When the mythical apple mythically fell on Isaac Newton’s head, he formulated the Law of Gravitation, hypothesizing that not only did the apple descend to his head but that the earth on which he was sitting, rose up to meet the apple, albeit immeasurably slightly. The incident sparked a thought of genius.
When I slipped and fell on my first afternoon on Nisyros, stripping a layer of skin off my forearm and embedding a quantity of black volcanic grit in it, the incident sparked a more mundane conclusion, formulated as Barry’s Second Hypothesis (Barry’s First Hypothesis is to do with politics and I won’t bore you with that).
The Second Hypothesis states that if you do dangerous stuff (white water kayaking, climbing, paragliding, skiing, tree felling …..), or use sharp things (chainsaws, axes, power tools ….. ) then at some point you are going to get hurt. The second part of the hypothesis states that this is most likely to happen when you have done the really dangerous bit and lose focus, albeit momentarily. This second part is writ large in my experience. – I shot Bala Mill Falls on the Tryweryn and capsized in the pool below, skied down a difficult run (for me) and then went base-over-apex on the glide down Easy Street to the lodge, dislocating my shoulder. And many more.
I arrived on Nisyros in time to dump my stuff in the hotel, change and catch the midday bus to Emborios on the caldera rim for the pleasant and in places very spectacular walk back to Mandraki (Walk 1 on the Greek Island Walks page of the blog). Like some of the other paths on Nisyros, this one has degenerated significantly in recent years, with some sections potentially dangerous, especially high up near the village. The kalderimi is supported by high stone walls and increasing number of collapses and landslides threaten an uncontrolled descent of ten or more feet on loose soil and gravel. I originally graded this section of the walk as ‘Moderate’ but it is now ‘Difficult”. The old adage “if you want to look at the view, stop”, is never truer than here. Given that my balance has deteriorated from what it used to be, I was well pleased to get past the whole of the difficult part, and took a break in the shade at the Evangelistria monastery.
A brief siesta, piece of nutbar and swig of water, and I was set for the easy 45-minute walk down to Mandraki and a welcome beer. I categorised this section of the route as ‘Easy’ but, to put it in context, that’s not easy like a Sunday afternoon walk in the park, it’s ‘easy’ for those used to walking in the mountains.
The early part of the summer on Symi and Nisyros had been unusually cool (see), and I returned home at the end of the UK heatwave in time for the dire weather of July and August. First day back in Greece and it was properly hot. I took account of this and paced myself, so swung out confidently on this final downhill stretch. Dropping nearly vertically from the road to the first section of path has become a little more awkward and potentially difficult because of a fallen fig tree, but focus and caution got me down safely onto the loose pumice of the path. No problem.
In the last few years, an injection of private capital into some of the islands – Symi and Nisyros certainly – has seen a number of formerly derelict houses renovated to a high standard, some as second homes, some as Airbandb rentals. A handful of these are adjacent to the path I was on though relatively close to the road and parking places. A couple of them have improved the path from the road to the house, given that it is loose and steep and couldn’t take the extra and more frequent foot-traffic. But the occupants of one such house have simply tied a bit of rope between trees at the side, bypassing the loose pumice and creating a new line, now over-used.
Greek mythology has it that those who display hubris incur the displeasure of the gods and suffer for it. I displayed an excess of confidence. Hubris. The difficult part of the route behind me, I spurned the rope, I wasn’t some namby-pamby townie. Nothing to do with mythological gods, all to do with not concentrating. My feet slipped on the loose soil/volcanic grit, I put my right hand down behind me, my feet continued to slide and my forearm ground into the grit. It dug deeply into my palm, stripped the skin off the arm from elbow to wrist and embedded itself in flesh.
I carry a pretty comprehensive first aid kit and when I reached the sanctuary of a lump of rock some metres further down, cleaned up the mess, applied dressings, and continued to the harbour.
