Mallorca

[Left to Right]: Gerardo Ocana-Fuentes, Lyndon Leggate, Joanna King, P.

F., Sandeep Mavadia.
[Falling down the mountain to take the photo]: Jarvist Frost


Logbook Trip Reports:


27th March - Arrival

A photo Against all expectation, everyone managed to make it to Stansted well in time to Check in. Jarv took about an hour to get through security; they seemed to take offense at the rather densely packed X-ray of a rucksack stuffed with a few grand of varying electronics. After unpacking cameras, GPSs, MP3 players, FX3 headsets, MigLights, Flashunits + toothbrushes, we finally got through.

Jo managed to loose her passport by putting it in her bag for safekeeping, but still made it to the gate in time. Flight smooth; cloud cover suddenly broke somewhere near Barcelona, leaving us with a beautiful crossing of the Med. The jutting limestone headlands of the northern Mallorcan coast looked impressive from the air.

After the hire-car companies had lost + refound our booking a few times, we were finally ready to go. Car-Jo took a wonderful little scenic detour via Alcudia before arriving at our Pollenca villa. After essential Pesto-Pasta was located in an oversized off-license [Easter Sunday is not a good day for shopping in Mallorca, unsurprisingly!], we embarked on our first 'caving' trip.

27th March - Church Cave

A photo Deepster, TackleMeister extraordinaire, managed to pack the uncharged FX3 batteries, resulting in a Tikka-led expedition. Fair application of stunt driving + navigating, the free tourist roadmap was not really up the job of locating vague cave entrances - something that would become a hallmark of the tour. Once there, we found the gate unlocked + open - no requirement to pirate unfortunately.

A photo Large stone staircase led down the enormous shaft, arriving at a flagstoned-floor with a large cross in the centre, and two shrines built into crevices in the rock. Areas of cave continue behind these brick facades, plenty of room to squeeze past. Main shrine offers an easy squeeze to the left down to a large sump. Small gated section [easily squeezed through] leads past a 'Forbidden' spanish sign to some cave continuation; much evidence of bat droppings.


28th March - Cova de les Rodes [Wet Cave]

After awaking nice and early (9am!) we popped out to the supermarket to get some breakfast food and BBQ material for dinner. Thanks to a slow breakfast and sufficient phaffing, we ensured that we weren't underground until mid- afternoon.

A photo The cave for the day was to be Cova de les Rodes, a nice bimbly cave with the promise of underground swimming in sump pools. The cave is located 300m up the valley from the seaside resort of Porto Pollenca and is accesible up a track about 200m from the seafront carpark [a straight dirt track with a rusty iron gate visible ~100m from the road - not the concrete track 50m further towards the sea!]. To get to the cave, walk around the rusted gate, along the left of the abandoned stone building, down some flying steps cut into a brick wall, then a 180 degree turn to the right to end up at the natural gulley entrance.

A photo The cave was described as an 'easy walk in cave' but we found the 'easy climbs' more resembling pitches, with shonky bolts and all. Determined to get further than the 60m graffiti spoiled entrance chambers, we alpine-butterflied together a rope ladder and clambered down [3m straight drop onto flowstone from which the experienced could climb, otherwise 7m total length ladder / rope onto true floor]. After a few hundred metres of fairly easy passageway, we came to the pool described in the ICCC 99 trip, but decided to leave the swim until on the way out, instead clambering through two small muddy windows high up on the left. Easy stooping passageway brought us to the next climb [4m straight drop, tied to stal grill, backed to column 2m further up the passageway], duly passed with another rope ladder.

From the base of the climb, one could enter water from the direction that we came, or continue along fairly grotty and crawly passageway, which went along the top of a tight rift along which a fairly energetic stream flowed 5m below us. Flood debris abounded from this point; the crawl at the foot of the 4m climb was puddled, the roof only about 1m above the height of the static pool. Way continued uphill, along several very slippery muddy slopes, around an enormous 1m diameter column in the centre of the passage and finally arriving at slippery pitch. Looked to be hand climbable with a safety line; mud abounded - couple of dodgy bolt holes and plenty of flakes to tie to - but we were out of equipment and so left it undescended.

Lyndon Leggate

Once derigged as far as the large pool, we entertained the possibility of a little swim. Suitably persuaded, Lyndon, Jo & El Deepster stripped down to their swimming costumes, making waves to sink the floating scum. Water was crystal clear until the sediment was stirred up. Quite without warning, I, Jarvist, was stripped bare by the horde of lecherous swimmers left only with a MigLight and waterproof camera to shield what was left of my assualted modesty.

