|Wookey + Chris:-||the little people, probably akin to the knockers of Cornish tin mines.|
|Del :-||possibly a Cornish tin miner because he has got a good set of teeth after all.|
|Juliette:||small slug like object (more of that later).|
This cave is recommended for the eager novice waiting to initiate themselves in the club by way of the bulishit ritual.
Someway into the cave we have a choice of routes:
1) The Crux Bypass:
ideal for those that...
a) enjoy having juggernauts run over their chests
b) want excess mammaries scraped off. However, on this subject it must be pointed out that you can only succeed in spreading the load and moving it several inches down your chest. (Rather like a locust testicle squash for those that do organisms)
2) The Crux:
Not recommended for eunuchs - because the bullshit just isn't convincing.... "I could feel the walls slipping beneath my rubberised super-grip marigolds - seeking to force the last vestige of life from my flailing body when at last the extra leg came to my rescue, restoring the magic three points of contact..."
The next delight has to be the wet 'W' bends. I don't believe a word of
it; they must be the wet W.C. bends. Never forgetting that Quaking was
baptised by the Quakers + rediscovered by an alien computer whose sole
purpose was to travel the universe grading each planet's civilisation by the
quality of their W.C.'s
A good example must be set for your novice as regards gear - boiler suits and site helmets all the way.
Never forgetting the ideal tackle sack whose dimensions are 1.03 quakes wide at top -> 1.01 quakes wide at the bottom, in S.I. (höhle) units (because Austria is international isn't it?) and with a gaping back end. Tackle sacks, I have decided, are rather like Percy the small engine's trucks - they don't take kindly to being tugged 'n grunted at from the top of your T slot by big meanie cavers, but when Chris risks life and limb to tickle them under the draw string, they go weak at the knees and chortle "He loves me! He loves me! I'll do what he says."
Novices must watch out for the 7th pitch, especially if they're small and sluglike. It felt like the Sit harness would penetrate my body rather like a cheese wire through a chocolate cake. But since I didn't want to ooze over poor Chris below me, I resorted to cries of "I'm dying!!!!".
The cave, I suspect, may also cure insomnia. Wookey seemed to nap quite happily even without his 500 watt heater. [my other (better) half, a determined non caver- Ed.l
A cave isn't over 'til you get to the pub and this one really treats you all the way. On emerging, [at 3.20 am! - Ed] hail stones distract you by driving on your helmet whilst trying to invade your furry. This ensures you can't hear any whines from your novice who may be a bit tired by now. Lightning will imprint the route down to the road in the eyeballs of your staggering novice - an advantage because it's sure to want to go there again.
[Ed. - On this trip our SRT novice - Juliette - surprised everyone by: a) getting through the crux, & b) getting all the way to the bottom. It rather spoils the cave's fearsome reputation when small women knock it off on their 5th trip! (It did take rather a long time though - 13 hrs!]