I sat in the taverna in Heroes Square looking out to sea, feeling both sorry for myself and angry at myself for being so careless. This was the third minor accident in not much more than a month. It was there I formulated Barry’s Second Hypothesis.
I tell myself, and tell others, about the need to beware of losing focus on the easy bit near the end of any trip. But what now finally crept to the front of my consciousness, albeit somewhat late in life, is that there is an inevitability about it. If you do this stuff, at some point it will bite back. It doesn’t mean that you stop doing it, you try harder to maintain focus, especially when you are tempted to relax. And you put up with the consequences if it goes wrong.
I continued trekking around the mountains on Nisyros for two weeks and then on Symi for another three weeks. My confidence had been damaged, I was more cautious than usual, but I went out every day in the mountains, including three or four ‘finishes’ down the same section of path. By the end my arm had scabbed over and was healing. I’m left with a 6 inch (15 cm) scar as a reminder.
A blog post isn’t complete without photos of the great landscapes I walk through. So, after the cautionary tale and the exposition of Barry’s Second Hypothesis , here are some images of a great walk around the caldera rim from Nikia, Walk 6 on the Greek Island Walks page..
Any walk from Nikia, perched high on the rim of the caldera, isn’t complete unless it starts with a frappe or fresh orange juice in the square at the top of the village.
The route passes through an abandoned village …
follows the caldera rim with spectacular views down into the craters …..
views back towards Nikia …..
partly on a stone-paved kalderimi …..
and as it rises up from the low point in a col, along the 3 kilometres of the caldera to Emborios, the other village on the rim at the far end ….
until it reaches Stavros monastery, the last point with views into the craters and the first and last place to find any shade ….
One of the things I have learned over the years visiting, travelling and trekking around Greece, and make a point of in my book ‘Greece Unpackaged’, is to deal with the unexpected. If things don’t go as planned, find a solution, regard it as an opportunity, enjoy it!
I returned to Symi at the end of the third week in May. I prefer coming mid-April because the flowers are in full throttle, wildlife is more active, and because the body can more readily make the chemical changes to acclimatise to the heat before high summer. Brexit put an end to that. Visits are now limited to 90 days out of 180, so I try to do 6 weeks early summer and 6 at the end.
By the end of May temperatures on The Hot Rock are ramping up, the colour of wild flowers has largely gone, vegetation is parched. But at least ‘weather’ has changed to ‘climate’, with blue sky every day, no need to check the forecast before heading into the mountains. Just set a challenge, decide how much ice to put in the water bottle, check the nut-bar, and go.
Not this year. End of May and into June, weather was still unsettled, temperatures significantly lower than usual. The thunder clouds which tower in the distance over Turkey and Rhodes, built over Symi as well. The Lightening Tracker app on the phone worked overtime. For the first few weeks it was prudent to check the weather forecast before committing to any route, and to check the sky and wind direction. Locals were going around in padded jackets.
Two advantages of the unusual conditions were that cooler temperatures gave an opportunity to acclimatise, not normally possible with an end-of-May start, and the colour of wild flowers was still very much in evidence. There were no fields swathed in Crown Daisies (known, amongst other things as Edible Chrysanthemum – because they are), but there were far more colours on display.
I pick Greek Oregano every year to dry and take home. Arriving middle of May onwards makes this problematic as flowering has finished and the fresh green shoots, best for flavour when dried, are turning brown and wizened. This year, no problem, plenty of fresh growth thanks to lower temperatures and more rain.
As the oregano is finishing flowering, thyme is coming into full bloom, creating a problem walking some routes as huge numbers of beehives are shipped in to maximise the ‘crop’ of much sought-after Thyme Honey. Great for the bees, great for the beekeepers, bad for walkers. Some of the routes are along paths the width of your foot surrounded by ankle-height buzzing activity. One route reaches the ridge-top in the middle of scores of hives and bees make it quite clear by deliberately and repeatedly flying into your head that you are regarded as a threat. Not normally a problem if you know which routes to avoid. This year, not problem at all because the thyme was late flowering. One route which I normally only do late April/early May, or at the end of Summer, I did three times in 10 days with not a thyme in flower or bee in sight.
