Gingling Pot, Fountains Fell

By J. Hilton

In the summer of 1923, on July 21st, to be precise, our ever active President, E. E. Roberts, enlisted the services of W. V. Brown and myself for a pot-holing expedition near Horton-in-Ribblesdale. The inducement of something new to be explored was not lightly to be passed by, now that the supply of novelty among the big pots would appear to be exhausted, and the possibilities of Gingling Pot seemed very attractive as we journeyed northward together.

Gingling Pot is situated on the lower western slopes of Fountains Fell in a little dip about 200 yards east of a shooters’ hut. We went round by car from Horton with five light ladders plus ropes, which seemed all too heavy before we had completed their transport across the moor from the road, a distance of about a mile. The entrance to the Pot is insignificant, a little hollow on the bank of the gill, with ferns growing thickly on one side. The water no longer enters here, the stream disappearing round a bend higher up under a bedding plane where it cannot be followed.

After a very strenuous time carrying tackle, bathing in the canal-like passage and accounting for three pitches we had to abandon further effort, the party not being strong enough, and although we were assured of good work ahead I know that, privately, Brown and I hoped* to put off further visits as long as possible. Like all good pot-holing enthusiasts we do not like to abandon, so early as is entailed by the deep water of the canal passage, our cherished hopes of keeping dry. We gladly dumped our tackle by the wall on the roadside and hurried directly across the moor back to Horton, reaching the Golden Lion about 10 p.m., very very tired, wet and hungry,—to do thorough justice to a hot supper.

It is appropriate at this point to insert the first of two warnings which I feel bound to offer. It is unwise to drop the President’s only electric lamp on the hard road at the outset of the journey. But if you should be so careless as to do so, discreetly move off a few steps, as the delinquent next time may not be so readily forgiven as when I did it…………………

A year passed before we paid a second visit to Gingling Pot, and the miseries of the Canal had been almost forgotten whilst the bubbling and gurgling of the water through the tortuous passages lingered in the memory as the sound of human voices speaking. Thus on Saturday, June 28th, 1924, the spirit of adventure overcame the dislike of that early plunge. Besides, we pictured with a joyous and unholy glee the feelings of the reinforcements lured thereinto by the silver tongue of our President, with such phrases as ” A delightful pot ” and ” Great possibilities.” R. F. Stobart, H. P. Devenish and J. W. Wright joined us at the Golden Lion in what we had come to regard as the inevitable pot-holing weather, pouring rain. Under such conditions the good dinner which received our undivided attention was a sound proposition before our all-night expedition.

Meanwhile the rain ceased, and we left at about 7 p.m. by road as before. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Devenish accompanied the party in the motors, but they returned to Horton over the wet and misty moor, leaving us to make for the pot-hole.

At 8 p.m. we dropped a ladder down the first open pitch of 24 feet. Boulders near by furnished the belay. Brown and I went down and received the tackle from above. We were quickly followed by the rest of the part}’ and the loads were sorted out. From the foot of the ladder there is a climb of 8 feet to a sloping floor leading down W.N.W. for 25 feet to a ” manhole.” The drop here is 8 feet to the floor of a passage, which at first glance appears to be blocked by boulders, but after a crawl over these a long passage can be entered where the water appears for the first time. This is the Canal. The water is almost waist deep for thirty yards. It is dammed by debris, which Roberts (water-works dept.) attacked on our first visit and so succeeded in lowering the water-level by several inches. The joy of this section is that twenty yards of wading brings one to a stout rock curtain descending to within 12 inches of the surface of the water.

As each member of the party negotiated this obstacle by first passing his light through the narrow space, he delayed as little as he could, and when through with it, prepared in cold delight to watch the shrinking hesitation and unavoidable immersion of the next victim.   The subtlest contortions failed to obviate the clammy coldness which crept up the chest as the head scraped the fringe of the screen. It seemed to be the thing to counterfeit the calm indifference of an early saint, which deceived nobody.

A turn to the right took us out of the Canal. We followed a small stream to a belfry chamber. Drift material still clung to the roof, a sign which made one consider the weather outside. The water escaped through a narrow rift window and fell 12 feet into another similar chamber, where it formed a pool two feet deep. We found a good ladder belay up on the left of the chamber and descended. Fortunately by skirting the pool we were able to crawl below thick stalactites along a bedding plane.

