Pendle Caving Club

Archive Material from 2000

Index:
Bulgar Alert in Gavel-Short Drop Exchange Peak Cavern

29/8/00...............Bulgar Alert in Yorkshire

With the imminent arrival of stinky Bulgar Tzvetan (hereby known as Tz) in our fume free country it was left to the lad to sort him out with some caving action. All the other members of "Pendle International do Bulgaria" had left the region or didn't care and as I had give the stinking pig-dog my undersuit he felt he had to come caving in England and show us how good he was.

I cunningly arranged not to have him stay with me at my girlfriends house and suggested he go and stay with Bloomster, the one who contributes so little and expects a free lift every time, but Bloomster thwarted that idea with the birth of his mini-me. Back to plan B. Eventually sorted the Bulgar out with plush accommodation at Brookhouse, top eatery etc. Cheeky bastard thought £20 was too much, so I suggested he sort himself out cos I had bears urine to boil.

Unsurprisingly he was sat in Brookhouse when the vastness that is Pendle caving club descending en-mass for a lard feast and bottom emptying exercise. An eating rota was established that left the Bulgar floundering as he saw 6 people eat 6 full breakfasts before he had even tucked in to his muesli. Found the best way to get the wild haired freak to hurry up was not to talk to him, especially if he had his mouth full as you were likely to get a face-wash Bulgar style.

Eventually he finished his breakfast and him and Bloomster aimed for John's car. John started getting concerned but the student came to his rescue by jumping the queue. Bloomster would have to use some of his own petrol for a fucking change.

The swollen Pendle ranks sped off to Inglesport where Tz faffed in original style, looking and coo-ing at kit he could never afford. I splashed out and hired him a lamp, which he thought he could keep, then it was back to the vehicles and off to Leck Fell.

Steve and Tz were first to the gate into Leck, Tz got confused and had to be directed by Bloomski on how to open gates, but after he had steadied himself against the gentle breeze that threatened to blow him away, be heaved the incredibly light gate off the latch and we were away, if only Bloomster hadn't parked his van in the middle of the road so nobody could get through !!

A quick change, then we were ready for action, except of course Tz who had never seen an electric lamp that lasted longer than 20 minutes and could be attached to your helmet rather than slung across your shoulders. Half an hour later, Dave, Bloomski, Pete and Tz were at the entrance to Short Drop (SD) while John, Ron and "alarming" Alice went to rig Gavel.

Uneventful trip through SD until Tz started traversing above a tiny puddle to stop his fetid feet getting wet. He couldn't hold his skeletor-like frame up against gravity and slid down towards the stream getting both his shoulders stuck behind him, thus rendering him in pain and with little hope of rescue because he smelt so much we had gone on ahead. I heard pitiful cries from behind us and assuming he was singing to himself waited a bit for him to appear. The cries got stronger and so I went to look and found Tz looking a bit worse for wear and gradually pulling his shoulders out of joint. His cries still went unanswered as I didn't have a fucking clue what he was saying and I didn't want to touch him in case his rancidness rubbed onto me. Gravity eventually won and he touched down in top style in a soggy heap on the ground.

Got to Gavel entrance and found the "G" team had thrown all the ropes down the wrong pitch, and worse had not even bothered to tie them on to anything !!! They were just waiting to be rescued by a pro, so I swung into action, rigged the 20m pitch and got the ropes back.

Everybody bottomed Gavel, save for Alice who was concerned she might never see the light of day if she went any further. Glasfords was pretty and Tz spent far to long crawling up pointless side passages looking for new bits. I hadn't the heart to tell him that England isn't anything like Bulgaria. We are civilised, we wash and we have decent kit that lets us explore caves in other countries cos we have done all the ones we want to do in our own country. Bless !!

Bloomster and Pete were left to de-rig. Bloomsters energy levels went crashing as he was told he may have to carry a bag, so he cunningly left Pete to do it all, except for a Twix, which Steve carried all the way back to the surface. What a hero.

