Exploration in Inlet 14 (one of the side passages in the Notts II streamway), by James Carlisle
Friday 9th November 2007 - George North and James Carlisle.
Inlet 14 - This is the first inlet downstream when entering the mainstream from
Notts 2 - It was initially dug by Dave Ramsey & Richard Bendall who were
eager to sub contract the dig to anyone mad enough to take it over. Had heard great things about Inlet 14 in Notts II and was delightedwhen Dave, Neil and Richard kindly offered to subcontract their dig
out to me for a bit. Being busy at the weekend meant that an
evening trip was necessary, so I spent the week frantically checking
the weather forecast for the best night to arrange a trip. Friday was
forecast to be a good 'un, and George kindly offered to accompany me
to provide much-needed moral support ahead of his Cripple Creek trip
on Saturday. Driving up from Manchester after work I began to have serious doubts
about the whole enterprise on the grounds that it was absolutely
pissing down, despite what the weather forecast had predicted. Such
fears were unfounded however, because the skies were clear again by
the time I'd left the M6. We got underground for about 8pm with a
minimum of faffing, and were soon at the base of the ladder up to the
inlet.
It's about 30m or so into the inlet that the misery begins. My helmet
is a bit temperamental and I'd somehow managed to leave my backup
light on the surface, so I swapped helmets with George before taking
the plunge: the whole passage ahead is full of gloopy mud up to not-
very-far-at-all from the ceiling. There was a reasonable draught
however, so it definitely seemed encouraging. Chatting to Dave earlier in the week I'd been informed that the only
way to make progress in the passage is to go feet first on your back
whilst making bycycling motions with your legs. I had assumed he'd
been exaggerating, but I was very, very wrong. Progress is slow, and
you spend much of your time gazing at the ceiling not being able to
see what your feet are doing. Gaining purchase to liquefy some of the
mud-banks ahead was very knackering, but slow progress was made. From
behind me at the start of the passage George shouted that my light
had gone out, so I told him to bash it against the wall a few times,
because that normally works. It did. Eventually, after what seemed like an age and after passing several
corners and small cross-rifts (there was even a straw in one!!!), I
reached a bit with a prominent nodule in the ceiling preventing
further progress. Digging out the floor for a while and removing my
belay-belt, I eventually managed to slide my body up over a mudbank
to the right in order to pass this. Progress then became steadily
more difficult as George's shouts of encouragement faded into the
distance.
The mud became thicker and I quickly discovered that 'waggling one's
arse' was the de rigueur way to make progress. However, with George
now beyond shouting range I was starting to feel very isolated and a
bit scared in case I'd somehow managed to block my retreat. I was
just coming to the conclusion that it was perhaps time to call it a
night when I suddenly noticed the sound of running water emanating
from further along the passage. Excitement gripped me and I decided
to give it a few more minutes. Progress was now painfully slow
though, and I got the feeling that the passage was now heading
slightly uphill. After a few more metres I paused for another listen and could hear
the water again, only louder this time. It was hard to tell what this
is, since everything sounds louder than it actually is underground,
but it was certainly encouraging. I kept digging for a bit but began
to realise that I had been pulling lots of mud in from the sides
every time I made any forward progress. It was at this point that the last of my bottle left me and I rapidly
reached the conclusion that I wanted out, and quickly. It had taken
over an hour-and-a-half of slow and painful progress to reach this
point, but I hoped the return would be much quicker due to the mud
being pre-liquefied. Whilst I was right in my assumption that the going would be easier on
the way out (it only took about 15 minutes I reckon), what I'd
stupidly failed to realise was that all that mud I'd dislodged has to
go somewhere and, to my horror, I began to realise that the water/mud
level had risen significantly. Trying not to panic, I set off at a
steady pace, french-kissing the ceiling as I went. Mentally, I felt
that I would be able to hold it together until the first waves of
porridge lapped into my mouth. Then I thought that I might just freak-
out completely. Thankfully the level didn't rise above my cheeks and
eventually I calmed down once I could hear George's voice again. It turned out that he'd got bored sitting on his arse waiting and had
moved up the passage as far as the solitary straw. He'd had his own
hair-raising experience soon after I'd turned around when he'd been
somewhat surprised to discover a 'tidal-wave' of liquid mud heading
down the passage towards him. I think he summed it up perfectly when
he said that the whole experience had been "Death by Chocolate".