Thence we followed a twisting passage so narrow that we were forced to move sideways with our several burdens carried chiefly on the head as the easiest way. Above the head level a recess runs along one side two feet high and about a yard deep. The whole of the roof here is adorned by marvellous designs of precipitated calcareous deposit bearing fringes of pipe stems. In the reflected light so many burdened figures traversing the picturesque passage in the bowels of the earth called up visions of smugglers and other romantic figures, or the Forty Thieves entering their cave.

After a hundred yards of the crab-like progression a small chamber opens out. It is festooned with heavy fin-shaped curtains of stalactite shading from pink to black, a most interesting formation. Here we called a halt for refreshments and a brief rest, the time being 9.30 p.m. Next a double right angled turn to right and to left is encountered. Move­ment is still further complicated by a deepening of the bed between the very smooth walls ; the descent is really awkward and movement painfully constricted. Climbing out again is even worse, but there is no easing off when another rift window opens on a twenty-four foot pitch. The narrow, twisted top of the pitch overhangs a smooth, water-worn chimney which widens into a bell-shaped rift.

On the previous visit I was lowered into this on a rope and laboriously hauled out again by Roberts and Brown, and then we had to retreat. This time we used one ladder on the pitch from a belay five feet up, and Roberts prospected. He succeeded in lowering the level of the pool below two feet by releasing a jam. Stobart and I followed. Then comes the most difficult movement in the cave. The rift continues and for twenty feet one worms out, and down a similar distance, head first. The leaders were so very tightly wedged during the passing of this place that it was deemed unwise for the more burly of the party to attempt to follow, and Brown, Wright and Devenish agreed to stay and bring us out on our return. In fact so narrow was the chimney at the top of the ladder that Brown and Wright were unable to descend, while both Roberts and Stobart found the greatest difficulty in returning.

Roberts led on. A ladder was tailed through. We were then rewarded for our persistence by discovering beyond the climb (where we lost the water) a most delightful fairy-like grotto, richly hung with white and coloured stalactites. Even the floor of the grotto, formed by the walls of the rift almost meeting, was covered by brown stalagmite. But, best of all, the rift at the further end opened out above a large chamber and there was room for appreciation of what was proving to be a most exciting and enchanting exploration.

Using a massive stalagmite as belay for a full thirty-six feet of ladder we descended into the chamber, which proved to be about fifty feet high and long by thirty wide, like Aladdin in triplicate, wondering what further discoveries might be before us. The far end of the chamber to the north-west was filled almost to the roof with a peculiar looking steep slope of mud and boulders, reminding one of a scree slope. This did not promise much, nor look too safe, so we tamed to the south-east, and climbing over a huge boulder found ourselves in a sloping, wet, and muddy tunnel about 7 feet high and twenty feet long. It finished dead as if it had been mined. In the tunnel we saw a daddy-long-legs alive. This place looked like the end and we clambered back into the chamber. Wishing for a less disappointing finish we crossed to the mud slope again and decided as a forlorn hope to attack it.

Stobart led the way. He kicked steps in the mud and reached the top, where he hailed us to come up and admire a magnificent giant stalactite. It was quite six feet long, light brown and tapering from seven or eight inches thick to a point. Roberts and I hastened with caution to the flat top of the mound. The last man disturbed some boulders at the side, which crashed down, to the alarm of the supporting party. We reassured them by answering shouts, but almost immediately there was a terrific roaring sound which rever­berated just as if the stream had broken through into the passages and was rushing over the pitch behind. We all three looked questioningly at one another and set up a loud shout. The noise of the rushing water ceased as if by magic. This was one better than Canute. We learned afterwards that the other three had been beating a tattoo upon their chests in an endeavour to warm themselves whilst waiting at their chilly post.

In front of us was a straight wall of rock pierced by a large “gateway.”  The wall and the roof were panelled out in squares by lines two or three inches wide, of dazzling white stalactite crystal, giving quite an oriental effect. On the wall also, particularly round the gateway were the most strangely formed pure white stalactites that we had ever seen, several inches long, standing out from the wall but twisted and turned in all directions. Some turned upwards at the end in a right angle, with the effect of a hawthorn, and seemed to indicate strong and varying air currents which may have caused effects so weird and grotesque.

