Croesor to Rhosydd Trip – 9th Sept 2012

This was the massively controversial trip organised by Mick and present on the trip were;

Mick, Doug, Budgie, Ian, Tony, Richard T, Hwyel and two of Mick’s guests Lee and Kurt.

Myself and Tony arrived at the café rendezvous some 15 minutes early only to find that we were the last to arrive and everyone had already ordered breakfast. We ordered our own aware that we would have to suffer the inhumanity of watching everyone else’s be cooked first and the further inhumanity of watching everyone else gorge whilst the café was to be filled with the sweet smell of bacon, eggs and everything divine. The inhumanity was complete when I finally slobbered on my top even though my own breakfast was no where in sight.

Breakfast done and we set off in convoy to Croesor. No one seemed to know the way except me which was singularly annoying as I was more than aware that the narrow road sported an apparently infinite number of gates to open and close which, as the lead driver, I was going to get lumbered with. I therefore lead the convoy, disappointingly, along the lane, past “some” gates (I lost count) until we met an oaf in a saloon car coming towards us who simply stopped and waved his arms in the air inside his car. I first assumed him to be a retard of some description but came to realise that he had simply stopped in the road creating an impasse and placing the onus on “me” to do something about it. Since we had a convoy of 6 vehicles including 2 vans a people carrier and a 4x4, I considered it perfectly reasonable that the cretin reverse backwards. However, he continued waving his arms around in his car pointlessly so I decided to get out and have a chat.

I was met by a face that had clearly just been chewed off, probably by his wife and probably because he had done something despicable like leaving the toilet lid up. Before I could speak he said to me “there is nothing I can do, there’s no where I can go”. I explained there were six of us and only one of him and he repeated “I have no where to go”. I used one word at this point “Backwards”. His response was to continue waving his arms and rant that there was no where for at least 200 yards. My terse reply was simply “well, that will do” and I headed back to my car aware that he was about to explode into very tiny pieces inside his own car. He did, however, start reversing which he did most extra-ordinarily badly, repeatedly swinging his front end into the verge until, finally, as he reversed around into a gate, he crashed. Removing his rear bumper from the bedrock that he had collided with he finally managed to get out of the way and the convoy continued past uncountable numbers of gates.

At the bottom of the perilous hill up to Croesor we turfed our kit into the back of Dougs van and began a three vehicle convoy up with Doug leading, Hywel second in his Corsa and the 4x4 at the rear. Part way up Doug lost traction and our journey in the back of the van came to an end to release the weight so he could regain control. Having got traction back, he sped off up the hill, along with Hywel in his Corsa where they were not seen again for some time. The rest of us were sat in the open back of the 4x4 – we rocked around the back, almost falling out the entire way up and we were not even slightly phased by the sheer drops of death and loose ground that we travelled over. Well, not that we would admit anyway.

Arriving at the top we found Doug and Hwyel and whilst we readied ourselves Murf spent a long time marvelling and questioning how it was even possible to get Dougs van and Hwyel’s car up to that point. Pure luck and a gratuitous helping hand from our Lord was my best guess.

I had pre-warned Tony that there was a good chance that Budgie would check our kit (being the training officer) and, indeed, he did. To my surprise it was me that got the bollocking for not tightening up my D ring properly. After properly kitting up we headed in first along the dark day adit until we reached the flooded incline and the climb up to the incline above. Up and up we went until we arrived at the first pitch. Budgie decided to abseil off first and duly hooked himself up and delicately flung himself over. As I was filming I did note a trace of something I would describe as “petrified” on his face which I questioned him about at the bottom. He replied this was a fear of heights he had developed and I mused how wonderful an attribute this was for our training and safety officer.

One by one the team came down the first pitch of 80 feet until we were all down and safe. We headed across the chamber to the second pitch where Budgie would again fling himself off in like manner. Part way down the rope we could hear Budgie shouting up that the rope was fooked and that there was a knot in it that we would have to go past. As three of the team were being lifelined down we considered this to be a problem as they had no up gear to switch. Murf sprung to a genius solution and we pulled up the faulty rope and dropped our own using the duff one to lifeline. We reversed this for the last man and made for the zip line.

Again, all making it down safely we all zipped across the line with various degrees of screaming. I am certain that at least two of the screams were completely genuine – it is often possible to discern when someone is in real fear, usually because they are also flailing wildly (and pointlessly) trying to save their own life.

After the zip line over the flooded chamber it was time to cross the resurrected metal bridge. Murf was insistent on going first stating “I don’t want any ripples in the water”. None of us initially understood this (although we soon would) but I persuaded him that I should be the first so that I could film everyone else coming across. Murf agreed and was quickly over second and it became immediately obvious why …

As the others came across one by one, murf launched a sortie of mortar bombs, each landing at the sides of the bridge and each creating a typhoon of water more than sufficient to drench the traveller. Interestingly, on most occasions at the point of mortar bomb impact, the bridge traveller would hesitate which enabled murf to re-load and fire again. After a tremendous amount of expletives had filled the air we were all across and sat around in a cosy circle for lunch.

Whilst scoffing, Murf proudly pulled out a sealed ball of string a little larger than a tennis ball and proudly announced “look at that”. Having then told us what it was Doug exclaimed that he first thought it was a Scotch egg. Murf reacted by ridiculing Doug and retorted “Don’t be F***ing stupid, a f***ing chicken isn’t going to lay an egg that size is it?” to which Doug responded, in a quiet voice, and in a now silent chamber, “Mick, you don’t honestly believe that a Scotch egg comes out of a Scotch chicken do you?”. After a pause of a nano-second which seemed to last for an infinity, the chamber erupted into laughter and Murf protested strongly that we were trying to confuse him.

