straddles the Blue Ridge
Mountains, we took sideways excursions down into the
to visit show caves, of which there are numerous good ones
e.g. Luray Caverns.  The Massanutten show
cave was probably the most memorable as it was a little private one with the
owner, Mr Cobb, as guide – a grand old man on sticks shuffling through the cave
at minimal miles per hour: very proud, enthusiastic and knowledgeable.  We were his only visitors.

TIPS FOR TRAVELLERS. Visit show caves.  They are well
done, plentiful, interesting and often spectacular.  You invariably find you are the only
customers, especially in the week, thus receiving preferential attention.

We visited the Grand Caverns Show Cave at Grottoes, south of
Harrisonburg (a regional centre) and as the only spectators received a
fascinating trip with the guide who asked us to tell him how the thing was
formed and what this and that were, especially wonderful disc-like projections
coming out of walls and ceilings.  We
heard that there was a proper cave just alongaways a bit so we obtained
permission from the show cave manager, obtained an indemnity waiver form and
fired on down this

.  Obviously once very spectacular but somebody
had tried to make it into a show cave at same time in the past and it didn’t
work out.  Our first ‘proper’ caving trip
in the


TIPS FOR TRAVELLERS.  In show caves, if you want to wander off beyond the lit bit, you are
asked to sign an indemnity form absolving the management from any
liability.  Some charge dollars, but we
resisted paying on principle.

Off the Blue Ridge now and heading south west’ish towards

Bath County,
on our way to the main caving area.  A lovely scenic county with apparently
100,000 trees to every human.  Lovely
hidden valleys, babbling brooks, nooks and crannies and cave potential.  I should have been a poet.  A good days amble, camp, cave spot and musing
was had before moving on via Lake Moomaw but not before Pat shimmied up a cliff
to suss out a likely hole, only to utter the immortal words – “This rock
looks a bit naff”.  Two tons of it
promptly fell off, narrowly missing our intrepid companion.


has respectable
caves and is certainly worth a closer look and extended stay.  Local base is either Warm or

Hot Springs
and there is camping
available.  Americans are very well set
up for the outdoor life so there are campsites liberally deposited.   Visit Sam Sneads restaurant in

Hot Springs
, superb and
cheap.  No more carbide left in

Hot Springs
– we pinched

To our initial chagrin, carbide was impossible to obtain but
after the 450th attempt we decided to have one last go in this little hardware
store in

Hot Springs

we were passing after an early breakfast.

“Do you have any calcium carbide my good hardware
vendor?” says Mac.  “Gee, I had
sane here waysback.  Jus’ hunker down
there and I’ll go out back and looksee!

Bless his heart, he cane tack with a dusty old tin of the
stuff for the grand price of a rock.  On
now to the

and our caving
area, centred around Lewisburg and route 219 which runs north-south through the
cave region, embracing Monroe, Greenbrier and Pocohontas counties.  Sojourned at Lost World show caves – the only
one we’ve seen totally lit up.  25 rocks
for a ‘hardcore’ trip for cavers which is outrageous but a spectacular show
cave nonetheless.  We left rapidly after
Trebor did unspeakable things to a toilet in the show cave cafe, but less said
the better.  Lewisburg is a pleasant hick
town and we contacted Bob Liebman of Bob & Bob (cave supplies) by phone in
Sinks Grove, a village 15 miles south of Lewisburg.  He said come on down so down we went and he
kindly let us stay in his brothers ‘house’; typically timber, pleasant, semi
derelict, outside dunny and no water but it was a roof over our heads and
certainly better than the Belfry.

Bob was hosting the local Grotto (caving club) meeting that
Friday evening in his house around the corner so we were invited along to meet
the boys and have a tube or two.  They
gave us some tips on where to go, people to see, things to do and invited us on
their club trip down the local mega cave, Organ Hole, the following Sunday.

TIPPLES FOR TRAVELLERS.  Not much water about in huts etc, so take the
opportunity of ablutting in cave entrances, puddles etc, also cafes.  Carbide not allowed on planes so use petzl
zooms until you can get to Bob’s where there’s loadsa carbide.  But beware you cannot get flat Duracell-type
petzl batteries in the

so take plenty.

Armed with all the info, off we went the next day
caving.  Too many to relate individually
and far too many to even hope to do in two weeks but we saw enough variety in
styles, picturesgueness, severity, size and dampness to whet the appetite.  Over 3000 known caves in the state and vast
potential for more.  We didn’t even dent
the surface.  The locals can’t cope with
what they’ve got, let alone systematically look for more.  Two or three trips stood out in the first

.  Not much of a cave but a little SRT entrance
pitch.   Accompanied by one of the Organ
Hole show cave guides.  All well until
the prusik out when our American friend had trouble with his apology-for-a-rig.

“Cut the rope, cut the rope – I’m dying!” came the
anguished cry.