On a few days I didn’t commit to long walks or go particularly high in the mountains because of forecasts for heavy showers and cloud blanketing ridges. I have an umbrella on Symi because of the possibility of heavy rain in Autumn. This year, for the first time in Summer, on a couple of days I carried it in my rucksack, though never deployed it.
One such was Sunday 28 May. I decided on a short mid-level walk because of the forecast and clouds scooting around. I went to Gria, an abandoned village with a permanent pond high above Pedi but completely hidden from it by rocky crags. After a climb on a road up to the monastery of Zoodohou Pigis (The Spring of the Waters of Life), the onward path immediately becomes narrow and vertiginous. I’m often asked by people I meet if I’ll take them to ‘The Pond’. I watch them closely on that stretch of path because if they are hesitant or have difficulty there, there is no possibility they will cope with the final part of the route down to Pedi – which is a drop of a few hundred feet down a series of waterfalls.
I wanted to visit to Gria to take photos of the inside of one of the abandoned houses, the communal bread oven and the white mulberry growing alongside it.
Task completed, I checked the sky again. One of the characteristics of thunder clouds is that they don’t drift on the wind like other clouds. They suck clouds from all directions so you can’t judge how the Cumulus Nimbus is moving. It was clear that one was forming more or less overhead. If you know what you are doing and where to go, the descent of the waterfall only takes about 15 minutes. The sky becoming significantly darker, I didn’t hang about.
Relieved to reach Pedi, I met up with friends for a beer in the Kamares Taverna on the edge of the sea. Fifteen minutes later, it rained. If ever there was an understatement, that was it. Within minutes there was a stream flowing down each side of the taverna and into the sea. The area in front of the taverna was under water. A few days earlier I had sat in the same place looking out at Turkey beyond the end of the bay. Now I couldn’t see even half way along the bay, the usually placid sea was viciously stippled and almost black.
I was thankful I wasn’t still trying to get down that waterfall.
A few weeks ago, we had snow at home. First time in 2 years. They had snow on Symi since we had any!! I woke up with 2 inches on the ground and still snowing heavily. I checked the forecast and, needless to say, dressed for the conditions and went straight out. After fuelling up on toast and coffee of course.
Big, wet flakes which didn’t portend well. I guessed the temperature was hovering around zero degrees, probably slightly above. Great walk up to The Folly Tower in falling snow, then down the ridge to The Grotto before dropping into Pontypool Park en route to buy bread in the supermarket. Nearly 300 metres lower, air temperature a couple of degrees higher and the panic buyers had churned up the car park into a dirty, grey slush. Bread shelves bare.
By next morning the snow had all but gone.
It made me nostalgic. I looked back a few weeks to days snowshoeing in the Canadian Rockies. One of the great things about Banff is that there are many winter trails for days when not skiing.
Spray River
Follow the Bow River from the Town Bridge down to Bow Falls. Even though the temperature had gone up from the unusually cold spell before we arrived (minus 40-450C) it was still pleasantly well below freezing with good snow depth. Walking on the snow-covered ice at the right-angle bend in the river below the jarringly pseudo-gothic Banff Springs Hotel, showed the Falls to be more than usually frozen, just a narrow band of water bursting through. View downriver towards the Fairholme Range, of the confluence with the Spray River there was no sign as it joined the Bow. Completely frozen over and snow-covered. Even so, safer to cross the river at this point by the bridge between the hotel and the golf course.
The well-used Quarry Loop Trail follows the right bank of the river (by convention, the ‘handedness’ of a river is always taken facing downstream) to a footbridge for the loop back. Instead of crossing the bridge, keep following the river and the compacted trail is now only the width of a snowshoe. I find it easier in cleats. The river on the right, the old quarried face high on the left from which came the stone for the hotel. Soon the trail rises up to join the wide Spray River Trail, with well-grooved tracks of cross-country skis. I usually turn left and go back high above the river before re-joining at the confluence with the Bow.