After some further banter centred out an apparently failed filming shoot involving Murf, Budgie and a female who no one would name but whose name was identical to a TV Cook and football shareholder, we packed up our lunch and headed further underground.

We came to the first of the three Bridges of Death and found the first to be reasonably easy – cows tails on and a simple narrow rotten wood walk and we were all across. The second bridge was missing and we undertook the new traverse around the chamber which proved difficult as the traverse was not designed to accommodate any less than an expert. There was much grunting and moaning as we tried to get off the traverse and back into the passage.

The last bridge was interesting as the railway line that once took you to the centre of the bridge (where the zip line started) was now missing and we were left considering our fate. Murf set up a double pulley system where we needed to do undertake a swap over halfway across and off we went. Sadly, the change over was fraught with difficulties for those with shorter legs as the ropes for both pulleys met at the ceiling in the centre. This meant that swapping cows tails over was “tough” for those (well, me) who could not reach. I therefore climbed the rusted metal pole in the centre of the bridge (the one that is holding the entire structure up) and effected the changeover whereupon I could continue across the second zip as everyone else had so ably done.

Finally we came to the boat chamber where we abseiled down into the partly flooded canoe boat and sailed majestically across the watery chamber. This was reasonably uneventful except for Murf’s distant cries across the water as he fell in trying to get out of the boat. In fact, as he stepped out of the boat he assumed the “plastic things” floating on the surface of the water were “solid” – a mistake which became apparent when he stood on one whereupon he entered the water. Murf complained bitterly that everyone had “nearly let him drown” – a complaint he repeated many times although a cursory look at Murfs predicament noted that he was stood up in wellie deep water and no one actually believed he had done anything other than be a twat.

Due to poor management and bad circumstance, I found myself on the last boat ride with Richard T. Richard was not, of course, the bad circumstance but rather the fact that everyone else had royally sodded off at the other end leaving no one to pull the boat across. We shouted and hailed for help but to no avail, no one was there. We pleaded with the silence for aid and assistance but there was no reply. We sat in watery solitude, the darkness enveloping us in exactly the same way Stephen King’s “The Fog” engulfed everyone in fear, solitude and ultimately death. Not being entirely stupid we detached the boat from it’s pulley system and we made our way, precariously, across the now forgotten underground lake – the water lapping against the boat like the lick of a shark tasting it’s prey. Of course, we made it across (no thanks to the miserable bounders who had sodded off) where we pulled the pulley rope back and re-attached the boat so that the next adventurers would not suffer an ill fate. Richard climbed the electron back into the passage although, without someone at the top to assist in getting off, this proved extremely difficult. I asked Richard to detach the ladder and I came up on the rope instead to find that Tony had wandered back to find out where we were.

An interesting little piece of poetical information popped into my head and that was that the party was heading out the Mighty Rhosydd No. 9 exit and the only two people who knew the way through to that part of the mine were myself and Richard being the two people that the party had abandoned. I chuckled devilishly, packed away Murfs electron ladder in my rucksack and the three of us headed off to find the bounders.

Travelling through the maze of passages and chambers we found a lonesome Budgie standing vigil at the bottom of the upper Rhosydd Incline. In fairness he was waiting for us although it did not escape my notice that he also had no clue which way the other party members had gone. Nevertheless, the abandoned party of two now numbered four. Heading outwards we found the forward party in an open chamber with some of the party scrambling upwards towards the daylight. They were heading the wrong way which I thought was amusing especially as those members now had to come back down. A few “pleasantries” were exchanged between myself and Murf after which Murf asked if I had got his ladder. I replied several times I had no idea what he was talking about and, ultimately, Murf accepted his ladder was ill-fated. Doug took pity on Murf (I have no idea why) and announced his intention to return for the ladder – of course, I then had to admit I had it at which point Murf ranted something about “revenge”.

I then headed off towards the mighty Rhosydd No. 9 adit and, one by one, we all filed out of the mine. As we did so, I had the video camera running and I placed my heavy duty filming torch on the floor by tripod as I returned back into the mine to be filmed with everyone else coming out. Budgie, being in boots and not wellies, had triumphantly managed to stay dry throughout the entire trip except, alas, for the final 3 metres where his valiant attempts finally failed. Sadly, when I packed away the camera and tripod I forgot about the torch and it would still be there today had one of the party not spotted it and recovered it. Unfortunately for me, it was Murf that had spotted it.

Having walked almost back to the cars, it was brought to my attention that I had left my torch and I quickly realised I was in for an ill-fate as I rightly guessed Murf would have it (sods law at all times being Occams Razor). Fortuitously, I still had his ladder in my bag and I was able to negotiate an equitable trade.

As we returned to the cars the heavens opened and although we were dry up to that point, the journey back down in the back of the open 4x4 would ensure we arrived at the bottom totally soaked from head to foot.

Still, it was a good day.



Ian

good report sec

great read. love trip reports

Glad to hear that budgie came out!
Ian wrote: I did tell you that on the other thread

Cracking write up.

The bits about Budgie not liking heights... That also a good description of me as well.

Joel - I know

Nice one Ian.