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Online edit of logbookentry 2025-07-14b

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@@ -16,7 +16,7 @@ re-written. This is prevent spurious re-orderings and spurious git commit lines
Sorry about all the crap that surrounds the image tags which has been imported along with the content
when UK Caving blogs have been parsed.
Exported on 2025-07-16 09:07 using either the control panel webpage or when editing a logbook entry online
Exported on 2025-07-16 10:07 using either the control panel webpage or when editing a logbook entry online
See troggle/code/views/other.py and core.models/logbooks.py writelogbook(year, filename)
-->
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@@ -586,6 +586,50 @@ NB2: When all 4 barrels are reasonably full, valve off all but the furthest barr
NB3: Please get into the habit of checking the water system for leaks/ unexpected drops in water level before heading down the hill
<div class="timeug">T/U: 0.0 hours</div>
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<div class="tripdate" id="2025-07-14b">2025-07-14</div>
<div class="trippeople"><u>Lara</u>, Joel, Big Tom</div>
<div class="triptitle">Gruffalo - The Day of The Salamanders</div>
I led a merry dance across the Plateau with two newly arrived faces: Big Tom and Little Tom. You’d really think that by this point I’d know the route like the back of my hand, but somehow, mysteriously, I still take strange meanders. We arrived at Top Camp to an exclamation from big Tom and a gaping hole in the tarp – what could have possibly happened here? The answer can probably be found in another logbook entry, but involved tea lights, mild foolishness and some very genuine peril.
<p>
After meeting a tired, smoked out Joel we had noodles and packed. The team was now: Joel, me, Big Tom and Frank and the objective of the day was pushing Gruffalo. Gruffalo had been the word on everyone’s tongue the night before: a new cave with a stonking draft and a pitch at the bottom from which rocks had been chucked a very long way.
<p>
I was particularly excited because this cave had been found on our prospecting trip to ‘The Valley of Death’ a week previously. We had split into two teams for a pincer movement and both teams had found numerous holes with insane icy drafts. I went right, across the valley, and sadly all of ours had been choked, but the left side of the pincer (Joel and Buck) had faired better. Gruffalo was the Goldilocks hole – big enough to be human sized but small enough to not be choked, with a draft to match them all. Now, the entrance series was complete with no sign of the draft diminishing and I had been invited with a crack team to replace the pulses with bolts and drop wherever the rocks were going to
<p>
The day didn’t exactly continue smoothly – we took an overly direct route and accidentality entered a part of the plateau I can only describe as impassible. It treated us to endless seas of bunde which hid cliffs. I headed down one terrible route with enthusiasm and Joel tried another. Frank and Big Tom were fresh on the plateau so Joel did the gentlemanly thing and retreated to find them a more civilised way down (this took some time). I chose to continue, guided to the cave by Joel pointing in vaguely the right direction, planning to meet them at the bottom of the valley. My way was pretty quick if perilous: it involved several cliffs, bunde surfing and hanging onto bunde to avoid said cliffs. I got to the bottom, found a high rock and waited.
<p>
45 minutes and a lot of whooping later Joel and co. turned – looking tired and a little like they wanted to kill Joel. Ah well, we were at the cave soon, and just in time. An ominous dark cloud had rolled in and we speed changed in the drizzle.
<p>
The draft was indeed insane: icy and strong. I descended quickly – leaving Big Tom and Frank in a group shelter and Joel hot on my heels. The plan was we would decent to the bottom and they would replace the pulses. The entrance series was distinctly unfriendly, it had multiple tight pitch heads and a giant wall of black ice to descend beside. Half way down we heard the sound of a chunk of ice falling below us: comforting. At the bottom was a small chamber on snow slope with a scrotty rift continuing from it – the wind practically whistled, showing us that this was the way on. Joel chucked some rocks down it and when he got the right angle they did indeed make some very impressive booming noises. I’d have to get used to this because this rift needed an awful lot of gardening.
<p>
I sat in a tiny alcove with all my layers on while Joel crept along the rift pushing rocks (with the help of the crowbar which I’d been sent to retrieve from a few pitches up as a warming up mission). Eventually he got to the pitch head and we both saw an almighty shaft: 10m across and perfectly straight down. We called it the Jabberwocky, and, when a rock was dropped down it, it was a perfect 4 second wait then an almighty boom. Exciting. The draft even carried the smell of crushed rock back up to us. We could hear the far off sound of water however there was nothing obviously coming down the shaft. The entrance series also only became mildly drippy as the day went on. This was encouraging, as apparently it rained pretty constantly on the surface.
<p>
Our day was spent doing an awful lot of gardening, bolting a traverse through the rift (awkward as it was pretty tight) and surveying to the pitch head. This all took an annoyingly long time and by 6pm I was begging Joel to leave as I had become a human ice block. The sound of the drip increasing also unnerved me and Joel very kindly agreed that callout was close (8pm) and the pitch could wait for another day. We turned round after he had taken some videos of the shaft and daylight was very welcome even if it came with drizzle.
<p>
There was no sign of Frank and Big Tom on the surface and also no sign of change in the bolting. We found out later that they realised they didn’t have a spanner and, after the trials of the walk, they had decided to call it a day. Joel and I ate some solid gummy rabbits and headed back on a more sensible bearing to the Fishface path, intending to intercept it and take it to top camp.
<p>
We had a wonderful long and rambly walk: talking of many things and in no rush to get anywhere fast. We ended up on a random pinnacle of rock with an excellent view and surveyed our domain: working out where all the major plateau landmarks were. The salamanders were also out in extreme numbers – we saw at least 7 to our excitement, including two getting frisky. Amusing messages were sent on the chat. Doing the Fishface walk with Joel is always an experience as every part of it has a name to him. We joined at the bottom of ‘Nadia’s Demise’ and went through ‘Buck’ and ‘Spiderman 2’to name a few. In danger of missing our 2 hour plateau callout for a supposedly 45 minute walk we had to stop aimlessly wandering towards the end and actually make progress.
<p>
We arrived at Top camp to the Popper Hohle group leaving (apparently it goes horizontal!) and we congratulated each other on our promising caves. The two other groups were still underground so once they’d left we had a sing and a curry and went to bed. An excellent day.
<p>
A song wrote at top camp and on the walk down the hill the next day (to the tune of The Misty Mountains, of course):
<p>
<en>Far over the Totes Gebirge cold
To A-Leads deep, and flapjack old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To find our long forgotten bolts.
<p>
The beds were roaring on the hights
The tarp was glowing in the night
The fire was red, its flaming spread
Tea-lights like torches, blazed with light
<p>
Far over the Totes Gebirge deep
Four cavers smoked out of their sleep
Water was poured! The flames still roared (or: While Dan still snored?)
On Plateau they were forced to sleep </en>
<div class="timeug">T/U: 5.0 hours</div>
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