Juniper Gulf

By G. E. Griffiths

[Reprinted from The Gritstone Club Journal, by kind permission.]

The writer had intended to launch this article in the grand manner with a discourse on the psychology of pot-holing. Much vain scribbling brought him no philosophy, and our justification before the multitude must be left to abler pens. To the derision of the sedentary, pavement-haunting crowd we are indifferent; the scorn of the lordly alpinist we bear with due humility. Our efforts win us no tinpots, nor silver rose-bowls, nor couches among the rushes of Valhalla, yet, when we climbed up from the uttermost depths of Juniper out into the misty dawn, we felt we had not lived in vain.

It was some time in the bitter summer of 1922 that Wood, Porter and I carried our first ladder up Clapdale, and threading the Allotment morasses came finally to Juniper Gulf, ” 90 feet.” Using the stream passage we made a moist descent to the pool and mounting the scree bank gazed into our first deep, dark limestone fissure, luring us, like a veritable Aladdin’s cave, into the unknown. We scrambled down and soon found that converging walls stopped progress in the fissure bed, but at a higher level convenient ledges led us in­wards for about 40 yards to a widening of the fissure. Having neither rope nor ladder we did not attempt to descend, our honour as novices being satisfied by the discovery of new possibilities in an old pot-hole.

More ladders were acquired, but the elders in their wisdom decreed that experience must first be gained in charted caverns before venturing into the unexplored, a cautious policy that led us down the rolling screes of Rift. Of these we soon had more than enough and shaking the Allotment ooze from our feet, another week-end saw us running up and down the pleasant little pots of Newby Moss, cheered by blue skies and white walls gleaming in the tardy sunshine.

In the following year fate led us into Ribblesdale and thence to G.G., where our operations were unhappily cur­tailed.

1924, we swore, should see the fall of Juniper, and when the summer came, wetter than ever, Piatt and Wood saw to the transport of five ladders and appropriate ropes to the scene of operations. This in June, and the bottom was not reached till August 16th !

The first descent was by a very weak party on a day so wet that even the second pitch was left alone. The following Sunday saw a ladder actually taken into the fissure and the second pitch descended.

This proved to be a steep and very narrow chimney of 40 feet in the lower portion of which the ladder helped us but little. There, surface water has scooped out twin shafts where for a few yards the pot-holer can resume the dignified upright position of the man and bathe his feet in the limpid pools on the spacious limestone floor.

But the fissure earned on straight—and strait—and soon cuts down into a lower bed. The party took a horizontal line with Hollingshead struggling gamely ahead. (Should he become seized in a tight spot the catastrophe does not involve the entombment of the whole party.) This lower stage proved much stiffer than the upper storey. Plain crawling soon gave way to back and knee, then to hip and thigh, neck and neck, finally breaking down into weird contor­tions that can only be described as rump and elbow.

At length we came to a wider portion of the fissure which was passed by descending for a few yards and climbing back to our original level. Below us we could now hear the roar of falling water and after a crawl of fifteen yards we found ourselves gazing from a charmed casement out on to perilous depths forlorn.

(This was the point reached by a Y.R.C. party in 1923.)

” Ladders ” was now the cry, but answer came there none. Alas, the two ladders we needed had somehow been forgotten in the ardour of descent and were still nestling snugly in a surface sink. We harked back a little way and chimneyed down to the water in the vain hope that a gradual line of descent might be found, but the stream took an uncom­promising plunge into a shaft both deep and wide and nothing remained but to squirm back by the way we had come.

The following Saturday two men conveyed three ladders to the head of this third pitch, taking three hours—much time being lost at the second pitch.

On Sunday the third pitch was duly descended, proving to be 80 feet to the landing. We now found ourselves in less confined circumstances. The fissure was here about two yards wide, with sheer walls vanishing into the gloom above, behind, and before. About 15 feet below our landing the stream was gurgling along in a narrow cleft roofed over by jammed boulders and silt. The whole place gave no impression of finality. Traversing upstream we came, in about 20 yards, to the floor of the waterfall shaft, a roughly circular chamber several yards in diameter, whence we followed the stream down a narrow winding passage under the bridge and came in about 40 yards to the head of the fourth pitch, the stream diving into the wide shaft through a hole in the right wall of our rock trench two or three yards short of the end. We had no plumb-line but our mathema­ticians estimated the fall of stones to be not more than 80 feet.

The next offensive was planned for August Bank Holiday and, as before, a Saturday fatigue party deposited two more ladders at the head of pitch three. On Sunday a huge and rashly confident party swarmed down and the new ladders were quickly piloted to the front line trench.

They were let down the third pitch to the 80 foot landing and thence clear of the bridge on the downstream side to a point only a few yards short of the head of the fourth pitch. A spike of rock on the true right, about eight feet up and a few yards from the brink, formed a good belay and the ladders were soon ready, the dry fork of the passage being used.   The writer was then lowered over.

After twenty feet the stream rejoined me, dousing my glim, and leaving me dependent on an aged and feeble electric torch. Down and down I went between gleaming black walls, feeling like a fly in a beer bottle. My torch would reveal no landing of any kind in the pit below, even from the bottom of the ladders. In desperation I let fall a precious candle and counting the seconds, came to the conclusion that we had underestimated the depth by 60 or 70 feet. Blowing two vigorous and heartfelt blasts, I quickly rejoined the main body, and after Falkingham had confirmed my report the ladders were hauled up and a discomfited party crept away.