Everybody got to the Gavel entrance and the "G" team were left to exit by their route, and us by ours. The SD team got to the entrance at 6pm and all decided to leave, except for Tz who thought 300m more crawling would do his kneepadless knees no end of good, so he tried to exit by the Coal Hole entrance. We all got changed and sat around waiting for the freak to appear. After 20 minutes I decided to see if I could find the Coal Hole and shout words of encouragement as we all had better things to be doing. After 30 minutes he still wasn't out, so John and I got back into our wet kit and went back to look for the silly fucker. As I got to the entrance a purple suited, muddy, bearded, smelly, fraggle exited complaining in pidgin English that he couldn't find the entrance and that I had sent him the wrong way. If I had thought of such an amusing joke I would have made sure I had left, not got back into my wet kit and not made John get back into his, but as it was he had missed the obvious daylight entrance and attempted to force himself into an impassable inlet where he discovered formations and mud that no man have ever seen before.

Without being rude I told him to go away as I wanted to get changed in peace for the second time and didn't want him staring at my knob. John and I got changed, stood about for a bit and left for Ingleton, with Steve saying he would meet us there in a bit for chips. Tz still had his oversuit on as we left.

Enjoyed our chips in Ingleton, sat around, ate some chocolate and waited. As it got to 8pm we left Ingleton, Steve and Tz still hadn't turned up, we were convinced that Tz had decided to go caving again, just to make sure I wasn't lying and that the book, our bible, Northern Caves, wasn't wrong.
Maybe Tz reamed Steve, maybe Steve reamed him. Whatever the fate of our dear, smelly, freak Tzvetan we shall hopefully never see him again. I asked him if Kiril had got any more bookings for caving in Bulgaria. He said no. I wasn't surprised.

I told John that Tz was one of the top cavers in BG. He pissed himself..…………………...

Here endeth a sorry tale of poor east meets rich and washed west.

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21/11/00............Pendle, the TSG Hut and Peak Cavern: A Special Report

Plans were afoot for a monster trip into the Derbyshire classic, Peak Cavern. Permits were sorted, people were notified and a night at the TSG hut in Castleton was organised so that people with hangovers could get up at a reasonable time. It all seemed so simple, everybody was looking forward to a good trip and a night out with their muckers, the curse of Pendle International Speleological Society seemed to have left with the Bulgarian freak known as Tzevtan. However, the Denton Disciple pulled out at the last minute citing "other commitments" and the Ranger pulled out as I left the house for Castleton also citing "other commitments". It appeared that the only people capable of leading the ramshackle collective pile of shite known as the Bulgar posse had deserted us fearing a monster pisstake of a trip, late exit and the possible loss of a prime chicken dinner. Fair enough.

I arrived at the garage/pig-sty that the Thug had booked us into for the night and sat around talking shite with a couple of beards of aquatic persuasion, they told tall tales of muddy water and cylinder pressures such
that I was almost comatose by the time Bloomster and Webbo arrived on the scene. The night moved on and the hardcore PISS members assembled in a local hostelry for beer and scram. It was at this point that it occurred to the boys actually going caving that some form of map or description could well be in order. Luckily for us, John had turned out to drink beer and talk shite, something no man who has ever been abroad on a Pendle trip can truly stand to miss, so we collared him for a survey. Johns brain flew into action and soon we had a map of Peak Cavern draw on a random piece of A4 complete with badgers, rope making equipment, ducks, sumps, climbs, crawls and general passages of death all the way to Far Sump. John proclaimed it a masterpiece and we all thought of how we could get a decent survey without any of us having brought the book. Doh!!

Much shite was talked and the highlight was Steve suggesting to the serving wench that she blow him after bringing him the pudding menu. The evening progressed back at the TSG shed, where Webbo pulled a fat ginger minger, Andy pulled a bearded freak who pissed in the sink to impress his new conquest, Steve went to sleep and I drank too much wine spiked with black pepper, that well known accompaniment to a fine Shiraz. Needless to say everybody soon bored of writing shite in the TSG log book about the freaks
half of our members had trapped off with and writing how crap Derbyshire was compared to Yorkshire (stating the obvious really) so as "bed ways is best ways" we left the creatures pissing in the sink and drifted off to our plush bunks for a good nights sleep.