Sundance Canyon
Start this trek at the Banff Canoe Club Dock at the confluence of the Bow River with Forty Mile Creek. For obvious reasons closed in winter (you can’t canoe on ice), the Dock is a good place to strap on snowshoes after the walk through town. The Bow upstream of the town Bridge is well frozen and snow covered, though the Creek is not always so. Snow on the ice is of variable depth, in places stripped by the wind, in places a foot or more deep.
The river is broad, meandering widely, so I take the inside of bends crossing and re-crossing between the tree-lined banks. The major difference between the wildlife in the Rockies and in the UK is that here, it might eat you. Therefore, it’s prudent to keep eyes and ears alert and to take note of tracks as they cross the river. Rule of thumb, tracks which follow the river are human, those which cross it are animal. It’s common to see deer or caribou tracks crossing from one bank to the other. Occasionally I have seen what I think are Lynx tracks, smaller than the more worrying cougar whose tracks are apparently the size of my hand. Coyote tracks are not uncommon, more worrying than wolves whose tracks are again significantly larger, though I believe wolves are less likely to attack. This trip I saw the remains of a deer, the only part left, the bloodied backbone and skull being picked over by ravens.
Vermillion Lakes
Again begin at the Canoe Dock but this time don’t take to the river, follow the trail along Forty Mile Creek, crossing the railway line and then onto Fenland Loop. If there is a train coming you may be in for a long wait as they are two kilometres long, travel through the town at slow speed, and take a long time to pass. On Boxing Day 2014 a train derailed at this point, three trucks plunging into Forty Mile Creek and taking days to clear. I know, I was there.
At the furthest point leave Fenland Trail and cross a footbridge up to the Vermillion Lakes Road. After a few hundred metres drop down to the lakeside, strap on snowshoes and take to the vast area of the frozen lakes. It’s a huge area to explore.
Keep parallel with the road and come to a couple of areas of open water where thermal springs emerge into the lake. At the far side of the largest of these, on the Second Vermillion Lake, push through bushes and find a pond with fish and bird life. I suspect it never freezes over.
One of these days I’m going to trek to the far side of the lake and try to cross the railway track to get to the Bow River and follow that back. It’s a long way and a hard slog with uncertainty of battling through the trees. Not such hard work, but far more technically skilful is kite-skiing, which I saw on the lake for the first time this winter. I have done a lot of paragliding, a similar shaped wing, but I suspect kite-skiing is more difficult and not something I could master in a relatively short visit along with spending time skiing and snowshoeing.
The Hoodoos
For many, a half-day activity is to take the car up to Surprise Corner, on the opposite side of the Bow River to the Banff Springs Hotel and high above the Bow Falls. It’s certainly a great viewpoint.
It’s also the starting point of the Hoodoos Trail. A path drops down from the car park, to water level. The trail then follows the spectacular frozen swirls of the river as it splits and meanders, below first Mount Rundle and then the imposing crag of Tunnel Mountain. For some reason this section always seems to me to be more isolated than other treks, maybe because it’s rarely used in winter and there are no other trails nearby, but more probably because this is where a couple of years ago, I came across two coyotes howling mournfully at each other. Nose, eyes and ears are hyper-alert for danger.
Eventually, the trail rises up to join Tunnel Mountain Road near the Campground and a trail paralleling the road leading to The Hoodoos Viewpoint. A handful of cars use the car parks or travel past on the road. It’s comforting that there are others around but yet I’m left feeling somehow soiled that they have got here in hermetically sealed bubbles rather than by their own efforts and in the real world. Like getting to the top of Yr Wyddfa via the knife-edge of Grib Goch and finding the train disgorging passengers into the café.
