Underground Overground

A Grand Day out by Dennis Hardingham

Early one wet morning in May, my Yorkist colleague Barry picked me up to show me the ‘awesome’ 350 million year old cave system under Ingleborough. On the drive into north Yorkshire he enthused about the dales and villages, some decked out in pre-Jubilee finery, while I composed myself into the correct mind-set, having prepared by reading Shibumi and watching The Cave, The Descent and Sanctum.

Parking in Clapham, we followed a stream for a mile upriver through woodland and past a lake serving a local waterwheel, to arrive at the cave entrance in time to catch the hourly tour. As tours often comprise packs of verminous children on school outings we were uncharacteristically fortunate in being the only two people in line, a fact much appreciated by the guide who was able to lay on us the full weight of his knowledge, enthusiasm and (what passed for) humour, without concerning himself with political correctness or the sensibilities of young children or old women of either sex. Barry was there to explore the intricacies of his smart new Nikon D7000, having recently binned his Canon in favour of a proper grown-ups’ camera, while I was eager to try to capture some of the atmosphere of the subterranean world. Barry opted for flash while I wound the ISO on the D300s up to around 2000 to compensate for the low lighting and senior citizen camera shake. Being confined to the concrete pathway tended to restrict access to some of the more interesting features, however the cave lighting was widely spaced and in places the roof, the underside of a limestone layer which had not yet collapsed, was low enough to knock the hats off Snow White’s little chums. Some of the faster-growing stalactites were racing from the ceiling at a rate of a millimetre every four years and had grown a full centimetre since Barry’s last visit. The general feeling of claustrophobia was heightened when the guide switched off all of the lights for a few minutes to demonstrate the true meaning of darkness and isolation.

The tour lasted only an hour but it was an incredible experience and, upon leaving the caves, we journeyed uphill to find the point where the surface water dipped underground to create the extensive cave system. The route took us up through a narrow gorge, playground of midges and athletic rock climbers (ah, memories of my lost youth) onto the open moorland, dotted with the sinister dark openings of potholes and small tribal gatherings of strange amphibious figures in glistening wet-suits. Gaping Gill is one of the country’s deepest potholes, 110 metres deep, enclosing Britain’s highest unbroken waterfall. Access to this landmark was severely restricted by safety barriers so there were few photo opportunities, however a kind chap in charge of the site allowed us to cross a thin metal gantry so we could look down into the opening. He was in the process of setting up a bosun’s chair to lower interested sightseers to the bottom of the falls on a thin steel cable but this regrettably was not yet in operation. The recent drought had reduced the amount of water dropping into the opening but there was a constant rumbling from underground and a cloying vapour rising from the vertiginous cavern. Awesome and not a little spooky.

We had planned to cap the day with views of the Isle of Mann from the summit of Ingleborough, but low cloud on the tops scuppered that idea in favour of a cream tea in a local cafe. We can maybe do the summit when we come back to try out the bosun’s chair….