Once in the cold, cold, water we travelled as far as a short duck. My spirit already broken, I was slave to the swimmer's murderous whims. Octopus Jo forced me under the water & through rift. Once convinced I wasn't chocking on CO2 in the next air bell, she dived under herself & pinned me under the submarine ledge until I was limp with asphixiation, drifting to the surface only once Jezebelle-Jo had abandoned her prey in boredom.

Chased by the crack of an FX3 battery belt at my rather exposed posterior, I scrambed up the far exit of the pond, slicing my exposed knees, but noticing that we had indeed bypassed the aforementioned 4m climb.

They were just as mean on the way back, but finally - after a few more abusive photos for future blackmail against me, I was grudgingly allowed my clothes back. Huddled in the corner of the muddy chamber, I wept bitter tears for the apalling, nay tortourous way that I had been treated.

Jarvist Frost

...Hmmm, now we all know that Jarv is mentally deluded. Hence the above account should be recounted by a sane member of the human species: Sandeep, Lyndon and Jo decided to go for a pleasent swim whilst clad modestly in stylish swimming gear. However, 2 minutes after entering the water, a crazed naked-ape like creature plunged after them... Proof of age required for further information.

Joanna King

Drifted home after a quick trip to the sea; Pesto Pasta - the way forward.


29th March - Sailing By

Late start to the day, pleasent breakfast under the sun cooled by a strengthening sea breeze. Perfect for beach antics.

A photo Convoy of two cars headed off towards Port Pollenca, Lyndon in lead with Jo, Deepster + Gerardo bringing up the rear. Seperated by a roundabout, Lyndon pulled in to let Jo catch up. As they went past, Sandeep waved like a trooper, reasurring Lyndon that Jo would know that she had just passed us. We followed as fast as the traffic would allow, but failed to spot Jo. Half an hour of a wild goose chase later, we finally met up on the sea front. Sandeep had waved to the other car without breathing a word to the driver, Jo assuming that his seemingly random hand flapping was just him elucidating a point. He then patiently watched Jo drive around like a headless chicken before deciding to mention that he had seen us... Doh!

We found a place to hire sailboats, and decided on the rather oddly named 'Galeon' 14ft keelboat. It would have been large enough to squeeze all five expectant sailors, but we split our 3hr 48 Euro session into two groups of three instead. Tacking back and across the bay in the glorious sunshine, skidding along with the gunwales awash during the many gusts - far too pleasent for a caving trip! Disembarking after many hours fighting the offshore breeze, the Able Seamen drifted home around 6pm; throwing together a rather disjointed but enjoyable BBQ. While huffing and puffing the charcoal into life, Jarv caught a rather nasty red hot ember strike into his eye; no permanent loss of sight though, as exciting as the prospect of wearing an eyepatch while swilling grog would be.

Jarvist Frost


30th March - Sa Compana [Big Cave]

A photo A photo Bring on the SRT! Early start, left the Villa by 10am and were soon wiggling our way up the fantastic bends of the C710, then down towards Sa Compana - flying over the beautiful Scalextric inspired 270 degree bridge bend. Pulled up by 11, we were faffing with rucksacks when an enormous "Mountain Police" 4x4 roared up, and three men in oh-so-tight lycra dived out clutching gleaming tacklebags of prepacked kit. Gerardo applied his language skills, and discovered that these three men in tights were 3/8 of the entire Cave Rescue Organisation for the Balearic Islands, doing a light spot of training for the day. They shot up the hill, we waddled slowly after them; following the many carns up to the ridge, then the vast quantities of red spray paint around to the entrance.

Catching them up at the entrance, we eyed up each other changing with equal amusement / bemusement; us with disbelief at their shiny entirely scratch-free Pretzl metalwork, them at the sight of finest Yorkshire mud that we had imported into the country. I really wonder whether UK cavers have an entirely inverted [jaundiced?] view of caving equipment compared to the rest of the world; we view new + shiny kit with suspicion and an assumption of inexperience, the continent sees inexpeience in not bothering to keep every item gleaming and serviced.

A photo A photo Entrance pitch was a pleasent semi-daylight-lit 10m abseil down a steep slope, into what would be a very large chamber for the UK. Once everyone was safely down, we wandered around the corner into the cave itself.