A trail parallel with but not always in sight of the road, leads to Tunnel Mountain Resort. Here there is a choice. Wait for the regular bus service back to town, or walk along Tunnel Mountain Drive. Deep snow cover means the Drive is closed in winter. The sense of isolation is just as deep as on the other side of the mountain. But my nerves are jangling and senses even more alert. Cougars are ambush predators and the short cliff on the upslope side is a prime opportunity. There have been attacks along here, targeting people as well as deer. Periodically the area is closed by the National Park Authority to allow cougars to hunt – and move on.
Needless to say, I’ve got away with it so far.
That was all in December and January. It’s good to look back but it’s important to look ahead. Towards the end of May I head back to the Greek Islands. Mostly staying on Symi, the plan is also to return to the dramatic volcanic landscapes of Nisyros. There are many treks here, some distinctly off-piste. Even some sections of the old paths are becoming almost off-piste as they collapse down the steep mountain sides, a process accentuated by feral goats burrowing for plant roots.
One of my favourite routes is from the crater-rim village of Nikia around the crater and then back to Mandraki on the remains of a kalderimi, in part savaged by road construction to access a failed geothermal energy project.
Why not check out my book on travelling independently in Greece – ‘Greece Unpackaged’
We arrived after the cold snap, For a couple of weeks temperatures had dropped down as low as -40oC. And that was in town at 1,400 metres. Even colder on the ski slopes going up to nearly double that altitude. Some days ski lifts were closed, too cold to ski and too cold to be sure of the effect on steel structures. Telling folks that it had been cold in the UK, temperatures having dropped to about -10oC, didn’t cut much ice.
We arrived in a balmy -15oC, warming up at times to -5oC and, on the odd occasion, to 0. A bit fresher than the +30oC when I left Symi in mid-October.
The usual pilgrimage along the river to the Bow Falls was as spectacular as always. The trail over the crags was lethal without cleats on boots, people hanging on to the handrails and sliding. Still, a sign warned us: “Trail not maintained in winter. Use at own Risk”.
Upstream of the town bridge the river was frozen across and snow-covered as usual.
Because of the weeks of very low temperatures, downstream of the town bridge where the river flows faster and maintains a clear channel, there was less open water than the last few times I was here (2019, 1BC) and more ice. The ice fractures as it is pushed towards the falls, tilts in huge slabs and piles up as if pushed by a juggernaut. Large sink holes disappear into the frothing abyss below.
The Canadian Rockies and hard winter have other interests as well as dramatic scenery. Wildlife can be elusive in winter but the ‘warmer’ weather recently has seen much red squirrel activity in the pine forests around Banff. They not only forage pinecones for food but chase each other on the forest floor, around and up trees, between trees – and all at breakneck speed making capturing them in a photo very difficult. Not sure whether this high-speed activity is aggressive or amorous in intent, or simply for fun.
There is beauty at the micro level too. In the bitter cold, ice crystals form on the outside of windows, growing and changing day-by-day, hour-by-hour. Overnight temperatures down to -20oC produce nocturnal works of art.
Reconnaissance and set-up: Steve Waters and Barry Hankey
Descent Team: Nicholas Shum, Barry Hankey, Ejaz Shinwarri
Given that Symi, the ‘Hot Rock’, is made of limestone, there are few caves in comparison to limestone areas in the UK. The main difference is that there is little surface waterflow except in flood conditions, so caves on Symi tend to be ‘fault’ caves, created by seismic movement. Water seeps through the rock leaving calcite deposits but does not ‘cut’ the cave. I have visited a few.
In May 2014 I posted a blog about exploring a cave which a friend had first visited 20 years before.
I have no idea how many had been inside the cave but that people knew about it was clear – rubbish from name-day festivals at the nearby monastery had been thrown down it. Access was simple as it sloped down at about 45o. It was a fairly tight and unstable passage but it didn’t go down very far before it was blocked by fallen rocks. However, as long as you ignored the ecclesiastical rubbish it was great to see the colours and shapes of stalactites and calcite flows.
