Ill Concieved Plans Poorly executed

Sliding Down P8

It was meant to be just another trip down P8. Four of us had a day to spare and a car to get us there. It seemed the only sensible thing to do. One the way up to Derbyshire we chatted vaguely about where we wanted to go and over the course of the journey decided that the small chamber at the top of the rift was worth a visit. Normally we would have splashed down the streamway to the sump and then followed the water back to the resurgence before leaving by a series of small tubes and low crawls. Not today though, today we would clamber up the side of a muddy and slippery incline work our way to the top and wriggle to a small chamber, well it made a change.

For the descent from the chamber we had a choice. We could either retrace our steps or carefully slide down the rift, controlling the slide using our hands and feet against the wall. Sliding seemed to be by far the better alternative. Nikki went first carefully picking her way down. All of a sudden she was gone. The chamber filled with noise followed by a massive crash as she hit the shallow water at the bottom. A deathly silence followed.

"Nikki" we shouted.

Nothing

"Nikki", this time louder.

Nothing.

It suddenly occurred to me that she might be unconscious in the streamway. The only sensible thing to do was to get to her quickly. I leapt into the rift and slid down almost out of control. On the way down I felt a sharp pain in my knee but ignored it. At the bottom I found a very shaken Nikki lying in the streamway.

"Are you all right?" a stupid question.
"What do you think?" an obvious answer.

We did a quick pain check. No bones broken but there was a massive cut on her leg. It needed stitches that much was obvious but first we needed to get out. Nikki decided that she could walk with some help although it was going to be slow, she was in pain. All through this my knee throbbed. I just stick it in cold water to numb the pain away. We found another party in the system who helped us to the surface. Once out we drove to the infirmary to get the cut dressed and stitched and to find a whole host of bruises.

We drove home slowly deep in thought about what might have been. All the time my knee was getting more painful. By the time I had dropped everybody home it was really quite painful. When I got home my flatmate noticed that I had a large red stain on the knee of my trousers. I started shaking; the pain was coming from a large gash on my knee that I must have inflicted on my self on the slide down the rift. For the second time that day I visited a casualty department.