Details

Written by: Victoria Kocher

Published: 14 April 2026

Hits: 231

When John Gunn has a trip planned, the correct response is always “yes.” No further questions required.

After two weeks off waiting for my sheep to lamb—who, it turns out, are not remotely interested in my schedule—I finally gave up pretending I was in control of anything and signed up for a trip I’ve wanted to do for ages. I’ve been close before, but never quite managed to get my head under that steady torrent of water. This time, though, John had the key. Literally.

John G, John, Chris, Jess, Robert and I met in the layby and shuffled down the lane to get changed, as is tradition. Wetsuits were wrestled on  and we followed John to the water.

I had been expecting it to be deep. According to John, the water level was “down,” which turned out to mean chest-deep instead of very chest-deep. So off we went, beginning the uphill walk in deep water. It was easy to navigate until the floor become uneven with boulders and drop zones that a few of us fell into.

As we progressed, the sough kept changing character—making it feel like a completely different place. After about a mile (give or take, time being a bit theoretical when you’re wading uphill in cold water), we gradually climbed out. And honestly, it was worth every soggy step.

Reaching the chamber was genuinely special. We took time to admire the incredible formations left behind by the miners—equal parts history and accidental art. John and Robert took some great photos. I, bravely, took none, having decided beforehand that I didn’t trust my lack of waterproofing. I regretted this immediately and continuously.

Once we’d finished poking, prodding and generally appreciating the chamber, we followed the mine tracks deeper in—past the mine cart and towards the collapse.  It was one of those trips where you’re constantly torn between wanting to move on and wanting to just stand there and take it all in.

We eventually met John again at the resurgence, where he was fully in “science mode”—taking water samples and explaining how they vary through different parts of the mine. It was part fieldwork, part impromptu lecture, and all very interesting (even if I was mostly thinking about how cold I was getting).

The journey out was, thankfully, much quicker. Heading downhill with the current behind us made for a surprisingly speedy exit. At several points it felt less like walking and more like being politely escorted out by the water. Inflatable tubes would have been an excellent—if slightly chaotic—addition.

All in all, a long, cold, brilliant trip. The kind that reminds you exactly why you said yes in the first place.

Then, of course, came the true final challenge: peeling off wetsuits before heading home.

Details

Written by: Victoria Kocher

Published: 26 February 2026

Hits: 357

Oil Drum → Climbing Shaft
Katie, Julian, Ade, Pete, Alan, Chris & Victoria 

The Tuesday Nighters assembled in the triangle. With seven of us loitering about, we split into two groups for maximum efficiency.

Before we ventured underground, Katie was  debating: Is it better to face the muddy puddle at the start of the trip, or save it as a special treat for the way out? I cast my vote firmly for “get it over with early,” and thus joined the Oil Drum → Climbing Shaft trio.

Down we went, squeezing and climbing along. After a bit of classic Knotlow stomping we reunited at the bottom, where—because it’s what cavers actually do—we immediately stopped for a chat. And then some exploring. And then more chatting.

We surveyed the sumped bit, admired the connection to Meccano Passage (never again, thank you very much)

Highlight of the night: a surprisingly handsome frog who had somehow made it all the way down. Luckily Katie is basically the Patron Saint of Tiny Underground Creatures. Without hesitation she crafted a safe frog-transit zone, donated one glove to the cause, and chauffeured the little guy out like he’d booked a premium service.

Eventually we all wandered off toward our respective exits. The climbing shaft did not disappoint—still one of my favourites—and with only three of us plus Katie derigging, we made tidy progress and popped out into a rare Peak District  February evening  no rain, visible stars, and even a quarter moon above. Katie popped the frog out of her glove. He had survived unscathed. I let him go in the small copse of trees. We hope he wanted to reach the surface after all.

We surfaced a bit ahead of the other team, changed while waiting for their lights to bob into view, and then—because tradition matters—headed straight for the Bulls Head. Nothing like a pint by the fire to finish off another excellent Tuesday Nighters adventure.

Details

Written by: Victoria Kocher

Published: 11 February 2026

Hits: 638

Part One of the Tuesday Nighters’ Red Rake adventures went so well that some of us who missed it promptly demanded a rerun. So—because we’re apparently incapable of saying no to wet holes in the Peak District—off we went again.

Seven of us assembled: Edvin, Ade, Jenny, Chris, John, Pete, and myself..

It’s only a short walk to the entrance, which is the kind of beautiful sough that makes you forget you’re about to spend several hours voluntarily wading through cold water. They don’t call it Red Rake for nothing—the stones lit up red under our lamps.

Katie had insisted we could make it a round trip using the boat. Yes, the boat. Naturally, we decided this sounded like an excellent challenge and went for it.

We plunged straight into waist-deep water. This would have been fine, except it’s been raining for approximately forty days and forty nights, so the water temperature was somewhere between “refreshing” and “why are we doing this to ourselves?”

Photos by Ade Pedley

Dripping but determined, we left the water and entered the mine proper. Handlines, climbs, levels—Red Rake had it all. Stemples in the roof hinted at long-lost passages above.

One particular climb required so much precision that “LAF” was mentioned. the message was clear: anyone below should get as far back as possible as the climb was held by a questionable deviation which barely held back the rubble.

Chris, not satisfied with the normal levels, climbed up to some old ladders whose rungs disintegrated faster than a biscuit in tea. This did not deter him in the slightest. He poked around another level simply because gravity hadn’t slowed him down.

While the group was large enough we eventually herded ourselves downward to search for the boat. Chris and Pete detoured down a lower climb into what they claimed was more mine .We assume they would rejoin us in a bit.

Reunited, we finally reached the clear blue water. With some gentle rope-hauling we coaxed the giant inflatable tube towards us and enjoyed a very dignified float across. No one fell in. No one capsized. A triumph.

Back at the entrance, the snow had started falling… although “slush hurled from above” is probably more accurate. We’d explored so thoroughly that there was no time left for pints, which is frankly the most shocking part of the whole story. I’ll be having two next week to compensate.

Brilliant company, brilliant evening—another Tuesday night trip in the bag.