Trebor looks over the lip and says with remarkable
restraint, hoi-polloi and nonchalance,

“‘The BEC don’t cut rope, dear boy” .. (and under
his breath, “not even at 75p a metre”)

Pat and Trebor untied the belay, lowered our guide all of
two feet to the floor while Dan “I’m a warden” Dare McManus descended
to sort the bloke out.  First MRO
overseas rescue?

.  Some forty miles of biggish stuff, not
rivettingly interesting but has to be done and of course we only did a bit of
it.  A small part is a rather poor show
cave but it does contain old timber vats from the Civil War when they used to
leach out saltpetre for gunpowder.  The
main significance was that it was our first trip with the local caving group, a
great bunch.  We did a 6 hour through
trip which was pleasant enough, but mainly because of the company.  The jokes and banter began to flow.  I never knew Mac had such a dirty mind.

.  We had heard that this one breathed fire and
brimstone from the entrance with hot Spring water frothing deep below.  It had to be checked out by these fearless
Belfryites, wearing good old wetsuits in the mad dogs and English
tradition.  After some initial difficulty
with route finding, we promptly found the froth – hot spring water at 86F
running to meet a cooler inlet.  Luckily
a cooler lake allowed some respite but we only just exited before heat
exhaustion took over.  Now we know why
all the roots were covered with condensation. Well worth a visit.  Needless to
say you can get away with dry grotts or perhaps just wet suit bottom.

SCOTT HOLLOW. One of the recent finds, a short distance from Sinks Grove, discovered
by a farmer clearing his land with a bulldozer for a lake/reservoir.  Entrance series similar to Mendip, but
bigger, breaking out into really stupendous river passage, bigger than Darens
Time Machine with the river
Thames flowing
down it.  We couldn’t see roof, walls or
floor.  Magnificent.

Mac to local: ”What’s this chamber called
George?”  Local: “‘That’s no
chamber, it’s a passage!”

Mac again: ”How does it end George?”  George: “Oh. We haven’t got to the end
yet.  It goes on for five miles like this
and still going”


So endeth the first week. At the Grotto meeting we had met Gordon Mothes owner of the Friars Hole
Cave Preserve, some 30 miles north and our aim for the second week.  He gladly let us stay on the Preserve in his
log cabin caving hut – a lovely peaceful spot deep in the forest on the
Pocohontas/Greenbrier County border, just off Route 219.  His 600 odd acre farm is slap bang over the

system, all 45 miles
of it and one of the longest in the country. He has some 5 or 6 of its entrances on his land.

TIPS FOR DRIVERS. When passing through Ronceverte, just south of Lewisburg, beware funny
junctions with strange signs which plead ‘stop’.  If you don’t then Officer Rudd will kick your
ass.  The


is not amused at 11.30 pm.  Also watch
out for sneaky one-way systems which they slip in here and there when you’re
least expecting it.

The Friars Hole cabin is a classic – outside dunny, spring
water nearby, a bunk area and a Belfresque log burning stove, plus a huge bull
who conveniently stands between the hut and the dunny – a formidable sight at 3
in the morning when a bleary ex­caver wants the john.  Only a few minutes walk away are 4 or 5 of


entrances, except the main Friars Hole entrance which is a few minutes drive
back down Route 219.  Two dollars a night
for the hut.   What more could a caver
want?  Even an arm chair caver.

We then had three very pleasant days at the Preserve,
exploring as much of the cave system as we could (probably only 10%?) via 4 of
the entrances.  Mostly mega stuff, some
dry, some wet and quite a bit (3 miles) of crawling if you want it, just to
make Mendipites feel at home.  Also
loadsa bats, SRT available, saltpetre vats – it’s got the lot.  A traverse of the system, from Friars Hole to
Canadian Hole is supposed to take 14 hours, for Americans that is.

TIPS FOR TRAVELLERS. Budget for white water rafting on the New and

.  We were quoted 70 Bucks but in the proper
season it may be less and different outfits will have different charges.  Shop around. Wait for a nice wet spell to add a bit of froth, spice, spills, stained
underwear and excitement.


A quick run tack to

roughly along the way we had come (Pat had forgotten something at Luray) but
utilising the Interstate highways a bit more.

We had a few hours to kill on that day plus a few the next
morning to have a look round
various monuments,

, Ronnie’s house,
Smithsonian etc.  Well worth it.  A good fast, clean metro.  Avoid taxis. Two feet is the best way to get around.

TIPS FOR TRAVELLERS. Common courtesy with landowners still applies.  They are very friendly and delighted that
speleos come all the way from


to go down their holes.  So spend a bit
of time chatting – they’re usually very interesting, e.g. Mr Cobb at
Massanuten.  All locals are very friendly
too and only to willing to help and talk turkey.

