Ill Concieved Plans Poorly executed

Finger Slice

Sometimes things don't go well. Sometimes things go very wrong very quickly. It usually starts with something innocuous which quickly reminds you that caving is full of hidden dangers. All it takes is a lapse in concentration or a small slip to change the whole nature of a caving trip.

We were back on Kingsdale, one of our favourite haunts in Yorkshire. Today we aimed to descend on of the large open pots that drop into the Kingsdale master system. The trip had all the prospects of being an exciting and sporting trip. Long pitches with water splashing down. Lots of tricky rope work was require to keep out of the water and a small sump at the bottom to splash about in. In theory it was possible to dive the sump to get into the master system. I was willing to stand on both sides of the sump but not willing to dive into an enclosed water filled tunnel with no means of escape if it went wrong.

Everything started off normally. We took the long sweaty stomp up the hill in roughly the right direction and followed this by a wander round to find the hole. How we could miss this gaping great vista is beyond me but we did and it took a while to find it. After the usual messing about with gear, sorting out who was rigging the pitch and bitching about the walk we started our descent. The first part was a scramble down close to the waterfall. The water was rushing in that day and the cascading torrent was throwing water all over the place with gay abandon. Being close to the surface little bits of algae had managed to grab a foothold on the rocks making everything very greasy. I was picking my way down to the head of first pitch when I missed my footing and fell forward. My first reaction was to put my hand out to stop the fall. Unfortunately I had chosen a very sharp bit of rock. Blood mingled with water. I though I'd grazed my hand until I realised that my hand was covered in blood. This was getting a bit serious. I looked at my hand, between my ring and index fingers was a deep gash that was issuing blood. I started at it. That white bit must be the bone I thought and those darker red bits must be muscle. I'm not good with pain and all too soon I was overcome by a feeling of nausea. In my best pathetic small voice I said to the others

"Chaps, I think I've hurt myself"

Whilst holding up my blood drenched hand as proof. The number of times I've been reminded of that phrase are countless and quite frankly I deserve it, it was pathetic.

The whole tone of the trip changed. From being a fun day out dangling about and getting wet it was now all about getting me to the local doctors. I felt quite guilty for ruining the day for the others but knew that I would do the same for them. Luckily we where close to the surface, making it relatively easy to get out one handed. In the back of my mind I thanked my lucky starts that it had not happened deeper into the system.

This small dose of mortality didn't last for long. All the doctor had said (apart from saying he couldn't be bothered to use a local anaesthetic) was to keep the newly stitched cut dry. He said nothing about not going caving. The next day I was down Irbey Fell Caverns with the offending hand encased in a surgical glove and a rubber glove climbing ladders one handed. It was sore but possible and very, very silly