That night a council of war was held. Interest seemed to be on the wane, and doubt was felt as to the possibility of raising effective parties in the coming weeks. Further, there was obviously no time to procure more ladders and complete the descent on Monday. Five men only were staying on and despite our Rift Pot experiences we decided to make an attempt by using the ladders from the third pitch.

On Monday therefore, Wood, Robinson, Moulson and I descended, leaving Elliott to mount guard on the surface. Wood and Robinson stayed at the head of the third pitch and lowered the ladders to Moulson and me. We soon had the four ladders hanging down the unknown. So far good, but when the descent was undertaken trouble met us halfway. The joining between the first and second ladders which had been hanging on the third pitch for some weeks, was found to be decidedly groggy. Nevertheless progress was continued past the second joint till stopped by a tangle in the life-line. Eventually the man on the ladders had to return and it was decided that the defective joint must be made good before further descents were dreamed of.

The writer thought he had had some experience of tough propositions in the way of ladder lifting but he was quickly disillusioned. Every rung had to be fought for, the ladders jamming obstinately after each heave. The knowledge that the alternative to the ladders coming up was our stopping down, kept us at it and after much gasping and groaning and pausing for breath the first ladder was recovered. The idea of mending the defect, lowering the ladders again, descending, climbing back, and then hauling them up again, seemed to have lost its charm. The question of a trip down the three still available was vetoed also, and we carried on hauling in.

Soon it was the turn of Wood and Robinson for a little hard labour. Eventually our communications were restored, and it was in a spirit of thankful humility that we allowed Elliott to haul us to the surface.

That night la defailisme was rampant and with one accord we swore we had had enough of squirming and heaving in the darkness.

But during the following week, to each one there seemed to come a still small voice telling of the hard work done and of the folly of retreat which would render it all of no avail. Going forth to rekindle nagging spirits, each found his fellows of like mind, and Juniper’s fate was sealed.

On Sunday, a party of three carried two ladders from Clapham Station to the head of the third pitch, the previous time for the underground work being halved.

For the benefit of future parties our experience in Juniper Gulf was that ladders should be rolled as tightly as possible and secured with extra cord beyond possibility of shaking loose. [The Gritstone men were using the very heavy 50 feet Government Surplus ladders, not the light Botterill ladders. —-Ed.].  At the second pitch it is possible to traverse forward from the top, till a ladder can be lowered, clear of obstruction, to the man half way who can in turn traverse forward till a clear drop is obtained. The ladders for the fourth can be conveniently lowered into the waterfall shaft from a point a few yards short of the casement.

Once more the fiery cross went round and the night of August 16th saw the final onslaught. In this Wood, Taylor, Hollingshead, Falkingham and I took part, going down at 10 p.m. Stewart and Elliott waited above. To the latter no small share in the credit of our ultimate success is due. Debarred by recent illness from actual descent, he answered every call to fill the tedious but essential role of watch dog, his presence making the working party one effective stronger every time.

The party made rapid progress to the head of the fourth pitch, Taylor, well wrapped up and supplied with light literature, being left at the third. All was soon in order for descent, special attention being given to the ladder joints. At a point about 130 feet down, a narrow ledge was encountered upon which the lower ladders had caught. Dislodging the ladders a landing was reached at 155 feet. This was a narrow sloping ledge bounding a farther pit of twelve feet. Stepping away from the water, we were able to light candles and admire the scenery. We found ourselves in an impressive shaft chamber of the usual elliptical shape, reminiscent of the chamber of Hunt Pot.   Accurate measurements were not taken, but we estimated the chamber proper to be about 30 yards long and seven yards at its widest point.

The floor of solid rock slopes steeply in three terraces, our landing being made on the lower corner of the middle terrace. Another and larger stream enters by a mighty fall striking the upper and middle terraces. The fissure at the upper end is fairly dry and was climbed to a height of 60 or 70 feet above the bottom of the chamber by an easy chimney followed by a series of stalagmite domes. Compass bearings taken on previous expeditions had shown that the fissure from the surface to the head of the fourth pitch lies in one plane bearing 145° true. Our compass on the final trip had been forgotten, but by observation on a light at the stalag­mite domes taken from the top of the ladders we judged that there was no deviation from the original plane.

From the big chamber, however, the stream runs away in the reverse of its original direction. We followed down past a series of pools and curious bridges of solid rock to a final deep and stagnant pool covered with froth, which we take to be the finish of the pot-hole. High overhead the walls were gleaming with patches of foam indicating a definite obstruction to the watercourse at this point, about 100 yards from the chamber.

The only stalactites noticed anywhere were some brown but ornate formations in the final stream passage, though white pillar-like markings on the walls of the great chamber enhance its appearance.

The second stream which enters the main chamber is undoubtedly one which comes from Simon Fell, and disappears a few score yards south-west of Juniper Gulf. It can be heard travelling underground for some distance, and during the salvage work an entrance to the stream passage was forced, but it was reported that it would not “go.”

At 5.30 a.m. a tired but contented party climbed out to the wan daylight. A blue grey mist lay over the fells, but in a few moments Penyghent came looming through the cloud, huge against a red dawn.