Beware certain TV channels on Motel telly sets.  Big satellite dishes allow them to pick up
hours of triple xxx fleshy coloured porn, all sweat and gore.  Certainly far too strong for Belfryites.



West Virginia

file has been made up in the library, giving all sorts of useful and useless
info such as show caves, addresses, local contacts, police cell dimensions, as
maps places for plans, eateries, etc. Please leave it all intact in the file for others to use.

Trebor, Pat & Mac



Of Lanzarote

Overcoming my puritanical instincts which dictated an
Englishman should sit out an English winter, Angie and I took off for Lanzarote
this January.   Lanzarote, the
northernmost of the Canary Islands, lies roughly on the same latitude as the
Bahamas and the
and has a climate aptly described as eternal spring.  Apart from its climatic benefits the island
also sports some extensive lava fields of varying vintage.  These are the consequence of volcanic
eruptions in the recent geological past – so recent that the islands are still
seismically active.  Although the last
major eruption on Lanzarote was two hundred years ago the last eruption in the
Canaries occurred within the last two decades. Lava fields often contain lava tubes i.e. caves.  Not long ago Caves and Caving contained an
article on the lava tubes of Lanzarote and this helped to stimulate my

The largest, and most recent lava field, can be found in the
Timanfaya national park to the south-west of the island.  The problem about exploration here is that
the park is out of bounds to the average tourist apart from guided coach tours
through the dramatic landscape.  One of
these tours is a must for any visitor to the island.  It is a bit like being in an above ground
show cave if you can envisage such a thing! The tour starts at a discreetly and tastefully constructed restaurant
overlooking the park – shades of Ailwee. Here the park guides demonstrate the proximity of hot rock by throwing
furze into excavated pits, letting it burst into flame, and by tipping water
into metal pipes let into the ground to create artificial geysers.  If this was not enough the restaurant grills
its meat on a volcanic barbecue.

The coach drive, with appropriate good music, meanders
through the genuinely lunar landscape – dunes of ash, frozen lava falls,
panoramic views of craters, ash cones and collapsed lava tubes can all be
seen.  At one point the coach goes
through a collapsed tube on the walls of which can be seen lavatites.  The lava field extends to the sea on the west
coast and this is accessible via rough tracks – probably worth looking at for
new caves.

To the north of the island is the extinct Monte Corona and a
lava field extending to the east coast. This field is much older and has become covered with vegetation, mostly
succulents.  One of the world’s longest
lava tube complexes extends from the base of the volcano and can be entered at
a number of points.  Beside the road to
the coast is a huge collapse doline from which both the ‘upstream’ and
‘downstream’ sections of the tunnel can be entered.  They are spectacularly big and made me regret
not having a torch with me.  I could walk
into the downstream tunnel for 50 metres with daylight still penetrating.

Down the road a bit further and marked only by a car park is
the show cave Cueva Los Verdes.  Here the
doline has been planted cut with exotic plant life.  The ticket office is a cunningly concealed
hole in the doline wall – easy to walk past until the hand shoots out!  An engineered descent through a boulder
ruckle enters a large dry meandering tunnel with more discreet mood music (Brian
Eno ambient style) and concealed lighting. There is a notable absence of the ferns one sees normally in limestone
show caves.  The tunnel looking every
inch like a vadose canyon debouches into a much larger hall containing a
concert platform.  The cave can be seen
to continue beyond a pile of boulders. The way back is along a high level passage with an absence of safety
barriers which would make a HSE inspector blanch.  Joe feature here is an artificial pool which
by reflecting the high roof above creates the optical illusion that one is
peering down a deep pit.  Quite a few
people were taken in by this despite the fact that they had just walked from
that direction at a lower level.  One
leaves the cave by a separate entrance in the doline past the biggest Swiss
Cheese plants I have ever seen.

Right down near the coast is the Jameos del Agua – an
entertainment complex in a cave.  One
enters the Doline via a spiral staircase. A restaurant covers most of the middle level whilst ferns and cacti grow
around the walls.  On the seaward side of
the dance floor is a descending boulder slope to an illuminated sump pool which
is tidal.  This is the start of the
Atlantida tunnel extending 1.6 kilometres out under the sea to a depth of 64
metres.  On the other side the restaurant
is another flight of steps down to a short tunnel almost completely filled by a
deep blue tidal pool.  This pool contains
thousands of tiny crabs (or squat lobsters) which are blind and white.  A path along one side of the pool leads to
yet more steps up into another doline containing mere exotic plants and a
swimming pool more appropriately coloured for a zoo’s penguin enclosure.  The place was spotlessly clean – we were
amused to see somebody vacuuming the stone steps of the doline.  If you visit Lanzarote try to get off the
beaten track and take some walking boots, helmet and torch.  I am sure you will be rewarded.