However, there was no room at the inn for John, so he spent a fine night sleeping on the hard, cold, piss ridden floor and I blew chunks in traps 1, 2 and 3 in a gnawingly familiar display of weanerness. Sunday dawned bright and cold, the PISS members piled down to a local café for muchous lard. Sadly the café was shut because the local papers were late, the fat twat running the place couldn't get his ass out of his van, and his illiterate wife of a pig-dog decided that five hungry cavers would spend too much money on food, thus rendering them homeless. I thought a profit margin of 500% on the breakfasts would win over the 5% margin on the papers. Not in Castleton !!!

Eventually I stopped feeling like death and the trip was on. The forecast was for settled weather, the Tiger Team with associated hanger-on was assembled and with Johnos survey we were made for a huge trip in this
exciting cave. All systems were go !!!

At the crucial moment of trip ignition, into our lives strode Jez. Jez had been ridiculed by us up to this point for having 4 lamps on his helmet, being a mouthy twat and talking shite about sump visibility, French sump
visibility and 20 hour lamps that he bought in Argentina at the close of the Falklands War, he being a local lackey the Navy press-ganged into their on-board rent-boy posse. Unfortunately it appeared that Jez held the key to our entire trip, as he was some TSG appointed access officianardo. He immediately imposed a two hour trip limit as the water levels were the highest he had seen in aeons, thus wrecking our chances of a decent trip. Ignoring our pleas for sanity the fellow bellowed that we were lucky and that he had the power to close the cave to all and sundry, including the PISS. Bollocks we thought.

Entry into the cave was eventually facilitated along with a sober group of Mendip beards who hadn't said a word since we had been there. The brave PISS boys scampered on deep into the Show Cave and allowed the Mendip Beards to pass us at a crucial point. We made our way through the vast air space in the muddy ducks and onto the Main Drain where we decided downstream was for us. 20 minutes later we found the Mendip Beards wallowing in the sump, which stank of diesel. Where the diesel was coming from was a mystery, but it was unanimously agreed that it was the Mendip Beards who were by now sweating out the vast quantities of red-diesel they had drunk in the TSG Hut the night before.

Back at the rusty ladder fixed non-aid the Pendle Boys went upstream for aeons until Andy rounded a corner to find one of the girlie Mendip Beards squatting, squeezing out a huge stig. Alarmed at Thuggos sudden screams we hurried round the corner to find the remains of a well baked shite floating off, the girlie hurriedly pulling up her lacy shreddies and Andy rooting around for his bins, so as to get a decent look, like. We let the poor girl escape and climbed up a side passage to poor scorn on Derbyshire, Peak Cavern, Mendip Beards and each other.

We strode off upstream again, in familiarly large passage with rocks and mud until the passing of the Mendip Beards forced a halt. We all took the opportunity to have a sit down and realised we would be late if we didn't follow them. Arse to that. One of them blessed us with a quick piece of Mendip friendliness, "Sporting isn't it, highest I've ever seen it", then simply strode off leaving us bemused….

The Pendle trip ended after we all became very bored of walking in large stream passage so we decided to leave, at the exit Jez quickly came up to us and berated us for being late,

"Get lost did you lads?", he said,

"No", said Pendle.

"Get to the end?", asked Jez.

"No", said Pendle. "We got bored of walking around in diesel fumes and didn't have enough time to go anywhere decent".

"Yeah, the water level isn't that high really, have any of you been in before?", he asked.

"No", said Steve, "the water level is the highest I have ever seen it!".

"Hmm", said Jez, confused. "You should get another permit and go in again, try something like JH to Peak".

"That sounds good", said Steve, "how many lights would you need for that ?"

"What?", asked Jez, very confused at this point.

"Well", said Steve, "most of us only have two lights and Dave only has one,
surely we would need up to 4 for a trip like that?"

"Err", said Jez, leaving, "see you boys later."

"Unlikely", said Pendle.

So ended Pendles first (and I'm sure last) trip into Peak Cavern.

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