Last weekend I stayed at Bull Pot Farm with the Glasgow University Potholing Association (GUPA). Twelve of us headed south although three people were there to revise/work (an odd concept).
It was a slow start to the day because GUPA don’t do Saturday breakfasts, instead they head to Bernies. This was an educational visit because we all learnt that dogs sodomise each other to show dominance (just like prisoners). Dylan, the Bernies dog, clearly wanted to show the GUPA President’s puppy who was boss; Amy, the owner, is a vet student and was unfazed and instead explained about the power-play.
Canine hanky-panky done with, we went caving. Yorkshire had been soggy but was improving, which was limiting our options so we all headed for Sell Gill Holes. I took four bods down the Wet/Goblin Route and Stuart Hunter, the GUPA old lag, took the other three down the dry route.
I nearly aborted the trip after nipping up and down the first pitch a couple of times looking for the way on and getting damp: I found lots of old spits in the places I expected a Y-hang but no P-bolts. Thankfully, back at the traverse, David (my second) told me that the way on was a crawl halfway down, which also explained why I hadn’t expected the deviation bolt I found.
After the crawl is the main pot which has two big ledges, a nice swing out and a fantastic final hang. We were reaching the bottom at the same time as Stuart’s party, so I got them sat in the bothy just in time for Stuart to knee them all in the head as he clambered over them to speak to me. They were well chuffed.
No-one had any difficulties getting out apart from me, because my fingers decided to stop working and I had to resort to spannering the first maillon open before feeling returned to them. My Freshers were obediently waiting at the traverse for me and one GUPette offered to take one tackle sack down the hill and then carried both bags (100m of wet rope!). She was quite happy with both so I left her to it.
Having started late, we ate late and were rather tired, despite the pick-me-up beers. I wasn’t helped by the five fajitas and two bowls of cake & custard sat in my stomach either. Amy (an American) had questioned the British love of custard in the supermarket and Stuart, James Farmer (CUCC) and I didn’t get far beyond ‘custard’s brilliant’ and ‘mmm custard’ by way of explanation but we all had custard and it was great.
While the majority of us soldiered on for a few hours, some had somewhat more stamina and pushed on to 6.30am; a GUPA Fresher and an 18-year old Red Rose member were still stumbling around the corridors at 10am as a result. (A few drinkers opted to sleep instead of cave that day.)
Faffing over, I took four GUPettes down Calf Holes and managed to do so without a repeat of mine & Ali’s debacle on Fresher’s Weekend ’09 when we got lost at every occasion.
We squeezed in one last cake stop at Bernies (sans dog rape) and then left for Glasgow, motoring through the lowland snow. All-in-all, it was a fun weekend with a good bunch of bods.