Then towards the end of June 2019 I took some friends on a walk from Nanou back to the ridge and Horio, spending time on the way to explore the larger Skordhalos Cave marked on the SkaÏ map. It’s a simple walk-in. Climbing up the rock at the back shows no sign of any passages.
A couple of years ago Nicholas stumbled across, but thankfully not into, another cave at the other end of the island. I went to look at it with him at the end of September 2019. It was a vertical drop of indeterminate length and overhanging on all sides. No way into it without much more kit. Potentially a lot more exciting than either of the other two.
Then Covid lockdown got in the way.
Early summer this year I returned to the island with a climbing rope and gear. Steve, a caving friend from home, came to stay in May, bringing a load of caving gear. and we set about the task. With a borrowed cordless hammer drill, we fixed an eye-bolt at the top in the most convenient place for the job. Sadly, Steve fractured his ankle on the path on the way back to the car – so the exploration planned for a couple of days later was deferred.
Early October and everything came together a few days before I was due to return home, having run up against the buffer of my 90 Brexit days. Steve was still crocked, fracture compounded by damaged ligaments/tendons and was stuck in the UK, so the team was me, Nicholas and Ejaz.
We parked the car at a hairpin in The Tarmac and humped the heavy gear in rucksacks up between the rocky mountain-top outcrops of Methystis and Dhafni. We made ‘base camp’ on level ground in the trees where we could sort out the gear and kit-up.
CLICK ON ANY PHOTO TO ENLARGE IT AND OTHERS IN THAT GROUP
The approach to the cave is a steep climb up the crag over what is known by geomorphologists in Arizona as ‘tear-pants limestone’: it’s very sharp! There is nowhere at the edge of the cave to lay things out without danger of losing stuff down cracks and gaps in the rocks, hence the need for base camp. Partly chosen for this reason, the rock we had set the eyebolt to abseil from was relatively smooth, so no danger of fraying the rope over the edge. I’m a climber, so averse to abseiling unless absolutely necessary because of the danger from stones dislodged, therefore a bit of ‘cleaning’ was needed.
Caving-rope clipped in to the eyebolt with a screwgate carabiner, we abseiled in using ‘Figures of 8’, one of the earliest belay devices and the simplest with which to abseil. Getting over the lip of the overhang was a bit if a wriggle but from then in it was an easy drop into the void before arriving on terra-firma about 10 metres below.
The floor of the cave was sloping downwards, unstable with a mixture of loose soil and stones green with algae. The second rope we had set as back-up anchored with climbing ‘protection’ devices (a large ‘hex’ and a MOAC) on the opposite side of the entrance hole had landed at exactly the same spot as the abseil rope – the entrance was not central over the cave but very much to one side. The rectangular opening was high above.
The floor sloped downwards towards a high, narrow cleft to which we carefully made our way down and into.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
That led to another small but even higher chamber with no opening at the top or visible in the sides.
The cleft continued downwards and onwards but very narrow and becoming narrower. It looked as if became too tight within a short distance and, slim as I am, it didn’t tempt us to go any further. There was no ‘draughting’ to indicate it is other than a dead-end.
The floor had no sign of calcite deposits, let alone stalagmites, but was entirely soil and loose stones. Our guess was that material had been gradually falling in, probably since its inception, so calcite, which takes centuries if not millennia to accrete, would not have developed. It may be that the cave originally went much deeper but was partly blocked by fallen rocks and that loose deposits had built up and blocked it.
However, the walls of the cave were another matter altogether. They were covered completely in multi-coloured calcite formations. Much of it looked like coral but with patches of smooth calcite flows and a few stalactites.
Some was at the edge of cracks and crevices, shadows providing contrast.
There were multicoloured calcite deposits like artists mixing palletes on blank walls, some smooth, others textured like mixed oil paints.
