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Logbook edited 2018-08-09b
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@ -16,7 +16,7 @@ re-written. This is prevent spurious re-orderings and spurious git commit lines
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Sorry about all the crap that surrounds the image tags which has been imported along with the content
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when UK Caving blogs have been parsed.
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Exported on 2024-12-17 16:12 using either the control panel webpage or when editing a logbook entry online
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Exported on 2024-12-17 17:12 using either the control panel webpage or when editing a logbook entry online
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See troggle/code/views/other.py and core.models/logbooks.py writelogbook(year, filename)
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-->
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<body>
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@ -2882,44 +2882,44 @@ George and I awoke after a night at camp to find Becka doing lots of productive
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I was feeling remarkably weary on this second day. There was point, as George and Becka shot off, where I was nearly defeated by a section of upward sloping mud. <br>
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An arduous (for me) and increasingly muddy commute later, we reached the pushing front: a muddy wet pitch, great! Feeling a touch despondent at this point, we pushed on; George started bolting the pitch while Becka and I waited at the top. Waiting very quickly got cold so in an attempt to alleviate this situation we started jumping about. The nature of this was quite comical, it was a fusion between a Zumba class routine and the irregular movements of telly tubies who have just been exited by the sun baby.<br>
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To our surprise and elation, the muddy gryke of a lead dropped into a dry spacious expanse with multiple ways on. We began surveying down a railway tunnel passage sloping slightly down. This, to our bewilderment, led to a gentle meandering river banked by sloped volumes of mud. All of a sudden, Becka became exited, George and I rushed over, she had found a sprout in the mud! A surreal occurrence at ~700m below. The sapling drank in our light deeply as we admired it's lone perseverance.<br>
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<p>
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<div class="bbImageWrapper js-lbImage" title="0ByoPSvOv74w6a1hJb0xyZ1hNOTB5b2x1MXRrUUhfOFl0YUlz" data-src="https://doc-0o-50-docs.googleusercontent.com/docs/securesc/ha0ro937gcuc7l7deffksulhg5h7mbp1/f9he738vd58ckm1p0mjp31trllcuspon/1533794400000/08674343202824717011/*/0ByoPSvOv74w6a1hJb0xyZ1hNOTB5b2x1MXRrUUhfOFl0YUlz" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-single-image="1">
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<img src="/years/2018/./blogimages/0ByoPSvOv74w6a1hJb0xyZ1hNOTB5b2x1MXRrUUhfOFl0YUlz" data-url="https://doc-0o-50-docs.googleusercontent.com/docs/securesc/ha0ro937gcuc7l7deffksulhg5h7mbp1/f9he738vd58ckm1p0mjp31trllcuspon/1533794400000/08674343202824717011/*/0ByoPSvOv74w6a1hJb0xyZ1hNOTB5b2x1MXRrUUhfOFl0YUlz" class="bbImage" data-zoom-target="1" style="" alt="0ByoPSvOv74w6a1hJb0xyZ1hNOTB5b2x1MXRrUUhfOFl0YUlz" title="" width="" height="" loading="lazy">
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</div>
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<p>
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<img src="/years/2018/blogimages/WG3_2634.JPG"" title="" width="" height="" loading="lazy">
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<p>
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<br>
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A few pictures later, we moved on, only to find a sump. This would have been annoying if not for the alternative upstream continuation.<br>
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Half an hour or so up this lead, much to my relief, we stopped on a muddy bank for a lunch break. The only way on was a 3m climb into a relic inlet. Becka argued that we should turn back as it was getting late (a sensible idea to be fair). Despite Becka's standpoint, George and I were up for going on. With Irate protest from Becka, George began the climb. Out of sight, George began talking in awe of an interesting blue lake. With more protesting from Becka, I climbed up as well.<br>
