Mountain Rescue

(or any excuse not to go caving.)

On July 16th, myself and 16 other foolhardy individuals decided to take off for Bridgwater to do a bunjee jump. For the uninitiated, this involves jumping 200ft from a crane attatched to a rubber band. All having completed the objective (an incredible experience - you should all try it), we returned to base well oiled with scrumpy. I was limping slightly, but, well, for a caver, I'm used to that.

The following day, undaunted, I set off with my fellow ramblers to walk to Crickhowell from Pengenfordd, a distance of some 12 miles. The first 10 were uneventful and enjoyable. Unfortunately, with 2 to go, on the very summit of Table mountain, I tripped over a large rock that was in my path. No it wasn't the after affects of the scrumpy. Anglo Saxon words filled the air, but to no avail. I was unable to stand, and in great pain was helped into a survival bag. No naked Chippendales available for warmth I'm afraid. Two of the party set off for help whilst 3 others stayed with me.

One hour and ten minutes later, oh no, I could hear a helicopter. The Welsh police to the rescue. I will never live this down. What an embarrasment. It wasn't even as if I was in Darren or Aggy. Two super hunky policemen stretchered and lifted me in, and with my friend Chris we set off to Nevill Hall Hospital. Even worse, there was an ambulance and police car waiting. They must have thought it was severe. The pain certainly was.

Well, that was it really. Three hours later and several X-rays showed nothing broken. With a shot in the bum and a pair of crutches I was sent home. Further checks showed torn ligaments and an injured ham string. So chaps, no caving for a while. Any suggestions?

Marianne Willson