Passing through the gap we found ourselves in a square chamber, ten feet each way. The walls and roof here were also panelled, and the floor was covered by stalagmitic carpet, softly brown in hue. On the left was a sink-like trough, closed by deposit as if frozen solid. One pipe-stem stalactite was three feet long and thickened about a foot from where it joined the floor. There were also many disjointed specimens. Near the centre was a little dark coloured mound surmounted by a heavy mass of white stalagmite, which in the dim light took the form of an image, and gave this small, final chamber the appearance of a shrine.

We returned, full of high spirits at so successful a termination of our exploration, to the top of the thirty-seven foot pitch, where Devenish joined us. He went down and paid a visit to the shrine, then we collected the tackle and prepared to leave the cavern.

The difficult passage at the fourth pitch had been traversed on the return journey after a desperate headlong struggle, when it was discovered that a new rope had been left behind. In retrieving this I managed to jam my boot and had to be rescued by Stobart, who at the risk of jamming himself descended head first with difficulty until my foot was within his reach. Whereupon he drew a most murderous looking dirk and severed, as a surgeon with his knife, to which he was asked not to resort except it proved to be the only remedy, my bootlace.

Wright and Brown were very cold when Roberts joined them at 12.30 a.m., and Wright went on with Roberts. It was 1.30 a.m. when Stobart and I reached Brown with the last of the tackle. We hurried along to the Black Stalactite Chamber to finish off our provisions in company with Devenish. We were glad that we had followed the sound advice of our President acquired in Gaping Ghyll during a forty hours imprisonment and passed on to us, that there are two essentials for pot-holing equipment, ample food and plenty of warm clothing.   They came in very useful in Gingling Pot.

We continued on our way, and everything went well until we were making the passage of the Canal. Brown had already repeatedly complained of the strong smell of acetylene. I reassured him by blaming an old lamp which had been left inside the entrance of the pot-hole, but while I was passing
with a rucksack and a candle in one hand under the ducking-grill already described, there was a loud explosion, so terrible as to be heard by Roberts far away at the first pitch. All the lamps and candles were extinguished by the rush of air. By extreme good fortune I escaped with the loss of a few eyelashes
and ventured to look round. There was the sack floating on the water and shooting out flames from its mouth. A dash was made and the sack was trodden under water.  Explanations followed. It appeared that a member of the party had thoughtfully brought a large tin of carbide into the pot, and as thoughtfully maintaining army tradition had handed it over to be carried in another’s rucksack. The lid had come off and the water did the rest. Of the two useful lessons learned in Gingling Pot, this is the second :—
Only a little extra carbide should be imported.

There was a dense cloud of fire damp, through which two members of the party, including the thoughtful one, I believe, had to pass. No matches could be struck but an electric lamp saved the situation at the awkward curtain. When all were through we hurried quickly away to the manhole. The conquered cave here gave us a sort of dying kick, for as we struggled through the narrow opening a stream of cold water hit each in turn at the back of the neck, careered merrily down the back and escaped but slowly at the boots. Steady rain and not the hoped for sunshine, greeted us at 4 a.m. on Sunday morning as we emerged. There had been heavy rain during the night and everything was shrouded in a blanket of cold, wet mist.

It was a cold job hiking the tackle along to the wall to dump it into the cars, but we were soon speeding, very tired and clammy, past the flooded Ribble towards the Golden Lion and bed. Sleep was needed by all, but it was rather premature for the driver of one of the cars to take forty winks on the way down. However a friendly wall sounded a harsh, but kindly reveille on his mud-guards, and all survived to revel in hot baths, and so to bed.

Sunday morning was spent watching the rain fall from the comfortable shelter of the hotel. Heavy showers accompanied us on our afternoon, stroll, but we finally left for home in glorious sunshine. A derisively blue sky indicated a delightful might-have-been. Truly ours is a wonderful climate to which one becomes resigned or inured.

Two ropes left at the foot of the first pitch were recovered by Roberts and Wright the following week-end, after the most definite evidence had been tendered that they must have reached the surface.

If some future party can effectively open up the dam and drain the canal, this interesting, big and delightful pot-hole will become a more comfortable expedition.

[The entrance was found by Barstow in 1910, and the first reconnoitring visit was made the following March.—Ed.]