North West

For the twelfth time we waded across the Nam Khong.  Green-brown water snails slid lazily over the
green-brown pebbles.  Brilliant
emerald-winged damsel flies perched on floating leaves, all facing upstream
like battle ready helicopters.  Squadrons
of huge pond-skaters darted hither and thither, investigating our ripples,
while bee-eaters and dragonflies swooped and buzzed above us, engaged in
dog-fights with their prey.

It was actually a peaceful, idyllic scene; not at all
war-like, but my mind kept straying back an hour or so, to when we started our
journey down the river.  We had arrived
at the Nam Khong bridge and police check point by public bus.  Most people on that crowded bus – Thais,
hill-tribe villagers and the occasional Buddhist monk – were continuing to the
border town of

Mae Hong Son
.  Two ‘farangs’ (foreigners), each with enormous
packs, caused quite a lot of interest, and everybody tried to be helpful.

“On which side of the river
is the path?”

“There is no path, but you
could use one of these bamboo rafts.”

The rafts were flat bundles of 15 to 20 foot lengths of
bamboo, which are poled downstream and, maybe, hauled back up.  They are notorious for sinking, and anyway,
at this time of year the the river is full of gravel shallows making navigation
a drag literally.

“There is definitely a path,
and it leads to a cave.”

“No!  There is no cave down the river.”

“Yes.  It is in the cliffs, at the head of the first

“You cannot go into any
cave.  They are dark.”

“We have lights.  It is O.K. Can we leave one pack here?  We
will return in the morning.”

“You cannot sleep in the

They were beginning to run short of deterrents!

“We have camping equipment
and plenty of food.”

“The mosquitoes are really
bad.  You will catch malaria.”

This last ditch attempt was actually quite serious, but …

“We have pills and repellent
and nets.”

They eventually accepted that we were absolutely determined
(and probably mad too) and my pack was deposited in a bamboo and palm shelter
where it would be completely safe: the shelter also contained several members
of the Police Special Force, together with their arsenal of M16 sub-machine
guns, Smith and Weston .38 revolvers, and stacks of ammunition.  The surrounding hills are constantly combed
for insurgents (Kuomintang and Shan United Army) and bandits.

We soon found the path, which was fairly well trodden as
many of the local villagers wandered up and down the river in search of
fish.  The river meanders gently, heading
south in a deep valley below massive cliffs to the east.  It drains several hundred square kilometres
of karst stretching right up to the Burmese border.  A number of the tributaries that join the
river from the east emerge from caves in the cliffs.  Twelve river crossings, each one made to cut
off a meander or avoid small cliffs and steep sections, and we had reached the
first tributary down the river from the road bridge.

We followed up the stream on a vague path to the left.  The stream flowed very slowly, straight and
level; mud-floored shallows under a canopy of exotic greens.  We disturbed bright orange forest birds,
whose clear calls echoed amongst the trees, and a large black and white
kingfisher shot away ahead of us. Chipmunks played in the branches that overhung the water.  It was quite obvious that few people ever
came here.

Suddenly we carne upon deep pools of milky-blue, and in
front of us the stream cascaded noisily among large, rounded boulders of
limestone.  We clambered steeply up the
rocks, finding ourselves at the base of a huge slope of fallen blocks.  Above the slope we could glimpse the tall,
reddish cliffs that marked the edge of the limestone plateau.  There was no sign of a cave.


The stream was lost among the boulders, its resurgence being
from dark hollows between the rocks lower down. For a while we could still hear it, churning and falling, somewhere deep
within the bouldery mass, and then we were climbing on, far above it.  After half an hour steadily working our way
up the slope we reached a more-or-less level section; the cliffs now towered
directly above us and a yawning overhang filled our view ahead.  A short distance across the top of the slope
and a great chasm opened below.  To our
left the wall dropped vertically for seventy five metres to the glint and
subdued rushing of the underground stream, bubbling along in the gloom.  Forty metres across to the right an easier
slope led over boulders, earth and mud to a wide, sandy ledge almost at the
threshold of daylight – an ideal site for a bivouac.

Tham Nam Lang (Cave of the River Lang) is

‘s second longest cave,
surveyed at nearly eight and a half kilometres. Although not of world class length, its volume is some two million cubic
metres, which is certainly respectable, and its catchment is four hundred and
twenty five square kilometres.  The main
sink is three and a half kilometres to the east, and is impenetrable.

Having levelled and laid out our bivi site we kitted up and
made our way down to the stream.  Here,
close to the exit, the water has cut itself a canyon, in one part only four or
five metres wide; not far above us the cave is thirty to forty metres wide, and
this canyon is a quite unusual feature. For two hundred metres the passage is straight, creating a long, tall,
cuboid chamber.  At the inner end the
cave turns a sharp corner and the daylight can penetrate no further.  We each had three forms of lighting, and none
of these were sufficient to pick out the roof except in a couple of places
where it dropped to less than thirty metres. The air was full of a fine mist whose droplets reflected back our light,
and millions of tiny white flies horned in on our headlights, making it worse.

