Being on holiday I had the opportunity to go up early on friday and so this plan was made the previous Thursday. However what I had not anticipated was a certain level of inebriation the night before with unpleasant morning effects. I was then ‘subjected’ to Tom1’s driving, (note: normally good but with a reactionary stomach not so much) and we arrived having missed the misery of Bradford (I haven’t written up any of the last 6 trips I was on and so the website may have missed a rant about Bradford… Don’t get me started).

We got underground in good time (around 5-5.30?) and raced from county with it all going in a bit of a blur. The high level traverse was good fun as was the Manchester bypass but they made us collectively produce enough sweat to power Huddersfield for 4 and a half years. With a battery change at some point along the trip (for me) we carried on and got to a point where we would be out in half an hour. So we made the trip longer. We zipped up Wilf Taylor’s passage (ooh err! But no seriously that Anal Fissure needed suturing) and decided to give ourselves some physical abuse down a scrot hole. We flashed down montague west (fortunately there were no police around to stop us for indecent exposure. We made it out by 9? (Again I have no idea).

Battered and bruised I turned in for an early ‘let’s-stay-awake-and-not-get-any-sleep’ because of the noise (old man cough), and was woken up hideously early by loud music. Breakfast cooked and much of a faff later I went with Edd and 2 nottingham freshers (Nervous Ian and President John Adams) to rig stream for an exchange trip with Glen (doing flood). With much huffing and puffing up the hill we went and had a look down gaping gill and trotted off to go down stream. I had a bit of a tough time with the tackle bag, eventually rigging the first pitch and got into the swing of things, racing down the stream passage  to the traverse only to look at it blankly for a few minutes before attempting to rig it. Edd bombed along to say he didn’t think the freshers could cope with stream and should maybe do another cave. So I derigged on the way out and President Adams helped me out of the tube at the top.

We pottered along to Bar and waited for Edd to come out of flood. Some Buttered Badgers had popped out and were lightly toasting in the sunshine so I chatted to them for a while. More of them wriggled out and we then dived straight in getting to the bottom in no time at all and met Glen’s team at the bottom of flood. We then went onto main chamber and saw a pathetic waterfall (’twas very dry) and headed out the way we came. I had another faff getting out with the tackle bag and the President helped me out (again!). I then dropped an empty tackle bag down the pitch and asked Edd nicely to get it, which he did.

My body strongly rejected the idea of doing anything on Sunday, it had had some sleep and was in repair mode, so we went for a walk. We tied Edd’s car up, played in a stream like grown up men, decided that Big Jim should come up with a nickname for little sam and dave, and went to a pub in a village where there was NO ICE CREAM. We walked back in the brilliant sunshine, tidied the hut and went home.