Giant's Hole - East Canal

Trip route: Giant's round trip, plus a crawl to the start of St Valentine sump, and a journey to the East Canal.

People: Tim, Alan and myself.

Time: 7 hours.

My expectations for this trip were low. When Tim asked me if I wanted to go back to Giant's Hole for the second day in a row, I said yes not because I was expecting a particularly exciting trip, but because after 6 months of lockdown I wanted to take every opportunity I could to get underground. In actual fact, it turned out to be quite possibly the most incredible trip I have ever been on so far.

Tim, Allen and I set off from the cars at around 4pm. I rigged Garland's Pot; we descended, and made our way down the crabwalk, this time with the SRT kits in a tackle sack on my shoulder. Having read a previous trip report in which someone said they were glad to have a neoprene suit with them, I had worn leggings, a thick fleece, a wetsuit, AND my oversuit on top. By the time we reached the junction to the Eating House, I was sweating profusely.

Rigging Garland's

We continued from there along the dull, muddy, wet, low crawl to St Valentine Sump. Tim began hacking at some tubing which needed to be replaced with his knife, and I very helpfully contributed with a rendition of 'God Save The Queen' using the broken tubing as an instrument, with Alan accompanying me using a bucket as a drum. It was the first time I've had a proper jam in a cave but it won't be the last. Perhaps I should bring my tin whistle too next time.

After our little session we backtracked through the muddy crawl, and turned right into some maze-like passages leading to a very fun traverse above a rift. The latter half had an in situ traverse line which was nice to clip into, although the traverse had decent holds and was perfect wedging size anyway. We continued along and down a short roped climb, to the top of Geology Pot. I descended the in situ rope here first, and started collecting a large amount of plastic litter at the bottom of the pot, which the others helped me with when they were down and stuffed into the bottom of the tackle sack. Perhaps 'Rubbish Dump Pot' would be a better suited name for the pitch - by the time we were finished, our tackle sack was holding a large variety of discarded chocolate wrappers, tape, and gloves. We found another pitch with an in situ rope which wasn't on the survey I had read, and I decided to take one for the team and descend this somewhat dodgy rigging first, because I'm weird and I like playing Russian Roulette with muddy in situ ropes. Following this came another cascade, this time with a large, deep hole at the bottom - Tim and I traversed around the right-hand side; Alan, being taller, waded through the middle. 

Collected from the bottom of Rubbish Dump Pot

Finally we reached a point where the cave roof got lower, the water got higher, and the two were very nearly touching. Tim and Alan both looked at this uneasily, and asked if anyone wanted to go through it. At this point, we weren't certain about whether this was a mere duck or a prolonged passage. Despite having always anxiously avoided caves with ducks and sumps in the past, I was feeling very good today, and eagerly volunteered to go through it. It was indeed a short duck which opened back up into a lovely little den (I would assume that this is an air bell most of the time, as the water levels were quite low at the time) that I could stand up in (though the water was still waist deep). The others begrudgingly followed through the water, and I led the way through a second duck into a rift. The cold water slipped down my neck, and instead of feeling scared or uneasy as I had expected, I felt quite the opposite. I felt alive. Rather than adamantly refusing to ever go into a wet cave again, I now find myself sitting at home, researching other caves with similar features; eager to do it again.

The space in between the two ducks felt like a rift in space, and upon emerging from the second one, something felt different. We had crossed the Far Curtain. I thought this was an ample name for the boundary between the rest of the cave and the passage in front of us. Less commonly visited than the rest of Giant's, the rift ahead boasted sharp and jagged curves of unpolished rock. On these columns was a thick layer of mud, unmarked by human prints, which clung to the top of the rock either side of the rift like chocolate icing on a cake. The steep and slippery mud made traversing above the rift almost impossible, so we proceeded along the bottom. The rock here was different to any other rock I have seen caving in the UK so far - it resembled a similar texture to sandstone, and had a deep orange-red hue.

We followed the stream until Alan stopped suddenly in front of me. Shining our torches into the water, we could all see a sudden drop ahead where the floor seemed to vanish and the colour of the water changed to a deep blue. Alan gingerly went forward and dipped his foot in as far as he could, confirming that the pool appeared to be bottomless. My first sight of this canyon is a vision imprinted in my mind. I've crossed huge crevasses in glaciers; battled ferocious blizzards; hacked my way through dense jungles, but although there are some similarities - none of those experiences could match quite what I felt whilst teetering at the perimeter of the East Canal. The light from our torches reflected off the dark blue water, resulting in ripples of light which danced across the red walls either side. From there the Canal seemed bottomless, and with the ceiling so high that I could not see the roof, the space above me endless. There was nothing but me, my companions and this serene place we had found deep under the ground. 

Tim attempted to traverse around the right-hand side of the canal but gave up, and ended up in the water. Alan followed soon after. I hesitated - although I'm a decent swimmer, I was aware that I was wearing three layers of clothing, wellies, a helmet, and a full SRT kit plus extra carabiners, and the idea of being pulled down into the inky depths did not appeal to me much. I looked around, but couldn't find anywhere safe to take off and leave my SRT kit without risking that too, being lost to St Valentine's Sump. By this point the other two had gone round the corner, and I could no longer see them or their lights. Whilst I stood there contemplating the safety of immersing myself in the water with all my gear, it was as if the water beckoned me and forced me forwards - before I knew it I was there with nothing below my feet and nothing above my head but darkness. And cold. I adore wild swimming and am known to immerse myself in almost every lake, tarn and river that I walk past, but wild swimming underground is a whole new level of fun (or insanity). I want to do it more, I want to do it again, and I want to bring flippers next time. 