The roof was a roost for large numbers of bats and swifts,
and their incessant squeaking filled the cave with noise for at least the first
kilometre.  They were only seen when they
flew around us at head height, catching insects.

There is very little stal to be seen.  Around the entrance there is plenty in the
roof but, if there is stal on the roof further in, it is too small or too dark
to pick out.  Much of the rock surface is
coated with a slimy, black substance, making it dangerously slippery.  It probably results from the breakdown of
organic matter, both vegetable and animal; it is worst near the entrance, where
bird droppings add to the problem.  Any
stal is likely to be coated with black and obscured.  New stal growth, so rapid in the tropics, is
always vulnerable to the incredible flooding that occurs every wet season.

In spite of this we did come across particular areas of
massive stal banks and gours – just over one kilometre in, Mekhala’s Palace is
a fine set of large, white gours, rising tier upon tier to a level platform
close to the roof.  Nearly four
kilometres in, up a dry, flowstone oxbow, is a huge stalagmite, Khan


I took in my wine bag for flotation in the deep water
sections, but these are only short in the initial reaches of the cave.  There are long sections of splashing in
knee-deep water, or wading from waist to chest deep, while in several areas it
is possible to avoid the stream altogether by traversing on slippery ledges or
clambering over rocks at the sides. There are some long, gravel banks where the going is easy, which we
found a great relief.

We both felt that the cave was somewhat monotonous; it is
certainly not sporting.  Having got the flavour
of the cave we turned back for our bivouac. The late afternoon sun shone straight into the entrance, lighting up the
whole of that vast cavern.  Even so, the
moist cave atmosphere had left a layer of damp on everything, and we settled in
for a chilly night.  Much later, from out
of the dark, the low, throaty growl of a big cat awakened Jane, and we hoped we
had not ousted a tiger or a panther from its favourite -resting place.  Who said monotonous?

The end of the cave is actually some six and a half
kilometres in, beyond a long section of deep water.  The stream emerges from narrow fissures and
rocks, and no way on has yet been found. The main sink is a further half kilometre to the north-east, at the
western end of the long Nam Lang polje. More than sixteen kilometres upstream from here the Nam Lang has already
come through another cave, Tham Lot. Close by this cave is the settlement of Ban Tham (

and Cave Lodge, where we stayed for several days.

Throughout this north-western corner of

live numerous hill-tribes;
the Lisu, Lahu, Karen, Meo and Mhong are just a few.  They are essentially nomadic peoples, who
neither know nor care of international boundaries.  They live by ‘slash and burn’ agriculture: as
they move into a new area the existing vegetation, often virgin jungle or
primary forest, is cut down and burned totally to make way for crops, such as
rice or opium.  The land is steep, and
the fields are frequently just an area of hillside, which is left
un-terraced.  The soil is thin and poor
in nutrients.  The goodness from the
ashes of the first burn is soon used up, and the whole tribe must abandon their
village and move on.

Ban Tham, like some of the neighbouring villages, seems to
be unusual in this respect: the people have been persuaded by the Thai
government, who have supplied water tanks and irrigation schemes, to settle
down, and the village has become more or less permanent, even boasting a school
and a shop.  Many of the women still wear
their traditional costumes (each tribe has its own distinctive ‘uniform’,
bright embroidery and dresses with wide double and triple borders of
contrasting colours, woven hats decorated with beads and jewels, and necklaces,
bangles and earrings of silver and turquoise) but a lot of the men wear western
clothes – T-shirts and baseball hats.

A little below Ban Tham, perched on the craggy edge of the
Nam Lang valley, Australian John Spies and his Thai wife, Diu, have built a
lodge for travellers.  It overlooks the
river, which meanders gently across a wide, flat valley floor.  The air is thick with the noise of cicadas
and the sweet smell of ripe, jungle fruits. The horizon is limited and blurred by the blue haze of dozens of forest
fires, and the heat and humidity drains away all energy.  We were glad of the wide, deep swimming hole
in the river down below, when the brown skinned boys had gone fishing elsewhere
and the water-buffalo had moved out.

Quarter of an hour’s gentle amble down-river, past women
washing clothes on the wet cobbles, and a solitary fisher collecting
crustaceans in a wicker basket on her back, and over paths swept clear of leaf
litter daily by Buddhist monks, brought us to a sharp bend in the river.  Ahead was an ancient wind gap but, beneath
the limestone cliffs to the right, the waters ran calmly into the
hillside.  This is Tham Lot, meaning
‘through cave’.

