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<title>Cambridge Underground 1996: From Expo Novice to Expo Leader</title>
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<center><font size=-1>Cambridge Underground 1996 pp 15-16</font>
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<h2>From Expo Novice to Expo Leader:<br>
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The Tale of My Decline</h2>
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<p><b><i>by Steve Bellhouse</i></b></center>
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<p>I can picture it clearly. I was sitting next to the beer barrel at the
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CUCC squash, talking to a gorgeous lady with long blonde hair who kept
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filling my glass. That was when I first heard of expo. At the time it was
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an enigma, a garbled mass of nonsensical phrases. "Potato hut",
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<span lang=de-at>"Gösser"</span> and "Wadders" were concepts
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completely alien to me. Now, over a year later, I know that the beautiful
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young lady is in fact a man called Petel, and the institution known as
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expo has also become clearer to me, although many mysteries still remain.
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This is the tale of my expo enlightenment. (How I found out Petel was a
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man is another, more sordid story.)
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<p>Halfway through my first term, the entire club decided it was intensely
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amusing to shout "Whose car am I going to expo in?" at a nice
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little man called Nick. Nick had been nobbled as 'Expo Leader', and this
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apparently made him a complete mug. What kind of sucker would volunteer for
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a job like that? At the time, I was blissfully unaware of the true extent
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of the horrific ordeal facing him, but alas no more, as this year's mug is
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me. The trials and tribulations of expo leadership are also another story,
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though.
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<p>By this time it was clear that expo would be happening and that I would
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be going. Easter term and exams flashed by me largely unnoticed as my life
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became intertwined with the whirlwind of drama, comedy and romance that is
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expo. A month climbing in the Alps seemed dull and uneventful as I waited
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impatiently for the big moment. Then it finally arrived. It was time to go
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to expo, and three weeks of excitement and adventure lay ahead of me, with
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danger lurking at every turn.
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<p>I discovered the Potato Hut a few small seconds before I discovered
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<span lang=de-at>Gösser</span>, the true drink of the Gods. This utopian
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nectar has to be disguised as fizzy Austrian lager to stop over-consumption
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by those unappreciative of its subtleties. I, however, was very appreciative,
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and I over-consumed accordingly.
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<p>Next, I discovered the expo dinner, which I had cunningly arrived just
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in time for. The singing of <a href="../../../cucc/song.htm">'Wild
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Caver'</a> was more raucous and less tuneful than ever before, a girl stole
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my heart away by eating ten chocolate puddings, and only one person had to go
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to hospital. I woke up next morning with a massive hangover, thinking that
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expo was great. Then I had to go caving.
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<p>Twenty minutes drive up a chunderous toll road, an hour's walk to top
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camp and another hour to the cave, all carting caving gear, left me
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knackered before even going caving. However, once I was there I suddenly
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became keen, and that first trip turned out to be the best of my expo. We
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whizzed down France, past the legendary free-hanging rebelay in Algeria,
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one more pitch, up a mud slope, bang a quick spit in, and...
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<p>...CAVE! Fat wads of stonking great new passageway in both directions.
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We stomped off happily, I found a pitch and got to dangle precariously and
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put a spit in, whilst the others did some surveying. Altogether we were
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underground for thirteen hours, and we got back to top camp just as the
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sun was coming up. Next day we headed back to base camp to drink beer and
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spread wild rumours about how our find would link KH to
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<span lang=de-at>Stellerweg</span> and make our cave one of the finest in the
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world. Our dreams of international fame and fortune were soon shattered by
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Olly's computer that showed us our sense of direction underground was about
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average ie. non-existent. It was still an important find, though, and I was
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still happy.
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<p>A few days later expo changed my life for ever, when I met Robert the
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Wonder Caver, a dashing Austrian policeman who caves like a demon, drinks
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like a fish and is quite possibly hung like a grand-national winner. No
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man could have a finer rôle-model. This man splits his time between
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heroically fighting crime on the violent, vice-filled Austrian streets,
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and pushing back the boundaries of human exploration in relentless
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subterranean sorties. The time he spends bombing round in his car whilst
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tanked up on Schnapps is minimal and excusable, especially as he's so hard.
