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1987: Cambridge Underground report
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<h1 align=center>1991 Expo</h1>
<center><font size=-1>Cambridge Underground 1988 pp 3-4</font>

<h2>Expedition to the Totes-Gebirge, Austria 1987<br>
Expedition Description</h2>

<p><b>Rebecca Lawson</b></center>

<p>We gathered at Hilda's Gasthof in Altaussee over the weekend: first the
suave 'team smoothies' consisting of Keith and Ian Millar, Mike Martin and
Jenny Moss coasting in the Sierra from Cambridge in 17 hours. Then the more
macho 'team momentum' (or team 'wet sponge' - a reflection on Rover's
steering rather than its occupants, who were Mike 'The Animal' Richardson,
Chris Densham and Jared West). The Landrover shamed itself by urinating
antifreeze over every garage forecourt, but brought over a phenomenal amount
of tackle. Finally the oddments - an inter-railer (Dave 'Stonker' Johnson), a
Eurotrainer (Juliette Nash) plus Becka Lawson and Andy Farrow, a
stench-ridden exhausted pair of hitchers who'd spent 10 hours, helpless, in
Munich's traffic jungle, before hijacking a gullible Austrialian (complete
with didgereedoo - "What's this exhaust pipe doing on your back seat,
then&nbsp;?")

<p>And so enthusiastically up the 17 hairpins to the Loser Plateau of the
Totes Gebirge (the descent is more fun - after one long trip, we forgot to
keep talking to Animal, and he dropped off at the wheel). We merrily set to
cave hunting - the place is littered with entrances, but any obvious holes
have been slithered through before, and the rest are lurking in the vicious
"bunde" (overgrown, spiky gorse bushes which scratch your arms and legs). The
limestone isn't the kindly weathered English variety - it cuts skin and takes
lumps from boots. Ten yards from a landmark and you are totally lost, out of
earshot and trapped in a hollow or gully by the impenetrable bunde.

<p>On the first day Jenny misplaced her glasses beside an "obvious" entrance
- more wo/man hours were put in finding them than some of us spent
underground, which varied from 12 to 64 hours.

<p>So on to the proper caving - but before we started there was the 1-2 hours
stomping over the Plateau, shoulders mangled by the tacklesack, sweat soaking
your furry suit, ogling tourists... though returning in the early hours could
be beautiful - cool exhaustion, following the paint daubs over the limestone
with the starlight, or in a storm with sheet lightning over the mountains and
streaks forking down on you as the moon rose in clouds ringed in colours like
a rainbow.

<p>Entrances 113 and 87 were explored simultaneously. 87 was notorious for
the bitter gale at the pitch head, and the first trip was all but
hypothermic, waiting for the bolts to be driven in. Entrance 113 was rambling
and confusing. Andrew free-climbed down one interesting 60ft ramp, returned
virtually to the top to say a passage continued on, then avalanched back down
again on a fall of loose boulders, badly gashing his hand. So up he crawled
once more, splattering his blood (Ian was delighted to find it still fresh
and red, days later!). He was very lucky, just having stitches to one hand.
Loose rocks seemed the worst danger - there's no water to dislodge them, and
with most of the cave unstable, it's impossible to check every step.

<p><a name="helmet">Further into 113</a>, we found a helmet encased in ice -
complete with stinky and head torch, dropped on an expedition several years
ago. This was returned to its original owner, Andy Waddington, at the annual
dinner, still entombed in ice. The new section of 113 was surveyed up to
bolts left from a previous expedition. Becka spent hours whining about
feeling sickly, managing to hold off until she'd stuffed down a Marathon,
which she promptly smeared down the pitch, nearly plastering Chris.

<p>Entrance 153 was pushed to and beyond its reasonable limits by Chris
ferreting into the very narrow rift. He and Jared were left, supposedly on
their way out, the rest returned. The pair didn't come back, so a rescue was
organised. Unfortunately, the search party dwindled to four, as poor Rover
ran dry when the last dregs of petrol swilled to the bottom of its tank round
a hairpin. However, two sheepish cavers were just coming down the path as we
reached the car park. Chris, not content with one tight squeeze, had oozed
himself through a tighter one. Unfortunately, this bit was helped by gravity,
and his SRT gear got jammed in the rock as he tried to get back up. Jared
heroically forced himself through the first squeeze, then hauled Chris out of
his slot.

<p>On one day too good to go caving, we made the trip to the toboggan runs.
After the first go, the brakes were ignored. Those with a sense of balance
and some skill survived, the rest collected some impressive friction burns,
with bare skin sticking well to the metal sides. Rover went topless, with
blinking hands for indicators, and cavers in swimsuits driking beer and
cavorting in the back for photos - and sod the caving!

<p>We found Donner und Blitzen Hohle in the last week, the most promising
cave of the expedition, but unfortunately it ended in a large boulder choke
with only one impossibly tight rift leading out at 130m depth. Marilyn Monroe
H&ouml;hle contained some beautifully sculpted ice formations, hardly melting
even in the late summer. The compass decided not to play while this was being
surveyed, so a survey could not be produced. Probably the most important work
of this expedition was the surface surveying between previously known
entrances, and one day the Austrian cavers invited Mike Martin to survey with
them using their hi-tech laser rangefinder. A complete survey of the area has
now been produced.

<p>Cavers obviously survive on their stomachs, and food probably caused the
most agro over the expedition. Ignoring the incredible excesses of methane
production (yet another male failing) we had a feud between blood thirsty
carnivores ranged against the soft soggy veggies. Flesh eaters were for once
outnumbered and although weakened by the sheer bulk of muesli and curried
beans, Ian led a desperate comeback by hunting down plastic sausages in the
local supermarket. Despite the piggery, the beer tent stayed unnaturally
hygienic - even the mouse which fled from Animal's wetsuit as he unpacked it
didn't stay around. This was almost entirely due to Jenny; for her efforts
she was warded a signed scrubbing bruch at teh end of expedition dinner, and
when she left after the second week a swarm of wasps carried on with the
cleaning up!

<p>The last few stalwarts (gregs?) at the end were invited to the local
potato club's fortnightly meet in Hilda's woodshed for some serious yodelling
and schnapps drinking, a relief after all the hassles of detackling and a
change from the mulled wine of previous weeks.

<p>Animal added interest to the return trip at a German border post.
Attempting to look more like his passport photo (and unable to regrow that
horrible moustache) he took his glasses off, which unfortunately meant that
he couldn't see where he was driving. Rover mounted the kerb and lurched
toward the nervous guard, who emerged gibbering and waving a pistol at
Jared's head, convinced of a terrorist attack. One glance at the mounds of
smelly caving gear soon convinced him otherwise, and he eventually allowed
Rover to continue to Britain without further ado.

<hr />
<ul>
<li><a href="../../1623/113.htm">Sonnenstrahlh&ouml;hle</a>
Guidebook page</li>
<li><a href="ent113.htm">Extensions to 113</a></li>

<li><a href="log.htm">Logbook</a></li>
<li><a href="158gd.htm">Donner-und-Blitzen H&ouml;hle</a>, Mike Richardson</li>
</li>
<li><a href="geolog.htm">Geology of the Totengebirge</a>, Jared West<br>
<!-- <li><a href="bcracc.htm">BCRA Caves &amp; Caving Report</a><br> -->
</ul>
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