After splashing about for a bit (Tim's phone died at this point, so no more photos) we decided to head back the way we had come, given the fact that the way through the other end of the sump (above the Filthy Five) is blocked at the moment. [Side note - after a few strokes, the other two found a bit on the right-hand side (as you are facing the canal, with the rift behind you) that was wade-able, which is a good tip to remember if you are heading through the canal yourself.] It was on our way out of the sump that we found the most shocking feature of our trip - a live toad! Unfortunately we couldn't get any photos but you'll have to believe me when I say there really was a big, green, round fellow with black beady eyes ribbiting into the darkness of the East Canal. Keep an eye out for them/her/him if you go. 

It was on the ascent back up this rift that Alan noticed something a little disconcerting - there were lots of bubbles very high up the wall, indicating that the water had recently been much, much higher than the height of our heads. I asked Tim if he had checked the weather forecast, and he answered with a reassuring 'kind of'. I, too, had 'kind of' checked the forecast. We moved swiftly on; through the two ducks, and I thought that upon crossing the Far Curtain we'd be in safer territory. But upon searching the walls for the tell-tale bubbles, I realised that they were now gathered across the ceiling. A further note is that during my research of the limited information of the East Canal online after the trip, I found a post by someone on UKCaving.com noting a change in the water depth of 1.5m in 10minutes. Basically, if you go - Stay Alert. Although we are all rather good at Staying Alert in this strange time anyway. We continued up the pitch-with-no-name, and along to Geology Pot. 

It was here that I made a mistake. Having sped up the last pitch (no doubt fueled by the thought of the water suddenly rising) I decided that I was the superior prusiker of the group, and, seeing as it was my turn to carry the tackle sack again anyway, I would carry it up the pitch, despite it being almost half my weight. Full of litter, our daren drum, and a load of saturated rope, I clipped it to my D-ring and started ascending. Fuck. Half a metre later, I was already regretting my decision - but I had already said I would carry it, and it wouldn't be fair to give it back now. Ten metres later, I realised that the leg loops on my harness must have worked their way loose with all the twisting and swimming, because they were now loose enough for me to fit my entire arm through. But it was too late to do anything about it. Five metres later, I realised that my D-ring had also tipped on its side. In a very awkward position, I managed to keep prusiking, and grunting, and relying on the stamina that had been drilled into me as a kid. I'm usually the one that does the most singing, but it was at this time that Tim decided to accompany my grunting by bursting out into song, which was actually an incredibly helpful source of motivation. I got to the top, clipped my cow's tails into the traverse line, and lay down in a puddle. I could barely lift my arms with all the lactic acid build up. It was then that I realised, that sometime on the way up Geology Pot, my ego must have fallen out of the tackle sack. I decided to leave it at the bottom. If you ever do a litter pick at the bottom of Geology AKA Rubbish Dump Pot, I'd appreciate it if you could leave the shriveled onion that is my ego where it is, until the next flood comes to sweep it along to the bottom of St Valentine Sump. I led the way onwards, and up a roped climb, which had seemed so very easy on the way down. But now, with arms that REFUSED TO WORK it felt like one of the most strenuous climbs I'd ever done. I clipped my long cow's tail into a couple of loops for the bits where I thought the chance of falling was 'High' but in the end I managed it without dropping.

Next was the traverse - I'm not sure why there is a traverse line for the easier part of it, but no ropes for the more difficult part? Who decided that? My legs are not very long, and neither are my arms, so there was a very short moment at the corner where I could neither wedge myself nor reach the handhold. Thankfully Alan put his arm out against the far wall to make it easier to wedge and get myself up, and then we were in the lovely horizontal maze that leads back to the junction with the Eating House. 

We continued up the climb (this one I had done the day before, and is also much easier anyway, thanks to the clever person who put a couple of foot-sized loops in) and along to the drainpipe. The drainpipe was as enjoyable as ever, particularly so because I used a bit of discarded tubing I had extracted from the end of St Valentine's sump as a snorkel, and then to blow bubbles with. I forgot to mention that this tubing was named Siphon the Snake, and lived around my neck/shoulders for the entire trip. Instead of rigging the pull-through to the Crabwalk as I had done before, we took the high traverse above it. This was incredibly easy it the start, and I naively said so. Therefore I was surprised at the challenge on the way up to the eyehole whereby, above a rather significant drop, the footholds became incredibly scarce, and the elbows I wedged into the rock became my lifeline. I was very grateful here to have Tim's guidance pointing me to the next elbow-hole after each one. Weirdly, it was this bit I found most unnerving, and crawling through the eyehole itself was fine. I was quite relieved to enter up into the nice beehive-y chamber on the left, and along the most beautiful wet crawl I have ever seen - because I was at the front now, the puddles were totally still and reflected the snow-white stals above them as if they were an oil painting. We dropped back into the crabwalk and went down the free-climb to the bottom - this, I found much much easier than I had anticipated, and very enjoyable. The footholds and handholds are great, and even for a shortish person like me, it is easy to lower yourself from one to the next. 

We continued up Garland's Pot, and out into the night air - 11:08pm. I was exhausted, but also so psyched - what an absolutely incredible trip. The East Canal really does put the rest of Giant's to shame - and I will certainly be returning, in dry weather, to visit my toad-friend again.

Anna xo

(All photos taken by Tim)