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<p>More caving, more <span lang=de-at>Gösser</span>, more sunshine, more
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rain (oh how fondly I remember the chirpy tuneful pitter-patter of Austrian
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raindrops), more lies and exaggerations, expo flowed over and around me like
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the water in a Swildons duck. I was never entirely sure if I would survive.
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<p>Time passed and the end of expo drew inexorably closer. Everyone tried not
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to think about the massive piles of assorted caving shit at top camp and the
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cave entrance that would soon have to be brought down. People coped with the
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stress of the impending Carries of Doom in different ways. Some frantically
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ticked off <span lang=de-at>Gössers</span> in the bier book, hoping not
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to wake up until it was all over. Others lay on their backs on lilos on the
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lake, staring blankly up at the sky and murmuring "Wibble" very quietly. The
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car battery up there which was completely unused all expo, and the 16lb tub
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of syrup which had seemed like a good idea at the time, were not going to
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walk down the hill on their own. I discovered the problems of owning a
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rucksack which was widely regarded as infinite, but slowly, surely, the end
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drew near. The bubbling metropolis of top camp became a simple field once
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more, and <span lang=de>Kaninchenhöhle</span> was allowed to sleep.
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She's not a beautiful cave, a little tiresome at times and slightly muddy in
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places, but we all love her and she deserves her rest. Expo was over.
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<p>The gear fitted in the car for the journey home, then we remembered
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that I had to fit in somewhere as well. Hours passed in a half waking
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nightmare of sleeping bags and radio equipment falling from the sky, and
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finally I arrived home. Next year I shall return a hardened veteran, and
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novices will gaze at me in awe and wonder, and I won't reveal to them the
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tale of my past, when I too first tried to make sense of the CUCC annual
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expedition. I now know the secret. You don't try to understand it. You
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just go there and do it.
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<p><center><a href="../../smkridge/161/l/pipecp.htm"><img alt="Beehive Camp -
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8k jpg, link to 85k jpeg" width=184 height=116
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src="../../smkridge/161/t/pipecp.jpg"></a><br>
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<i>Steve Bellhouse, Martin Sabry and Kate Janossy enjoy a refreshing cup of
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hot chocolate (ahem) at the underground camp in Beehive, 1994.</i> [Photo:
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Andy Atkinson]</center>
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<p><hr>
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<!-- LINKS -->
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<img alt=">" src="../../../icons/lists/0.gif">
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<a href="../../../jnl/1996/index.htm">Table of Contents</a>
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for Cambridge Underground 1996<br>
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<img alt=">" src="../../../icons/lists/0.gif">
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1995 Expedition info:<br>
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<img alt="--->" src="../../../icons/lists/1.gif">
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<a href="index.htm">Index</a> (more detail than in this list)<br>
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<img alt="--->" src="../../../icons/lists/1.gif">
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<a href="report.htm">Cambridge Underground report</a><br>
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<img alt="--->" src="../../../icons/lists/1.gif">
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<a href="log.htm">Logbook</a><br>
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<img alt="--->" src="../../../icons/lists/1.gif">
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<a href="excsrp.htm">Preliminary report</a> (exCS newsletter)<br>
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<img alt="--->" src="../../../icons/lists/1.gif">
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<a href="bcracc.htm">BCRA Caves and Caving</a> Report<br>
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<img alt="--->" src="../../../icons/lists/1.gif">
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This year's <a href="sponsr.htm">Sponsors</a><br>
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<img alt=">" src="../../../icons/lists/0.gif">
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<A HREF="../../../index.htm">Back to CUCC top page</a><br>
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<img alt=">" src="../../../icons/lists/0.gif">
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<A HREF="../../../expo/index.htm">Austria expeditions</a><br>
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<img alt=">" src="../../../icons/lists/0.gif">
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<a href="../../../jnl/index.htm">Index</a> to Cambridge Underground<br>
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</body>
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</html>
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