The cave opening is about forty metres wide but only ten
metres high.  We climbed a rickety bamboo
ladder to reach a long, level platform of sand-filled gours.  These stretched away to one side of the river
and, sixty metres in, rose to an area of large stalagmites overlooking the
water.  The shelf ended and we dropped to
an extensive gravel bank which disappeared into the darkness.  Before we finally lost the daylight of the
entrance a steep slope led up to some big side galleries.

Climbing through the high, but relatively narrow archway we
entered a chamber some one hundred metres long and more than tall enough to
accommodate the imposing twenty metre stalagmite standing sentinel there.  Large, brown millipedes crawled over the old,
flowstone floor in search of hapless beetles. Behind us various routes led up to balconies high above the stream,
while ahead lay a rockfall blocking any possible exit to the hill above.

This side passage may have been an old stream route, long
pre­dating the river’s present course. Immediately across the river, a thigh-deep wade, more high level
passages led off.  Two bamboo ladders
took us up to roof level, fifteen metres above the river, onto a heavily
stalagmited shelf.  The stal was quite
good, though it is being damaged by frequent visitors (the only equipment
required is a torch, which a local entrepreneur will happily supply – he even
has a small number of tilley lamps, especially for tourists).  Although dry now, all the stal will probably
be very much alive again in the wet season. The passages gradually become smaller, no more than five metres wide and
deteriorating ultimately to squeezes and crawls, with some bad air in one

Back in the main river passage we avoided the deeper water
by walking on the long, gravel banks, and soon daylight appeared at the
resurgence.  The passage, rectangular in
section, varied in width from twenty to thirty metres, while the height
gradually increased to twenty five metres. A big colony of bats clustered together in the centre of the roof, their
little eyes glowing red in our torchlight, and a noise of screaming swifts
intensified.  Large stalactites, green
with mosses, festooned the ceiling near the exit.

Up on our left lay the last of the side passages, again,
perhaps, a fragment of the old stream route. Two more bamboo ladders took us to
an extensive shelf, layered deep with swift guano, and a single passage led
narrowly through to a chamber. In the alcoves and around the edges of the
chamber were the remains of long, wooden containers.  Each was dug out from a single piece of wood
in the form of a cuboid box with handles at each end.  Some archaeologists believe them to be coffins
– in section they are just about adequate for a body – but they are up to three
metres in length.  Others have suggested
that they are possibly water tanks. Certainly their age is measurable in millenia, and they represent an
ancient and forgotten people who lived in or near the caves.


We returned to the river, past the little piles swept
together by the guano collectors, and out into the fading sunlight.  The river wound itself placidly away through
deep, verdant undergrowth, and trees and bushes of brilliant greens. Having
swept through a thousand metres of cave the air was now moist and cool,
creating a micro-climate around the cave exit. Laughing thrushes cackled amongst the leaves, and dark, secretive birds
skulked along the river banks.

As dusk approached we sat and waited in the cave mouth,
watching the swifts circling in the sky above. A large bat hawk swooped down from the trees, intent on supper.  The swifts began to return from their aerial
hunting to their nocturnal roost in the cave. The air was soon thick with screaming, madly circling birds, for a
quarter of a million of them spend every night clinging among the
stalactities.  Some tore into the darkness,
only to turn at some incredible speed and sweep just above the underground
river, dipping in their beaks for a momentary drink.  After an hour the cacophony had died away,
and the last, late swifts spiralled down from the heavens to find their
appointed spot in the roof of the cave. We returned to the lodge through the cave, and along the dark paths,
listening to the night orchestra of crickets and geckos.

East of Ban Tham about seven kilometres lies the

village of
Ban Mae Lana
.  This is another fairly permanent settlement,
for it stands on some raised ground in a large, level floored polje.  Like most poljes, the soil is rich and
fertile, and the nutrients are renewed seasonally.  The floor is divided up as well ordered
farmland. A river, the Nam Mae Lana, flows from the north and sinks towards the
southern end of the polje.  The sink is
impenetrable, for the annual floods wash down huge quantities of sediment,
along with bits of trees, including whole trunks.

A ridge of limestone separates the Mae Lana polje from a
deep, closed depression a little to the south. This doline is two kilometres long and one wide, and the Nam Mae Lana is
seen again in the bottom.  In the dry
season it is no more than a little stream, and is first seen at the bottom of a
fifteen metre deep hole in the limestone. Further south, but still in the doline, the stream resurges from a
rock-pile, flows for a few hundred metres through bamboo forest, and enters a
cave in the west wall of the doline. This is Tham Nam Mae Lana, and was the highlight of our caving in


A brief topographical study suggests that the Mae Lana
stream should continue its southward course and resurge at the Nam Lang polje,
only two kilometres further south.  In
fact it heads west, meandering underground for seven kilometres to cover the
five kilometres across to the Nam Khong valley. Twelve kilometres of passage are now known in Tham Nam Mae Lana, making
this cave the longest in

.  It was our intention to do a through trip,
inflow to resurgence.  Only two people
had done this before, two ‘hard’ Tasmanians who also helped to explore and
survey the cave, in May ’86.