Definitely reminds me of the time the fat German kid (Augustus Gloop
I think?) got sucked into the pipe of liquid chocolate in Charlie and
The Chocolate Factory. Anyway, soon we were washing off the remnants of the mud in the main-
streamway, which had somehow managed to get all down the inside of my
wetsuit and into my neoprene hood. I've got no idea whether we made
any more progress along the passage than Dave et al did last year,
but it was just as unpleasant as he'd led me to believe. George says
that we were out of vocal range when he was level with the straw,
which I think he reckons is 20m or so in. A return trip is planned
(for a dry day), and the hope is that a lot of the mud that was
churned up will have drained away, making progress to the pushing
front easier next time. We shall see... Thursday 15th November 2007 - George, Jude, James Arrived on the fell to discover that the Knee-Pad Fairy had paid a visit, depositing a brand-spanking-new pair of shiny red knee-pads behind the wall. George and Jude arrived soon afterwards, bringing with them a newly constructed drag-tray to bail the inlet. We were underground around 8pm and soon reached the start of the misery, ready to take the plunge. This moment had been running through my head all week and I was more than a little nervous. I left George and Jude to set up the drag tray and set off feet-first into the fray. My hope had been that the going would be much easier this time due to last week's efforts, and, sure enough, it was. The 'liquid porridge' was much more watery this time, and easily parted as I bicycled up the passage. I began to feel far more confident. Within twenty minutes I had reached the squeeze around the prominent roof nodule (I've been thinking that "The Horror In Clay" might be a good name for this bit... would keep any H.P. Lovecraft fans happy anyway) and still hadn't met much resistance. But soon afterwards the mud became thicker again... much thicker... and progress again slowed to a snail's pace. Eventually the sound of falling water again came into earshot and I passed last week's limit, feeling like a breakthrough was imminent. The red mist descended and I ploughed on... five metres... ten metres... fifteen metres... Throughout all this I'd noticed that the water level had been lowering steadily due to the constant bailing at the start of the passage. However, on turning a corner I suddenly realised that the flow ahead had picked up significantly, with a mini-waterfall starting to form over my right shoulder. "That's odd", I thought, "I wonder where that's coming from". Still relaxed, I stopped to wait for the flow to go down again. Then, slightly less relaxed, the realisation hit me that it was doing the exact opposite. "F**k me, it's flooding", was the next thought to cross my mind, shortly followed by "It really might be a good idea to get out of here". I began to retreat, rapidly (or as rapidly as the thick mud would allow), only pausing for breath about 10m further back when I realised that the water level was remaining static after-all. A bit calmer now, the next thought that went through my head was "Don't be such a wuss and get back in there". I figured that I must have kicked through a mud barrier that was holding back a pool of water and that the passage wasn't about to flood at all. I started back towards the pushing front, soon regaining the corner I'd reached earlier. Soon after passing this the going again got harder. This whole section was the most flat-out of all, only just wide enough to fit my chest through after a *lot* of bicycling and arse-waggling. I figured that I must be nearly through though and ploughed on regardless, but the wave of displaced mud in front of my feet felt almost up to the ceiling at times. Another five metres or so passed with similar difficulty before my bottle went for a second time and I decided that the passage ahead was getting beyond ridiculous. I'd tried my best but now I just wanted to get back to where I could hear George and Jude again. I started back up the passage, progressing about two feet before things started to go very wrong. Ahead, the mud I'd displaced on the inward journey had settled again, and to my horror I realised that I could no longer fit. "No problem", I thought, "I'll just dig it for a bit and I'll be out eventually, even if it takes all night". Right? Wrong. In next fifteen minutes or so the grim realisation struck me that I hadn't budged an inch and this wasn't going to work. I couldn't get any leverage with my arms and the mud I did move had nowhere to go... it just slid back into place again. What's more, because of the lower water-levels, it was far harder to just 'liquefy it like I'd become accustomed to. I felt like a beached whale. Then I'm ashamed to say that I lost it completely and began screaming for George at the top of my voice. The rational part of my brain said that he couldn't hear me this far in and, even if he could, there was precious little he'd be able to do for me, other than blindly following me in and getting himself stuck too. "That's it, I'm dead", was the next thing that crossed my mind. "There is no way anyone's going to get me out of here". Due to the awkwardness of the passage, there could have been a hundred cavers digging day and night and they wouldn't be able to get me out. I was well and truly 'screwed'. What was more, there was rain forecast for the next day... At this point I was more convinced than I've ever been in my life that I was finished. Emotion gripped me as I realised that I might never see another human being again. Then thoughts turned to my family and friends and what they would have to go through if I didn't get out. Strangely, I began to come to terms with this over the next few minutes and calmed down once again. Adrenalin took over and I started to get some determination back: "You effing pillock, James, you got yourself in here, you can damn well get yourself back out". I decided that I had one hope, I needed to find somewhere to turn around so that I could come back at the wall of mud feet-first. In an exercise I told myself was 'Push or Die' I started bicycling for dear life, praying that the