Big doesn't even start to describe it. Enormous formations, stalagmites and flowstone larger than houses, curtains larger than facades on Oxford Street, gour pools more at home on Brighton beach. Amazing stuff; we orbited the little tea-lights showing our path back out the chamber, calling to each other across the 5s echo and generally exploring the Venusian landscape.

Way on was via a clamber down from the entrance of the cave to the left and down, arriving at a flat ledge overlooking a step drop. Rigging of one good bolt backed to a large Stal, with a deviation above the pitch head to avoid the worst of the rub points, one descends onto a narrow ledge rebeley from a stal-grill which then widens out before turning into an ever-steeper 60m flowstone slope. If you traverse to the left [facing up-slope] as you descend, you can reach a region from where scrambling is possible for all but the least experienced - however you've got to ensure that the rope stays in location!

The Spanish rescuers-in-training had already occupied all the bolts with their worryingly tightened hangers, so we chained in our maillons with a spare hanger and did our best to avoid a cats-cradle. Once in the muddy chamber, we lit a fair few lights and cracked open our Darren drum of bageuttes; a very pleasent lunch by candlelight.

Jarvist took over rigging duty, leading a handline along the muddy bolders, noting the very odd [and quickly cooling] breathing of the cave - 3s in, 2s hold, 3s out. Army crawling slope leads directly to a ~6m pitch, two bolts on the right to form a hand-jammer line down to the backup bolt 4m to right of pitch, which then forms horizontal traverse onto the pitchhead where a bolt leads from the ceiling. As I descended the pitch with the five others filing down into the rather constrained area behind me, the Speedy Spaniards met us coming the other way. Squeezing aside to let them past, about 60minutes was spent rerigging to our hangers, with a lot of Spanish swapped between them and our translator Gerardo.

Apparently, the backup bolt which formed the pleasent horizontal traverse snapped on removing their hanger, resulting in them backing the pitch directly to the two bolts higher up. Time was getting late and this was Gerardo + Pella's first SRT trip so we decided to turn around and find our slow way out. Getting off the new pitch head was exciting to say the least, requiring full use of go-go-gadget legs, followed by a hard grovel up a muddy slope dragging sacks.

A photo A photo Trip out was slow but steady; Jo leading Pella & Gerardo in the first wave while Lyndon + Deep derigged as Jarv faffed back and forwards in the middle whistling to the Prussickers, loitering on the rebelay ledge and lighting candles. Sunshine was glorious as we exited; gobbling Bananas and L's seemingly endless supply of Jelly sweets before ambling along the 90minute walk back to our cars. We drove the last couple of Km to the seaside resort, sitting outside for a coffee in the gathering twilight. While hopping race up the slope to the cars, we bumped into the Rescuers staying in Sa Compana overnight; managing a stilted conversation about the size and awe of the cave while pretending not to huff and puff from our wacky race.

Jarvist Frost


31st March - Les Basses [Deep Cave], Terensa [Holey Cave] + NUCC BBQ

Joanna King

Penya de Roja

Pella failed her Spanish test today. Looking for "Penya de..." she drove us into a Military Zone. We tried to escape as soon as possible from the firing range.

After arriving at "Mirador de la Victoria" we walked for an hour until we reached a cute hermitage at 280m above sea level, and started looking for the cave entrance. The view of Alcudia Bay from the entrance of the cave and the whole walk up and down along made the trip worth the while.

Gerardo Ocana-Fuentes

Points noted by Pella:

Once inside the cave, great bimbling ensued; the Salle des Ossos [bone chamber] shirked exploration. A pleasent trip none-the-less.

Avenc de Pla des Basses

A photo A photo The vague instructions left us unsure where to park on Cap de Formentor, we found a likely spot with a viewing gallery over a shear cliff. This is not where you want to park; you're on the wrong side of the headland. We set off exploring down something in hindsight looking more valley than doline, poking amongst the undergrowth looking for the 30m pitch of plummiting death. Even without kit, going was distinctly unfriendly. 600m of Grade II Scrambling later [Flip-flops ill advised ahem], we reared a 5m cliff face scramble. I sat down in the sun at the top, and left the two mig freshers to clamber the last couple of hundred metres to the coast.

Ten minutes later, Geriatric Jo came gallumphing back to bring joyous news.