Some calcite deposits looked organic rather than mineral. Some were like button mushrooms. One, looking like a gnarled and leathery webbed foot, had a cricket-like creature on it.
The Hot Rock is a harsh environment for animals, with sheep and goat carcases, skeletons and individual bones all over the island. We expected to find some at the bottom of the cave, having fallen in and unable to climb out. Surprisingly there were none, perhaps testament to the difficulty of access to the opening. A single leg bone was all we found, white and desiccated. My guess is that an eagle or raven had dropped it.
We did, however find spiders’ webs hanging down in the main chamber. In the darkest part of the cave were what looked like crickets with antennae three times the length of their bodies, probably an adaptation to living in darkness.
Being in the cave, knowing that almost certainly we were the first to be there, was deeply moving. With the limited camera capability we had, we took photo after photo, using helmet-torches rather than flash. Not all the photos in this blog post are mine and I’m not claiming credit for them so have indicated which were taken by Nicholas and Ejaz.
Eventually it was time to make our exit. Easier said than done as it involved prusiking back up the rope, which proved to be not without its challenges. But, as Alexander the Great said (in Greek rather than English), “Life is only made worthwhile by challenge”.
79
At the entrance we cleared the gear and coiled the ropes almost in silence, carried it back to base camp, packed rucksacks, and trekked to the car, brains buzzing. A truly great day.
**************************
We plan to return next year with a better idea of how to access and exit the cave, with better cameras and lighting, and will measure and record its dimensions.
Reconnaissance and set-up: Steve Waters and Barry Hankey
Descent Team: Nicholas Shum, Barry Hankey, Ejaz Shinwarri
Given that Symi, the ‘Hot Rock’, is made of limestone, there are few caves in comparison to limestone areas in the UK. The main difference is that there is little surface waterflow except in flood conditions, so caves on Symi tend to be ‘fault’ caves, created by seismic movement. Water seeps through the rock leaving calcite deposits but does not ‘cut’ the cave. I have visited a few.
In May 2014 I posted a blog about exploring a cave which a friend had first visited 20 years before.
I have no idea how many had been inside the cave but that people knew about it was clear – rubbish from name-day festivals at the nearby monastery had been thrown down it. Access was simple as it sloped down at about 45o. It was a fairly tight and unstable passage but it didn’t go down very far before it was blocked by fallen rocks. However, as long as you ignored the ecclesiastical rubbish it was great to see the colours and shapes of stalactites and calcite flows.
Then towards the end of June 2019 I took some friends on a walk from Nanou back to the ridge and Horio, spending time on the way to explore the larger Skordhalos Cave marked on the SkaÏ map. It’s a simple walk-in. Climbing up the rock at the back shows no sign of any passages.
A couple of years ago Nicholas stumbled across, but thankfully not into, another cave at the other end of the island. I went to look at it with him at the end of September 2019. It was a vertical drop of indeterminate length and overhanging on all sides. No way into it without much more kit. Potentially a lot more exciting than either of the other two.
Then Covid lockdown got in the way.
Early summer this year I returned to the island with a climbing rope and gear. Steve, a caving friend from home, came to stay in May, bringing a load of caving gear. and we set about the task. With a borrowed cordless hammer drill, we fixed an eye-bolt at the top in the most convenient place for the job. Sadly, Steve fractured his ankle on the path on the way back to the car – so the exploration planned for a couple of days later was deferred.
Early October and everything came together a few days before I was due to return home, having run up against the buffer of my 90 Brexit days. Steve was still crocked, fracture compounded by damaged ligaments/tendons and was stuck in the UK, so the team was me, Nicholas and Ejaz.
We parked the car at a hairpin in The Tarmac and humped the heavy gear in rucksacks up between the rocky mountain-top outcrops of Methystis and Dhafni. We made ‘base camp’ on level ground in the trees where we could sort out the gear and kit-up.