passage would be wide enough to allow me to make progress to something a bit larger. At the very least I'd then be able to die somewhere civilised, and maybe in a more dignified way than drowning in liquid mud. Again, progress was terribly slow, but I was inching slowly along the passage, the sound of water very loud now. After another fifteen minutes the passage ahead felt rather roomier, and it was with something approaching elation that I eventually discovered clean-washed bed rock beneath my arse for the first time in a long time. Ahead I could see that the passage was now hands and knees, with all the room to turn around that I had wished for. Despite everything, my curiosity got the better of me and I headed up the passage to see what I had broken into. To the left was a small alcove containing a pool and straight-ahead was a small shoulder height chamber from whence the water entered as a liquid curtain out of a slot in the ceiling. Beyond the water the passage lowered again over some ancient calcite gours, but was now completely dry. I could see that this continued for at about five metres or so before heading around a corner. It looked about body-sized (certainly chiselable at worst) in the parts where the calcite encroached the most (wider elsewhere), but I was in no mood to try to push-it. I just wanted to get the hell out. I set off back up the passage, feet-first once more. I got around the first corner but once again my bottle went when the mud ahead seemed impenetrable. I retreated back to the safety of the chamber, trying to hold my emotions in check. Two minutes later I tried again, but once more my bottle wasn't up to it. I just couldn't bear the thought of getting stuck again. I withdrew to the dry passage and curled up in a ball to consider what I'd done, and what I needed to do. A large part of me wanted to sit and wait, hope that the CRO would be able to get to me. I weighed up in my head as to how they would go about doing this. The only way I could see would be to pump out all the mud... but that would be a major engineering job and the sensible part of my brain told me that it couldn't happen. "Maybe they had trained for this type of thing?" was the counter-argument, but I knew I was clutching at straws. Indecision gripped me and I lay shivering uncontrollably for maybe half-an-hour to forty-five minutes. I don't know how or why, but suddenly a new determination gripped me and I decided that I would just have to go for it, even though it would be a truly horrible way to die if I f**ked things up. If I stayed where I was much longer then hypothermia would set in and I'd be no use to anyone (although at least part of me thought that at it'd be a better way to die than drowning in liquid mud). Upon unfurling myself from my ball I was beset by violent cramps in my legs and it took several minutes to shake these out, but the will to escape held. This time I was determined not to fail. Plunging back into the ultra misery I bicycled for dear life, my mood improving with every inch of progress. That first twenty metres from the chamber was the worst half-an-hour of my life. Then, slowly the going improved and the mud became ever more runny and pliable. My mood lifted and I knew that I was through the worst of it. I only needed to pass "The Horror In Clay" (something I hadn't done facing this way before) and I'd be a free-man. Thankfully this proved no more difficult than usual and soon I could hear voices ahead. I shouted out that I was safe and have never been so relieved when I emerged from the mud and Andy Whitney came into view. I could have kissed him, but didn't. Under the circumstances, I feel that I showed a great deal restraint in not doing so. Soon I was being escorted back to the surface, feeling rightly guilty about all the bother I'd caused everyone, simultaneously thanking and apologising to all the CRO people I met, but feeling *very* glad to be alive. Everyone at the CRO was extremely supportive and I didn't get a bollocking from anyone, despite mightily deserving it. One by one the assembled cars withdrew from the fell and in the end only me, George and Jude remained. They had both been put in a terrible quandary when they hadn't heard from me, since they had been forced to make the decision whether to get out and ring for rescue or to keep bailing in case that was the only thing keeping me alive. Not a nice position to be put into, but I think their decision was spot-on. Anyway, that's the end of my tale. I'd say to look out for the next thrilling instalment, but there is no way I'm ever setting welly in that terrible place ever again. Dave, Richard and Neil allowed me to visit Inlet 14 on the condition that I survey it (if such a thing is even possible in such conditions?), but I think that I'll have to respectfully renege on our agreement (I'm sure they'll understand). Many apologies for this, but I feel that it'd be bad form to clog up another caver's dig with my twitching corpse. The Hordes of Hell themselves wouldn't be enough to force me back in there... Overall, I think there is about now the greater part of 100m of known passage down there from the start of the misery. As a guideline I'd say that "The Horror In Clay" is about half-way along. As for future prospects, I'd like to say that there aren't any... but unfortunately there probably are. I wasn't really in a fit state to really assess the digging potential at the time but there was a reasonable amount of water and a heck of a draught that needs to be accounted for. But, as to whether it will ever get looked at, who knows? Finally, I've been frantically trying to think of a truly memorable name for the terminal chamber, but have been failed miserably so far. 'Leck Hell', 'Leck Fell Hell' and 'Terminus' were a few ideas, but I don't like any of them that much, so if anybody has any thoughts then let me know. Just remember though that if you name it then you have to survey it... :) Also the passage itself still needs a name (I think it more than deserves one), so maybe Dave, Richard and Neil can help here, since it was their discovery in the first place...
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