Jarvist Frost

Well, whilst Juvenile Jarvist was jaunting round in his flip-flops, hardcore cave explorer GI Jo discovered a new and exciting cave. She battled her way up the "Pooh Mountain" approach and entered the treacherous "Bear Cave". Evidence of previous unsuccesful attempts were apparet by the mountains of skeletal remains heaped up at the cave entrance.

Joanna King

A photo A photo To put it simply, the cave was full of shit. A shit mountain in fact, warm and scrunchy for scrambling in flip-flops. Obviously a refuge for wild goats, the floor consisted of a shag-pile carpet 20cm deep in olive-pit sized + shaped excreta.

Caving off a Red LED key-fob light, we admired the pretty formations, considered the turd-tastic crawling way on + took a smattering of photos. Smelt like goats slept in the place; there were a couple of half-burnt candles stuck to an upturned saucepan. Strange - not exactly the most romantic place for an evening picnic; half expected to find the remains of a decayed convinct who had been hiding out here.

Jarvist Frost

A photo A photo When I got up to the Poo Mountain and Jo was being carried away on teh shoulder of a grizzly bear. I was hand-to-hand wrestling with the bear, but as soon as it ripped off my top and saw my bulging muscles it scappered and I carried GI back to the car. [Ed: I feel we have had a rather troubling insight into Sandeep's dark fantasies.]

A photo Back to the truth... After exploring the little chamber with pleasent formations, we had a little climb-around with played with the ram's skull. For some reason Jarv thought it was ok to walk BAREFOOT in the goat droppings. But this is because, as I have said before, he is completely and utterly stark raving mad. [Ed: If you ever get the chance, try walking in dried droppings with flip flops - when barefoot, they glance off like pebbles - trapped between a flip flop and your foot, the result is far more squidgy] I rescued his flip flop and forced him to wear it. [Jo says: "The fastest I've ever seen Sandeep move!"]

Avenc de Sis Theresa

A photo A photo Getting late already, and with our presence requested at the NUCC BBQ; we decided to give up on Les Basses and head on towards the very end of the headland, the most NE part of the Island. We popped in to the lighthouse for a quick view + a turn around, then pulled up a few hundred meters back up the road. We stripped off as the couple in the car in front had an argument [Ed: Lie - they were just eating a late lunch; though they did fold in their mirrors so they wouldn't have to see us change behind them, Hah ha!]. The looks we got from passing cars ranged from astonishment to worry. At the cave entrance GI was given her first bit of rigging practice, though Jarv still tied the bunny-knot for her first Y-hang.

Sandeep Mavadia, corrected by Miss P Frost

A photo A photo I descended the pitch, eager to inspect the "really mad rub-point ... the sheath almost all the way through" of the 1999 ICCC visit. The rock was truly a slab of cheese grater, harsh enough to kneel against with double-skinned neoprene knee pads. Desperate for a deviation, I slung a sling around some dried mud on the right wall, and tried to orchestrate a free hang to the bottom. The walls were covered with crumbly deposits, the stal on the far side that would be ideal to rig from were a 6m swing away. There were other bolts visible, but other than the vaselined two at the top, they seemed pretty appaling - visible by enormous rust stains on the cave wall. Loading up the deviation, one of the two nodules I had wrapped the sling around came pinging off, richocheting down the 30m shaft. However, it now appeared to be a straight drop with a slight rubpoint 4m below the deviation.

If the deviation failed, the rope would be toast - I don't think I've ever seen rock so abrasive as that first ledge. Therefore, unwilling to risk my own life, I sent Jo down instead and got her to attach a rope protector at the slight rub. Sandeep followed, while I loitered at the top ready to repair the riging. Other than the Deepster kicking the rope protector down the drop [what a lovely whoosh they make!], it all held well.

Jarvist Frost

A photo The free- hang on the way down was impressive with some cool green deposits and impressive staligtites. I got to the bottom, and enjoyed a died bar each with the GI, while Jarv checked pulled up half the rope to check the rub point. Jo soon headed up carefully with instructions to rerig the protector, while I was left with a nice warm descender to keep me company. Collecting the protector and derigging the deviation, exit was smooth & the rope was fine - the rub point consisted of a smooth limestone flute, nothing to really worry about.

By now it was quite late, so we stomped back to the car, stripped and reclothed in double-quick time. On the way back along the road, we saw the clear saucer-like doline depression of Les Basses - how we failed to spot it, I'll never know. Next time you shall be ours.

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