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Moorfurlong
Mine
For more information
contact Sam
Townsend.
Report by Sam Townsend
- June 2002
Having had a quick dig at some of the backfill at the end of the newly
discovered workings attention turned to the run in shaft at the
junction where the breakthrough was made. We just couldn’t resist it. A
mixture of snail shells, rodent bones and workings in the right place
convinces me that this shaft communicates with the surface. The ginging
sized boulders wedged in a small window at roof level were far to
inviting to leave alone.
Especially for someone like JT who just loves boulder chokes! So after
a few tentative pokes John began pulling big lumps out. This provided
great amusement as we all sat in silent suspense, waiting for the next
key rock to be pulled out. The rumbles that followed a induced a
shocked silence followed by giggles of excitement, "Again Again" went
the assembled tellytubbies.
Pulling boulders from the bottom of this run in shaft was like playing
kerplunk and the mechanics of the shaft are similar to one of those
match box holders in pubs where you take one from the slot at the
bottom and the rest fall down only in the dig it’s a bit louder.
After shifting quite some rock we left things to settle down the shaft
still grumbling and spitting mud sporadically like some burping ogre.
Several return visits kept us entertained for a few weeks - especially
when Jim pulled the lot in on his head - I didn’t realise he had
reflexes let alone seen him move so fast. Things are still pretty
similar - however the stacking space is getting smaller and the
rumbling is reducing in magnitude and doesn’t last as long.
Inspection of the surface revealed no evidence of movement in any of
the depressions around the vicinity of the dig. There are a few
theories flying around as to what the result may be but personally I
would be happy if either one of the two came to fruition. One is that
this is a hauling shaft that will, if restored and capped provide a
nice little through trip. The other is that we will break out back up
into the bedding cave that is left behind when entering the lower
workings. Lets hope its both..
Things have gone a bit quiet with attentions turning to other digs in
the near vicinity but its not forgotten. There is always the dead ahead
dig at the end of the new workings too.
Report by Sam Townsend - April 2002
The entrance to Moorfurlong is a neatly lidded shaft at the bottom of
the field opposite Within Farm, nr Bagshawe cavern. (permission and 50p
trespass fee required at Within Farm). The shaft contains a rickety
iron ladder which we decided to self line since the car bungee that
holds it (not so) steady at the top looked a bit tatty!. A short
passage and climb suddenly brings you into the much larger main
passage. This is instantly recognisable as natural bedding cave (very
reminisent of much of Bagshawe). NW (uphill) follows the large bedding
passage which is filled with miners debris up until an area of collapse
( a cross rift ?) blocks the way, a squeeze to the left gives a
contuation until again the the fill meets the roof and one cant help
feeling very close to the surface here.
Turning left/SE/downhill (which ever way your brain works) from the
entrance takes you into a decently dimensioned workshop area with
buddles, bucket and graded piles of ore lying on the floor. The roof is
covered with soot initials left by the miners.
The way on now becomes tight, awkward and confusing as you seem to
leave the comfortable workshop and persue the pipe workings left by the
miners. The thought ringing in you mind is ‘where the hell did that big
natural cave go’.
Mineralization abounds in this area and pick marks in the clay and spar
seem like they were struck yesterday. One chamber I nicknamed the ‘Mask
of Zorro’ after the shape of the mineral resembles a mask with eye
holes. Just beyond here the workings end in a series of branches which
either loop back or terminate. Happy that we were at the end or the
mine John T performed a scientific smoke test i.e. had a fag. Something
wasn’t quite right, - we could still see each other. The smoke was
pulling into a small side passage filled with deads. A return visit was
planned.
My first dig...
This was to be my first dig and we marched confidently down the field
towards the lid. I then marched angrily back up the field to fetch my
newly aquired trenching tool. John, as ever, had visited his local
hardware shop, ‘Anything for the weekend sir’,’ yes I’ll have another
crowbar please. Yellow will do nicely’.
It wasn’t long before we were at the potential dig site fiddling about
with Johns new fangled smoke matches. Rather fancy things that seem to
give off an incredable amount of smoke. Unlike last time however, the
smoke went nowhere, and we retreated for a while until it cleared -
should have just had a fag.
Un deterred John started hurling rocks at me at a great rate of knots.
‘Build a wall over there’ came the instruction, so I set about piling
the rocks in a heap as best I could. After 20 minutes or so and several
bruised finger nails we swapped places. ‘Whats the hells that ?’ -
‘It’s a pile of rocks John’ I replied. Clearly unimpressed JT began
rearranging my pile into wall while I threw rocks at him instead.
The passage we were digging was about 1 meter in diameter with a floor
of deads which rose up to meet the ceiling, which itself seemed to dip
down behind the deads. It was hard to decide whether to dig down or
straight on. I don’t know why but I chose down and left, following the
solid left hand wall. Soon small voids started to appear, ‘John - Ive
found a hole’, ‘Well keep bloody digging then’ came the curt reply.
This was awkard at first as it kept running in but soon enough it was
big enough to poke an upside down head into. I could see a small
chamber just big enough to turn round in but it bent round to the left
out of view. So I sent John in to have a look. ‘Shit’ came the reply,
‘Is that good shit or bad shit ?’ No answer, so I dived in for a look
myself !
John was now out of sight so I followed excitedly. The small chamber
had led round a corner and entered a large walking sized passage at
roof level. Carefully we dropped into the passage, trying desperatly
not to touch anything. It was clear that nothing had moved since the
day the miners left. Now would have been a good time to learn to
levitate.
Progressing slowly down the passage we spotted round circular imprints
in the clay on the floor which we thought to be from a bucket. There
were thumb prints where the miners had put some clay morter in some
ginging. A lump of clay with the imprint of a candle base sat on the
side and close inspection revealed the actual finger prints of the
miner who moulded it. It wasn’t until a return trip a few days later
that a the best relic was spotted, a clay pipe complete with bowl just
sat on the side, as though it was placed there yesterday.
A quick inspection of the way on, which again was backfilled with deads
was conducted and a return visit planned.
On our return to the surface we strode quickly up the hill to the farm,
desperate for a beer to celebrate our success. Cursing my memory yet
again, I trudged back down the hill to collect my car keys which I had
left by the shaft top. A few beers were sunk in the White Hart, and my
interest for digging was firmly cemented (Unlike my walls).
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