John Spies discovered the cave in early 1986 and he probably
knows more about it than anyone else.  He
had lots of useful advice, of which we only rejected one item – that the cave
was too dangerous an undertaking for only two people, neither of whom was
familiar with the system.  He tried his
best to put us off (in blissful ignorance of the B.E.C. motto), but when he
realized that we were absolutely determined he was extremely helpful.

He suggested various, easily identifiable features as an aid
to route finding, and we were able to study the original, full scale survey two
metres of paper.  More importantly he
drew from memory a detailed map of the walk out from the cave resurgence back
to the nearest road.  Without this we
could have faced several hours’, or even days’, walking on a compass bearing
through teak forest, scrub and jungle, searching for a way up the cliffs and
back onto the plateau.  Someone else at
the lodge lent us their day pack to carry gear and food underground, and we
packed it with boiled rice, noodles and veges, banana cake and buns, carbide
and numerous batteries, all carefully triple wrapped in poly bags.  We were taking no chances.

From Ban Tham we travelled by Land Rover over the rough
forest track to Ban Soppong, a colourful, lively village that acts as a meeting
point for the various hill-tribes.  On
the main road west, the so-called ‘short’, hilly route from Chiang Mai to Mae
Hong Son, we used a combination of local buses and hitched rides, one with a
learner driver and the other on the back of a lorry amongst rolling drums of
leaking diesel.  This last would have
been fine, had the driver not been Nicki Lauda’s cousin, and had the road not
been a playground for diggers, bulldozers, tree­fellers and rock smashers, all
trying to improve the old Japanese war-time route to Burma.

It is really good to walk after these sorts of lifts, and we
left the main road for a side track (actually in much better condition than the
former) to Ban Mae Lana.  The track wound
slowly downwards and the jungle thinned to offer extensive views of tower karst
and big dolines.  A little bamboo and
thatch village appeared, set against a magnificent backdrop of two enormous,
perfectly proportioned towers.  The
doline and polje of Mae Lana dropped away to our right, but we had to skirt the
cliff edge of these for several kilometres before reaching the polje floor at
Ban Mae Lana.

The rice fields were rock hard and dry, and the stream
practically non-existent.  We would be
visiting the cave in ideal conditions. There was not a cloud in the sky and the threat of impending monsoon,
when it rained a few days earlier, had vanished.  Crossing the low ridge between the polje and
the doline, we descended first through stone forest, then across a hot, dusty
area of still smouldering, blackened tree stumps, and finally steeply among
bamboo, whose dry, pale-brown leaves crackled under our feet.  The little stream brought a welcome coolness
to the heavy, still air, and we paddled our way along it to where it was
swallowed through the three metre square entrance to Tham Nam Mae Lana.

We entered the cave soon after midday, and everything was
comfortably familiar.  Only a few days
previously we had covered the first couple of kilometres of cave, and had
explored and surveyed a further kilometre of side passage and large
chambers.  For the first two and a half
kilometres it is generally easy going, following the stream, often in passage
fifteen to twenty metres high and wide. There is just one slightly awkward boulder pile three hundred metres in,
involving a bit of boulder balancing and simple climbing.  Occasionally the passage roof soars (as side
avens) to thirty metres and more, accommodating long fluted columns of stal.  These are probably pouring with water in the
wet season, but the cave, like so many in this area, is inaccessible then.  There is very little stal down the main
stream-way, except for a few massive flows and gours; the annual floods quickly
destroy the delicate formations that are created so rapidly only months
earlier.  Several hundred metres
downstream the roof dips with a heavy inflow of calcite-rich water forming a
portcullis between one and two metres above the floor.  Most of the stalactites are rounded and
abraded by gravel laden waters of the wet-season stream, and are blackened with
organic matter.  Small straws have grown
several inches during the last few months, but their life is very short.

It did not take us long to cover the first two kilometres,
to where a forty metre wide stretch of gours and deep, rimstone pools almost
blocks the passage.  The stream has
maintained a low, aqueous route beneath the gours, while there is a more
straight­forward, dry route over the top and through a low, oxbow lake on the
uppermost rim-pool.  Without their
monsoonal streams many of the caves in these tropical regions would soon be
blocked with stal; long fossil systems seem to be rare here for this reason.  Should the Mae Lana stream change its course,
then the cave would rapidly be blocked at these gours.

The gour-top lake is fed by a tributary via sumps two
kilometres to the south.  Quite clearly
the flow does not vary greatly according to the seasons, as the whole of the
passage is richly decorated with pristine, white stal.  There are numerous pools up to neck deep with
floors of thick mud, and lots of blind, white fish and crays live here.

