caving

 

In the Alps via the miracle of a 6th hand 1980's Minibus. This is a noisy, cramped but very cheap way of getting there. If you take enough Pro Plus the chronic lack of sleep needed to do it in 24 hours whilst either driving or being sat amongst 3 weeks of dehydrated chicken supreme, primula and rapid apple becomes much more bearable. A diesel engine at a constant 4000 rpm in 4th gear has a memorably fatiguing engine note, I can hear it now 30 years distant.

We are in the Vercour caving, next to the region's premier show cave is the Grotte de Gournier. It starts with 40m of recent glacial ice, held by the gathering dark at a few degrees above freezing and forming a blue lake which fades to an eerie black at the back. We have a rubber dinghy and our youth with us, we will be fine.

Over the lake in the dinghy we go, rigging a ferry line to speed us along and climb our wire ladder up into the cave passage proper. The cave itself is festooned with huge stalactites for what seems like miles. The main part of the cave is nothing more than a gawping tourist walk, but still quite a thing. We spend some hours in there, the yellow glow of the flames from our water powered acetylene lamps lighting up the tube train size tunnels and the chaotic jumble of collapsed calcite all over the floor, until we are happy but hungry and tired. 

Back we go to the dinghy. It has lost some pressure whilst we have been away. Dave bends down to put some air in the valve.  As he blows the forgotten flame from his headlamp burns a neat hole straight through the rubber dinghy. We now have less pressure in the dinghy, quite a bit less. 

We do our caving back then in fibre pile suits with a plastic overall over the top of them. They keep you much warmer than a wetsuit, but you can't swim in them, if you do they fill with water, your wellies bob over your head and you risk drowning, it has happened. 

Heads are scratched, we make a crude patch with the bit of tape that was wrapping up our mars bar emergency rations. Dave puts some air back in the dinghy. Do you laugh or cry at this point? We all silently do a bit of both.

The tubes in the base of the dinghy are still intact, we have a slightly glorified lilo to get us back to the distant light on their own these tubes will not quite float when carrying a human. The first person across pulls themselves on the rope as quick as they can. The dinghy starts to sink by halfway, but they make it over without getting too wet.

We re-inflate the dinghy but the patch is definitely losing some of its stick in the water. I'm next, again it works, but less well, I'm fairly dry by the time I'm out but the water temperature is definitely glacial and you can hear the bubbly hiss of the tape patch leaking.

We keep going, the patch gets worse. Dave is second last, he basically sinks in the dinghy but he can stand when it happens and he makes it to shore. Pete is then the only one of us left on the far side the lake, lightest and youngest, somehow he becomes our talisman or perhaps sacrifice. Ultimately he is comfortably the toughest of us all, but that takes another few years to really emerge.

He decides to take his suit and overall off, put them inside and swim with the dinghy/lilo in his pants. We will pull him from the shore

Off he sets, we all pull on the rope. It is surprisingly slow work even with 4 of us, with 10 metres left, Pete lets go of the dinghy/lilo and starts to swim as the icy water is freezing his hands up. He heads for the cave wall but finds nothing to hold onto with his frozen hands, this is starting to look bad. He flails and thrashes along the wall swimming and scrabbling as the cold shock gets to him. Finally he can stand and falls towards the cave entrance, we help him into the sunlight shivering were he lies like a fish.

Soon the sun revives him and thoughts turn to cheap red wine in plastic bottles and bad dehydrated food. Grand day out.