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The pool in question was like something out of a sci fi film, Its colour and complexity was preternatural. I could explain it to you by a picture able to convey more than words.<br>
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<p>
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<div class="bbImageWrapper js-lbImage" title="0ByoPSvOv74w6Ty1vT1E4T2l6dDROSGttV1VuZ043X1JGc2Jz" data-src="https://doc-0o-50-docs.googleusercontent.com/docs/securesc/ha0ro937gcuc7l7deffksulhg5h7mbp1/6ur3u2b9d3js3s9ru4l8set327mtrs7k/1533794400000/08674343202824717011/*/0ByoPSvOv74w6Ty1vT1E4T2l6dDROSGttV1VuZ043X1JGc2Jz" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-single-image="1">
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<img src="/years/2018/./blogimages/0ByoPSvOv74w6Ty1vT1E4T2l6dDROSGttV1VuZ043X1JGc2Jz" data-url="https://doc-0o-50-docs.googleusercontent.com/docs/securesc/ha0ro937gcuc7l7deffksulhg5h7mbp1/6ur3u2b9d3js3s9ru4l8set327mtrs7k/1533794400000/08674343202824717011/*/0ByoPSvOv74w6Ty1vT1E4T2l6dDROSGttV1VuZ043X1JGc2Jz" class="bbImage" data-zoom-target="1" style="" alt="0ByoPSvOv74w6Ty1vT1E4T2l6dDROSGttV1VuZ043X1JGc2Jz" title="" width="" height="" loading="lazy">
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</div>
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<p>
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<br>
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With rekindled enthusiasm for exploration we continued deeper into a truly surreal environment, the vast relic stream passage was littered with artefacts of its past; here and there, pools of immaculate water lay undisturbed for presumably quite a while; marbled fractal mud formations encrusted the lower surfaces; bizarre spiky rock formations en-habited the walls, formed by a vigorous torrent, long forgotten.<br>
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With over 400m on the PDA, we returned to camp. The commute seemed friendlier, for me at least, with a sense of accomplishment under the belt.<br>
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Waking up for the second time in absence of sunlight, the task for the 'day' was to de-rig and prusik out.<br>
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The camp was packed up and raised to the top of Kraken in five caries up the pitch (one by me two each by George and Becka). George competed a particularly obscene carry: a huge orange survival bag tied at the top with cord, he looked like a surreal speleo version of Santa Claus.<br>
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<p>
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<div class="bbImageWrapper js-lbImage" title="0ByoPSvOv74w6TWtKSjdSVmRONWRWQ1NsNF9RUndFSHhoRWhZ" data-src="https://doc-08-50-docs.googleusercontent.com/docs/securesc/ha0ro937gcuc7l7deffksulhg5h7mbp1/349fp0qn0ka63kla3vodnmi3dkhira2f/1533794400000/08674343202824717011/*/0ByoPSvOv74w6TWtKSjdSVmRONWRWQ1NsNF9RUndFSHhoRWhZ" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-single-image="1">
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<img src="/years/2018/./blogimages/0ByoPSvOv74w6TWtKSjdSVmRONWRWQ1NsNF9RUndFSHhoRWhZ" data-url="https://doc-08-50-docs.googleusercontent.com/docs/securesc/ha0ro937gcuc7l7deffksulhg5h7mbp1/349fp0qn0ka63kla3vodnmi3dkhira2f/1533794400000/08674343202824717011/*/0ByoPSvOv74w6TWtKSjdSVmRONWRWQ1NsNF9RUndFSHhoRWhZ" class="bbImage" data-zoom-target="1" style="" alt="0ByoPSvOv74w6TWtKSjdSVmRONWRWQ1NsNF9RUndFSHhoRWhZ" title="" width="" height="" loading="lazy">
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</div>
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<p>
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<br>
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Once camp was sorted, we began the long ascent to the surface. Becka and I set of with some bags of rope while the machine that is George began to de-rig the pitches.<br>
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This was my first trip to Kraken camp, but it might also be the last. However as one good thing comes to an end, the next is on the horizon: with the persistent efforts of this year (especially by George and Becka) a new region of Balkony has proved promising, and so, the camp will be reformed there with new opportunities awaiting.</div>
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<div class="timeug">T/U: 0.0 hours</div>
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<div class="editentry"><br /><a href="/logbookedit/2018-08-09b">Edit this entry</a><br /></div>
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