Fox/Armageddon - Connection attempt

A personal perspective of a multi-team effort.

Apparently some people have thought that the Fox River Cave and Armageddon Cave should probably connect. I got invited on a recent trip to see if the location of that connection could be narrowed down by conducting a series of scientifically designed tests involving sound, smoke and dye.

Neil S. had originally organised the trip intending to be there himself when he ended up crook at the critical moment. I guess it was inevitable that certain aspects of his planning were going to be subject to re-interpretation as the trip unfolded.

Saturday:

My own start was a little jittery when one of the cavers, who lives just down the road from me but who had never actually been to my house, was late in picking me up. As the Germanic race are punctual to a fault, after a quarter of an hour I txt to check on their well-being. It seems that Google maps had instructed them to drive several kilometres away to another part of town rather than the 300m down the road from her house to mine.

            The two connection teams had been instructed to rendezvous at the Fox River carpark for a general run down on the plan and then to leave the Fox River Carpark at the same time. However as the team I was with, Team ‘A’ for Armageddon you could call us, were vastly better organised at 10:13am we left ahead of the Fox River Team ‘B’. This caused a slight hiccup when the A Team slightly mis-calculated the precise whereabouts of the Armageddon track turnoff. We carried on up the Fox River track for some distance before deciding to pull over and wait for the slow coaches to catch up. Team B meanwhile distributed ropes, packed, organised, re-packed, discussed options for the day and then completed a final definitive re-pack before making their way up to where we were. On arrival the B Team cheerfully informed us of the exact whereabouts of the Armageddon track and accurately described how far we were now going to have to backtrack.
         Neil had let us know that our tramp to Armageddon Bivvy would take 4 hours. Once on the correct track we settled into a good pattern of progress. Half an hour later our one member who’d been here before informed us that we had reached the point at which “most of the climbing had been done”. Breathing heavy sighs of relief we rested for a short spell. From whence we hoisted our 20kg+ packs and continued climbing steadily for another hour or more.
         By mid-afternoon our track finding, regular ‘power-stops’, occasional ‘power-breaks’, frequent ‘power-breathers’, and general tea-drinking were going exceptionally well when we came to a classic triple-tape junction marker with leads heading off in multiple directions. One could, of course, name names and list a series of specific mis-demeanours that occurred at this moment, but hey, the sun was shining, the bush was dry and the tiki-tour that we embarked upon lasted no more than an hour, or so, and it is only fair to mention that that same person also guided us back to the marked track again – eventually.

         We struck the bivvy at 5:15pm, just in time for hors d’oeuvres and chilled G&T.
            It has to be said that the bivvy is uncommonly natty. But do ignore Neil's nonchalant claim that it can accommodate 15-20. It can’t. 3-4 in the main area and 1-2 in the honeymoon suite is entirely adequate. I slept quite literally on the edge of a 5m vertical drop-off into the river as it was, held secure only by the knowledge that I would sleep lightly on the first night out. However, a sprinkling of glow worms adorned our ceiling, Ruru serenaded in the gloaming and moonlight be-jeweled the chattering stream below us. There are clothes lines, deck chairs, gas bottles, a stove, frypan and tyre tubes (should you require one), ropes, SRT gear, over-alls etc. all already conveniently laid in. Joe, our Chef de Mission, did not disappoint. His vegetable-tuna-pasta was delicious, cooked as it was, with fresh bell pepper, fresh broccoli and lots of onions.
          

Sunday:

            We were up early, gobbled a full English and were off like a shot with the 10 o’clock chimes hardly beating us by much at all. The entrance to Armageddon (clearly jealous of our admiration for the bivvy) laid it on fairly thick as we made our way in. An endless cascade of droplets sparkled like a million crystals free falling from the verdant moss overhanging the rock face. An ephemeral cave-mist pirouetted upwards to be sculpted by the slanting rays of an effusive sun. The entire picture was framed by the delicately illuminated canyon walls towering heavenward above us. Amazing. It was of course impossible to photograph and completely useless on GoPro, so you’ll just have to take my word for it or go there yourself and hope for a fine day.
            Shortly thereafter we arrived at our intended destination. 12:00pm (actually 12:00am on the emailed plan) was the time to conduct the dye test. Having not decided who should do the dye test, where we should do the dye test or even if we should do the dye test at all, we nestled in a dryish alcove for a hearty and well-earned luncheon. As the 12:30 deadline to swim across the pool to the ‘connection’ point loomed, it was decided it would be best to release the dye into the streamway immediately. Unhappily the stream into flowed out into the pool for the current to then grind to a complete standstill. Thus when I came to dive gracefully into the frigid fluid, like some over-size lily-white tadpole a moment later, it was into a thickly lime-coloured goodness that I did so. It remains a pity there is no photographic record to share with you of the lovely, swirly patterns that traced out my soggy splashy progress across the pool and through the small air-gap under the low arching roof.

            For the next 2 hours however, cool-headed science and strict methodology needed to prevail. Precision was paramount. Discipline was demanded. And if wheels were to fall off the plan then why have them all fall off with carefree abandon? 

Release the Dye!

Add caving bag containing loosely tied drybag of spare clothes

Add self to cocktail and stir gently

Low roof to be ducked under

Joe appears

Joe emerges

Get dry and quickly

Out of the luminescent Arctic pool I crawled dripping fluorescein (green dye). Jolly emerald puddles appeared under my feet and cave bag. Lustily I tore open my dry bag full of clothes, poured out the green water and got dressed. Knowing we were now behind our meticulous Neil-lonian schedule I hastily assembled the fog horn. At least I would have if the two pieces could have agreed on a compromise and met in the middle. In the end the plastic trumpet balanced jauntily atop the aerosol can and we simply crossed our fingers each time before using it. We did get one good short blast out of it but most of the subsequent noises were of the type heard coming from the chook house when one of them is terminal.

Our “smoke maker” seemed determined to maintain a clean green conscience and on principle would not produce so much as a wisp of smoke. We burned high, we burned low, we used a lot of kero, but we always burned clean.

We checked on the fluorescein tracing and were reassured that no detectable movement had occurred. It lay perfectly still in the self-same swirl as when we had clambered out. To amuse ourselves in between scientific tests we played chicken with large boulders perched just above our heads, sadly to no avail and happily to no injury.

The time came to conclude the proceedings and desist our connection attempt. Undressing in front of a strange man to bathe for a second time in a chilled virulent-green pool, deep in the bowels of the earth may or may not make the list of “here are a few of my favourite things”. By now the local population of Koura (freshwater crayfish) had gathered at the pool edge nearest us, greeting our toes with nippy pincers as we took to the waters once more.

Monday:

            We had planned to optimise our arduous walk in by doing two days caving while we were there. But in the end enthusiasm faltered and inspiration was found curled up in the foetal position, so we packed out.

             Was the mission a success? Well, we didn’t shake hands with Team B through some narrow egress before cracking the champers. But the Neil-lonian plan was on the whole executed, yes some of the minuscule details played out differently, but for our part we made noise, fire and pretty green patterns in the water as we had been asked to. Hypotheses were tested, information was gathered and numbers were crunched. All of which, no doubt, is still disturbing the sleep of a certain few…