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<!-- from Cambridge Underground 1988 pp 3-4 -->
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1987: Cambridge Underground report
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<h1 align=center>1991 Expo</h1>
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<center><font size=-1>Cambridge Underground 1988 pp 3-4</font>
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<h2>Expedition to the Totes-Gebirge, Austria 1987<br>
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Expedition Description</h2>
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<p><b>Rebecca Lawson</b></center>
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<p>We gathered at Hilda's Gasthof in Altaussee over the weekend: first the
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suave 'team smoothies' consisting of Keith and Ian Millar, Mike Martin and
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Jenny Moss coasting in the Sierra from Cambridge in 17 hours. Then the more
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macho 'team momentum' (or team 'wet sponge' - a reflection on Rover's
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steering rather than its occupants, who were Mike 'The Animal' Richardson,
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Chris Densham and Jared West). The Landrover shamed itself by urinating
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antifreeze over every garage forecourt, but brought over a phenomenal amount
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of tackle. Finally the oddments - an inter-railer (Dave 'Stonker' Johnson), a
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Eurotrainer (Juliette Nash) plus Becka Lawson and Andy Farrow, a
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stench-ridden exhausted pair of hitchers who'd spent 10 hours, helpless, in
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Munich's traffic jungle, before hijacking a gullible Austrialian (complete
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with didgereedoo - "What's this exhaust pipe doing on your back seat,
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then ?")
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<p>And so enthusiastically up the 17 hairpins to the Loser Plateau of the
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Totes Gebirge (the descent is more fun - after one long trip, we forgot to
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keep talking to Animal, and he dropped off at the wheel). We merrily set to
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cave hunting - the place is littered with entrances, but any obvious holes
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have been slithered through before, and the rest are lurking in the vicious
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"bunde" (overgrown, spiky gorse bushes which scratch your arms and legs). The
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limestone isn't the kindly weathered English variety - it cuts skin and takes
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lumps from boots. Ten yards from a landmark and you are totally lost, out of
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earshot and trapped in a hollow or gully by the impenetrable bunde.
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<p>On the first day Jenny misplaced her glasses beside an "obvious" entrance
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- more wo/man hours were put in finding them than some of us spent
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underground, which varied from 12 to 64 hours.
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<p>So on to the proper caving - but before we started there was the 1-2 hours
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stomping over the Plateau, shoulders mangled by the tacklesack, sweat soaking
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your furry suit, ogling tourists... though returning in the early hours could
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be beautiful - cool exhaustion, following the paint daubs over the limestone
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with the starlight, or in a storm with sheet lightning over the mountains and
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streaks forking down on you as the moon rose in clouds ringed in colours like
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a rainbow.
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<p>Entrances 113 and 87 were explored simultaneously. 87 was notorious for
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the bitter gale at the pitch head, and the first trip was all but
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hypothermic, waiting for the bolts to be driven in. Entrance 113 was rambling
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and confusing. Andrew free-climbed down one interesting 60ft ramp, returned
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virtually to the top to say a passage continued on, then avalanched back down
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again on a fall of loose boulders, badly gashing his hand. So up he crawled
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once more, splattering his blood (Ian was delighted to find it still fresh
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and red, days later!). He was very lucky, just having stitches to one hand.
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Loose rocks seemed the worst danger - there's no water to dislodge them, and
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with most of the cave unstable, it's impossible to check every step.
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<p><a name="helmet">Further into 113</a>, we found a helmet encased in ice -
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complete with stinky and head torch, dropped on an expedition several years
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ago. This was returned to its original owner, Andy Waddington, at the annual
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dinner, still entombed in ice. The new section of 113 was surveyed up to
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bolts left from a previous expedition. Becka spent hours whining about
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feeling sickly, managing to hold off until she'd stuffed down a Marathon,
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which she promptly smeared down the pitch, nearly plastering Chris.
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<p>Entrance 153 was pushed to and beyond its reasonable limits by Chris
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ferreting into the very narrow rift. He and Jared were left, supposedly on
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their way out, the rest returned. The pair didn't come back, so a rescue was
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organised. Unfortunately, the search party dwindled to four, as poor Rover
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ran dry when the last dregs of petrol swilled to the bottom of its tank round
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a hairpin. However, two sheepish cavers were just coming down the path as we
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reached the car park. Chris, not content with one tight squeeze, had oozed
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himself through a tighter one. Unfortunately, this bit was helped by gravity,
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and his SRT gear got jammed in the rock as he tried to get back up. Jared
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heroically forced himself through the first squeeze, then hauled Chris out of
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his slot.
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<p>On one day too good to go caving, we made the trip to the toboggan runs.
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After the first go, the brakes were ignored. Those with a sense of balance
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and some skill survived, the rest collected some impressive friction burns,
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with bare skin sticking well to the metal sides. Rover went topless, with
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blinking hands for indicators, and cavers in swimsuits driking beer and
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cavorting in the back for photos - and sod the caving!
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<p>We found Donner und Blitzen Hohle in the last week, the most promising
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cave of the expedition, but unfortunately it ended in a large boulder choke
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with only one impossibly tight rift leading out at 130m depth. Marilyn Monroe
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Höhle contained some beautifully sculpted ice formations, hardly melting
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even in the late summer. The compass decided not to play while this was being
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surveyed, so a survey could not be produced. Probably the most important work
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of this expedition was the surface surveying between previously known
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entrances, and one day the Austrian cavers invited Mike Martin to survey with
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them using their hi-tech laser rangefinder. A complete survey of the area has
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now been produced.
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<p>Cavers obviously survive on their stomachs, and food probably caused the
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most agro over the expedition. Ignoring the incredible excesses of methane
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production (yet another male failing) we had a feud between blood thirsty
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carnivores ranged against the soft soggy veggies. Flesh eaters were for once
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outnumbered and although weakened by the sheer bulk of muesli and curried
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beans, Ian led a desperate comeback by hunting down plastic sausages in the
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local supermarket. Despite the piggery, the beer tent stayed unnaturally
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hygienic - even the mouse which fled from Animal's wetsuit as he unpacked it
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didn't stay around. This was almost entirely due to Jenny; for her efforts
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she was warded a signed scrubbing bruch at teh end of expedition dinner, and
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when she left after the second week a swarm of wasps carried on with the
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cleaning up!
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<p>The last few stalwarts (gregs?) at the end were invited to the local
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potato club's fortnightly meet in Hilda's woodshed for some serious yodelling
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and schnapps drinking, a relief after all the hassles of detackling and a
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change from the mulled wine of previous weeks.
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<p>Animal added interest to the return trip at a German border post.
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Attempting to look more like his passport photo (and unable to regrow that
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horrible moustache) he took his glasses off, which unfortunately meant that
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he couldn't see where he was driving. Rover mounted the kerb and lurched
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toward the nervous guard, who emerged gibbering and waving a pistol at
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Jared's head, convinced of a terrorist attack. One glance at the mounds of
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smelly caving gear soon convinced him otherwise, and he eventually allowed
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Rover to continue to Britain without further ado.
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<hr />
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<ul>
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<li><a href="/1623/113.htm">Sonnenstrahlhöhle</a>
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Guidebook page</li>
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<li><a href="ent113.htm">Extensions to 113</a></li>
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<li><a href="log.htm">Logbook</a></li>
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<li><a href="158gd.htm">Donner-und-Blitzen Höhle</a>, Mike Richardson</li>
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</li>
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<li><a href="geolog.htm">Geology of the Totengebirge</a>, Jared West<br>
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<!-- <li><a href="bcracc.htm">BCRA Caves & Caving Report</a><br> -->
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</ul>
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<hr />
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