Continuing downstream from the gours we soon came across
rapids, and the roof lowered again.  The
passage became narrower and the stream suddenly tumbled down a three metre
waterfall and disappeared along a narrowing rift.  Up to our right large passage could be seen,
and we climbed to a shelf and across boulders into the edge of a chamber three
hundred and fifty metres long, and varying between forty and seventy metres
high and wide.  Although this sounds vast
it did not seem so at the time as the floor is composed of huge mounds of
boulders, and we skirted the base of these.

Now that we had entered this dry sump-bypass of huge, old,
abandoned passages and chambers route finding became a problem.  With no handy stream to follow and the
possibility of a myriad hidden ways behind house-sized boulders our progress
slowed dramatically.  We left frequent

in case we had to
find our way back, and our compasses were in continual use, checking the trend
of whichever wall we had decided to follow. Looking for routes onwards across sixty or seventy metres of passage
takes time.  We had eventually climbed a
crumbling, fault-shattered slope until, close to the roof, an almost
imperceptible draught revealed a loose, descending traverse to a recognisable
landmark – the Red Crystal Stream.  This
is the only feature named on the survey, and is a relatively insignificant
ochreous orange stal flow along the floor at the edge of the passage, but we
now knew exactly where we were, at approximately the half way point through the

The floor became sandy and the boulders less frequent, and
then a short stretch of scalloped bedrock led down to water, with the stream
resurging from among boulders on the opposite side of the passage.  Only a couple of hundred metres further on we
left the stream once more, for a second sump-bypass.  The stream itself continues for five hundred
metres in large, meandering passage to a deep, green-blue sump pool, and enters
the main passage again further on.  We
climbed a sandy bank to the edge of a well decorated series of dry galleries.  The first section contained some good, white
flows, stalactites and thin curtains, well worth seeing after the comparative
paucity of stal in the stream cave, but we were more fascinated by the next
chamber.  The level, mud­brown, stal
floor was littered with cave pearls, ranging in size from marbles to golf
balls.  Each sat, free to rotate, in its
own little calcite cup.  Taking care not
to tread on any, which was not easy considering their profusion, we made our
way on compass bearings to the base of an enormous pile of heavily stalagmited
boulders.  Heading up these, occasionally
following the faint marks of the original explorers, we were fortunate to find
one area of constant drip, where we could replenish our water supplies.  We were drinking quite a lot, and maintaining
a two to three inch flame on the carbides, which needed frequent topping up.

Ahead of us the cave opened up yet again as we entered the
side of another big chamber.  Stalagmites
more than ten metres high would have dominated most chambers, but here they
were almost lost, tucked away near the bottom of a three hundred metre long
slope, which rose through extensive rockfall for over one hundred metres to the
right.  Our way lay down to the left
where we dropped quickly to a level mud floor. After another brief route finding delay we climbed down more boulders to
the sound of flowing water, and found the stream once more, moving sluggishly
through muddy hollows among rocks.

We had been caving steadily now for six and a half hours,
and it would be dark outside, so there seemed little point in pressing on
yet.  On the descent to the stream we
carne upon a sandy shelf in a little alcove of black, scalloped rock – ideal
for a bivouac.  Wrapped up in a polythene
sheet, we slept comfortably for four hours or so.

We awoke soon after midnight, had “breakfast”, and
set off downstream.  Thus far we had not
had to swim, but we understood that there were numerous deep pools in this
lower section of the cave and short swims would be necessary.  To begin with the passage was quite wide and
about fifty metres high, but it rapidly narrowed to a few metres and varied
from around ten to forty metres in height. The swims were in the narrowest parts of the passage, where it was just
too wide for traversing and not wide enough for ledges as well as water, but
each swim was only a few metres long. Jane, whose total confidence in water never ceases to amaze me, went
first through the clear pools, treading carefully and finding all sorts of
underwater projections and boulders. This procedure eliminated most of the swims, although we were still
often wading in neck deep water.

The cave was all easy going in the streamway, with no route
finding problems, and after two and a half hours we could smell the fresh
air.  Leaves and earth had dropped down
through crevices in the bouldery roof, and a long, straight, pipe-like root
drank water from the stream bed.  We had
made it after only nine hour’s caving.

It was still dark outside, so we waited in the exit chamber
until the bats, in their dozens, carne flocking past us to their roosts deeper
in the cave.  We emerged to a pale, grey
light which brightened quickly to a pink dawn while we climbed through the
cliffs of the Nam Khong valley.  The
raucous cries of hornbills disturbed the morning air as they flapped their
ungainly way among the tree-tops, and we stood awhile to watch the early sun
pick out the limestone towers and ridges, stretching away into the misty
blueness of


Graham Wilton-Jones



© 2024 Bristol Exploration Club Ltd

registered in England and Wales as a co-operative society under the Co-operative and Community Benefit Societies Act 2014, registered no. 4934.