CLICK ON ANY PHOTO TO ENLARGE IT AND OTHERS IN THAT GROUP
The approach to the cave is a steep climb up the crag over what is known by geomorphologists in Arizona as ‘tear-pants limestone’: it’s very sharp! There is nowhere at the edge of the cave to lay things out without danger of losing stuff down cracks and gaps in the rocks, hence the need for base camp. Partly chosen for this reason, the rock we had set the eyebolt to abseil from was relatively smooth, so no danger of fraying the rope over the edge. I’m a climber, so averse to abseiling unless absolutely necessary because of the danger from stones dislodged, therefore a bit of ‘cleaning’ was needed.
Caving-rope clipped in to the eyebolt with a screwgate carabiner, we abseiled in using ‘Figures of 8’, one of the earliest belay devices and the simplest with which to abseil. Getting over the lip of the overhang was a bit if a wriggle but from then in it was an easy drop into the void before arriving on terra-firma about 10 metres below.
The floor of the cave was sloping downwards, unstable with a mixture of loose soil and stones green with algae. The second rope we had set as back-up anchored with climbing ‘protection’ devices (a large ‘hex’ and a MOAC) on the opposite side of the entrance hole had landed at exactly the same spot as the abseil rope – the entrance was not central over the cave but very much to one side. The rectangular opening was high above.
The floor sloped downwards towards a high, narrow cleft to which we carefully made our way down and into.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
That led to another small but even higher chamber with no opening at the top or visible in the sides.
The cleft continued downwards and onwards but very narrow and becoming narrower. It looked as if became too tight within a short distance and, slim as I am, it didn’t tempt us to go any further. There was no ‘draughting’ to indicate it is other than a dead-end.
The floor had no sign of calcite deposits, let alone stalagmites, but was entirely soil and loose stones. Our guess was that material had been gradually falling in, probably since its inception, so calcite, which takes centuries if not millennia to accrete, would not have developed. It may be that the cave originally went much deeper but was partly blocked by fallen rocks and that loose deposits had built up and blocked it.
However, the walls of the cave were another matter altogether. They were covered completely in multi-coloured calcite formations. Much of it looked like coral but with patches of smooth calcite flows and a few stalactites.
Some was at the edge of cracks and crevices, shadows providing contrast.
There were multicoloured calcite deposits like artists’ mixing palletes on blank walls, some smooth, others textured like mixed oil paints.
Some calcite deposits looked organic rather than mineral. Some were like button mushrooms. One, looking like a gnarled and leathery webbed foot, had a cricket-like creature on it.
The Hot Rock is a harsh environment for animals, with sheep and goat carcases, skeletons and individual bones all over the island. We expected to find some at the bottom of the cave, having fallen in and unable to climb out. Surprisingly there were none, perhaps testament to the difficulty of access to the opening. A single leg bone was all we found, white and desiccated. My guess is that an eagle or raven had dropped it.
We did, however find spiders’ webs hanging down in the main chamber. In the darkest part of the cave were what looked like crickets with antennae three times the length of their bodies, probably an adaptation to living in darkness.
19,73,75 unfortunately there was insufficient space to upload these images
Being in the cave, knowing that almost certainly we were the first to be there, was deeply moving. With the limited camera capability we had, we took photo after photo, using helmet-torches rather than flash. Not all the photos in this blog post are mine and I’m not claiming credit for them so have indicated which were taken by Nicholas and Ejaz.
Eventually it was time to make our exit. Easier said than done as it involved prusiking back up the rope, which proved to be not without its challenges. But, as Alexander the Great said (in Greek rather than English), “Life is only made worthwhile by challenge”.
At the entrance we cleared the gear and coiled the ropes almost in silence, carried it back to base camp, packed rucksacks, and trekked to the car, brains buzzing. A truly great day.
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We plan to return next year with a better idea of how to access and exit the cave, with better cameras and lighting, and will measure and record its dimensions.
Barry's Ramblings 