Into the Cave With Dave

The Reckless Engineer
pub in Bristol

Casey's friend Dave took us on a caving adventure to Swildon's Hole, not far from the village of Cheddar in southwest England. We were under the impression that Swildon was a beginner's cave, so we were slightly alarmed when we got a glimpse of the cave and realized we'd be crawling deep into middle earth.

First of all, I find it interesting that the word cave rhymes with grave. And Dave, for that matter. I've read the story of Floyd Collins, the famous speluncean explorer who died a timely death in Sand Cave, Kentucky, king of the karst. It only took a 26 pound rock to seal his fate, and unlike Casey and me, Floyd was a professional.

To be fair, we should shoulder some responsibility here. The bag full of caving gear - replete with oversuits (goon suits), belts, karabiners, helmets and headlamps -- should've clued us in to the evening's activities. Or the fact that Swildon is called a hole should have been another tip-off. I've heard of people living in caves, but the inimitable Bugs Bunny is the only guy I know who lived in a hole. And he was always in some kind of trouble.

But it was too late to back out of the deal now. So, after donning our caving costumes in an old barn, we set across the field toward Swildon's Hole. Headlamps lit, we dropped down into the void below one at a time, squeezing past various, unstable rocks until we reached a space in which to stand. It was then that I caught a glimpse of Casey, and he was truly jubilant, his eyes surveying the chamber in gleeful anticipation of what lay ahead. I decided to follow suit and leave my trepidation at the door.

We followed the stream that runs through Swildon, which involved more tight crawls and squeezes along the way. We climbed, bouldered, and at one point used a wire ladder to negotiate a 20 foot waterfall. Dave was a masterful leader, though we had some trouble hearing his commands over the din of running water. We spent three glorious hours in the cave. All in all, it was a wonderful trip, and it felt good to be alive, like back in the New Zealand days. As it turned out, the most dangerous part of the evening was the part where Dave drove home at rocket speed after our visit to the caver's pub near Mendip. He took on traffic circles like they were straight aways.

Casey and I have been through caves before, but we've never been caving until Dave showed us Swildon. And in retrospect, we don’t really feel punk'd by the difficulty level of Swildon. We’ve always been adventure junkies. And besides, perhaps Casey encountered some kind of language barrier when he and Dave set up the "beginner's” excursion. After all, the English still speak with funny accents.