Читать книгу Caves and Cave Life - Philip Chapman - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThere is a curious fascination about caves that seems to affect people of all ages and all cultures. Even as children, we have a kind of longing for caves, seeing them perhaps as a place of safety, but equally as a source of adventure and excitement – a gateway to the unknown.
Our remote ancestors used the entrances of caves as habitations, but reserved their depths as hiding places for their most precious and powerful secrets – the painted, magical symbols which would ensure a continuing supply of game for hunting, and the earthly remains of their dead. Religion was born in caves, and even now the buildings of our Christian cultures retain atavisms of those earlier forms of worship; under the central part of the church lies the crypt, secret and dark – originally the burial place of saints and martyrs. It is perhaps also significant that the Mother of God should have appeared to Bernadette in a grotto at Lourdes, and should have consecrated the cave spring which welled up from underground.
In Japanese mythology the sun-goddess Amaterasu retreated at night to a cave, plunging the world into darkness. The ancient Greeks too gave prominence to caves in their mythology. Zeus, chief of Gods, was born in a cave, and of course the Greek hell lay below ground, and at its gates Charon the ferryman waited in his boat to row the souls of the departed across the black waters of the River Styx into a land of grief and eternal pain. In our own mythology, King Arthur, his knights and hounds are said to slumber still beneath a Welsh mountain, eternally awaiting the call to battle. Even today in parts of New Guinea, tribesmen will say that their ancestors were born directly from the earth through the womb-like opening of a cave.
With such a long cultural association between the darkness of caves, their chill and smell of decay, and the nameless terrors of the grave, it is not surprising that our ancestors should have equated caves with what they knew of volcanic vents and imagined the fires of hell in their depths. Dante’s Inferno is just one manifestation of an older oral tradition in Europe which told of animals, usually a dog or a goose, entering a cave to emerge days later from another miles away, devoid of fur or feathers and showing signs of singeing by infernal flames.
Lurid accounts of real caves are frequent in ancient literature. The Roman philosopher Seneca reported that a party of Greek silver prospectors who ventured underground had encountered:
“huge rushing rivers, vast still lakes, and spectacles fit to make them shake with horror. The land hung above their heads and the winds whistled hollowly in the shadows. In the depths, the frightful rivers led nowhere into the perpetual and alien night.”
Seneca adds that after their return to the surface, the miners “lived in fear for having tempted the fires of Hell.”
Fig. 1.1 Manner of crossing the first river in Peak Cavern, engraved by Cruikshank in 1797, from G.M. Woodward’s Eccentric excursions … in different parts of England & South Wales, pub. Allen & Co., London, 1801. (Courtesy of Trevor Shaw)
Perhaps the oldest written reference to a cave appears in a book about mountains written before 221 B.C. in China – a country where caves have been systematically explored and exploited over many centuries as water supplies and as sources of nitrates for fertilizer and for making gunpowder. The earliest surviving reference to a cave in Britain dates from around 200 A.D. in the writings of Titus Flavius Clemens, known as Clement of Alexandria. He writes:
“Such as have composed histories concerning the Britannic islands tell of a cavern beneath a mountain, and at the summit of it a cleft, and of how from the wind rushing into this cavern and reverberating from its hollows, an echo as of many cymbals is heard.”
Which cave this refers to is uncertain, but a location in either the Mendip Hills or Derbyshire would seem most likely since both areas were well-known as important centres of lead mining during this period. Current opinion favours the Great Cave of Wookey Hole which would undoubtedly have been known in Roman Britain and where, according to Balch (1929), a noise like the clash of cymbals can occasionally be heard.
Irish caves were also documented from the earliest times. The Annals of the Four Masters, written in 928 A.D., record the massacre of 1000 people in Dunmore Cave in County Kilkenny and if the abundant remains excavated there are anything to go by, the account may well be true.
The myth of the ‘howling cave’ resurfaces with Henry of Huntingdon in his mediaeval Historia Anglorum, written in Latin around 1135. He gives pride of place among the four “wonders of England” to a cave “from which the winds issue with great violence”. This one appears to have been situated in the Peak District and may have been Peak Cavern, since some time later Gervase of Tilbury, writing about this cave around 1211, states that strong winds sometimes blow out of it. The third of Huntingdon’s four wonders was also a cave, this time one situated at:
“Chederole where there is a cavity under the earth which many have often entered and where, although they have traversed great expanses of earth and rivers, they could never come to the end.”
This poses modern scholars with an interesting puzzle, for although there is indeed a well-known cave at Cheddar (open to the public as ‘Gough’s Cave’), it is short, easily explored and does not connect with the underground river known to flow beneath it. However, in 1985, cave divers Rob Harper and Richard Stevenson squeezed down a narrow pit in a forgotten corner of Gough’s Cave and emerged underwater into the main river, which they followed upstream to reach a large dry cavern, dubbed the Bishop’s Palace. The flooded system lies close to the water table, and the divers surmise that before the Cheddar rising was enclosed by a dam, the water level may have been low enough to permit entry into the now-flooded cave. On the other hand, the village of Cheddar (once known as ‘Cheddrehola’) is only some ten kilometres away from Wookey Hole, and Huntingdon may well have confused the two localities.
The surprising thing is not the doubts about the accuracy of Henry of Huntingdon’s accounts, but that he should have chosen caves for two of his four ‘wonders of England’. Other mediaeval chroniclers also mention caves and mostly follow Huntingdon’s accounts closely, as also do the various manuscript ‘Wonders of Britain’ or ‘Mirabilia’ which appeared between the 13th and 15th centuries.
In the 16th and early 17th centuries writers such as Leland, Camden, Drayton and Leigh, gripped by the Elizabethan romantic passion for ‘discovering the countryside’, penned lurid accounts of the caves they visited and of the legends and folklore attached to them. One looked forward to a planned visit to Wookey Hole with not a little trepidation:
“though we entered in frolicksome and merry, yet we might return out of it Sad and Pensive, and never more be seen to Laugh whilst we lived in the world.”
The early 17th century saw the rise of a craze for so-called ‘rogue books’ – sensationalized accounts of swashbuckling anti-heroes such as highwaymen and pirates, and some of these make reference to dastardly goings-on in the caves of Derbyshire. Sam Ridd’s The Art of Juggling (1612) portrayed Peak Cavern as a notorious centre of knavery, and Ben Jonson makes several allusions to this cave (under a different name) and its association with beggars and vagabonds in The Devil is an Ass (1616) and The Gipsies Metamorphosed (1621).
Later in the 17th century the Peak District and its caves continued to attract attention through the writings of Charles Cotton, best known for his collaboration with Izaak Walton on later editions of The Compleat Angler. Cotton’s fondness for caves may be not altogether unconnected with his habit of using them as a sanctuary when hiding from his creditors.
Fig. 1.2 An imaginary ‘straightened out’ view of Peak cavern. In the foreground are the rope-makers’ cottages. From a copper engraving titled The Devil’s Arse, near Castleton, in Derbyshire which appeared in Charles Leigh The natural history of Lancashire, Cheshire and the Peak in Derbyshire, pub. Oxford, 1700. (Courtesy of Trevor Shaw)
Daniel Defoe, the great traveller and polemicist, seems to have completely failed to appreciate the ‘Wonders of the Peak’ which so enthused his contemporaries. Dubbing them the ‘wonderless wonders’, he selects Peak Cavern for a particularly scornful treatment:
“… where we come to the so famed Wonder call’d, saving our good Manners, The Devil’s A--e in the Peak; Now not withstanding the grossness of the Name given it, and that there is nothing of similitude or coherence either in Form and Figure, or any other thing between the thing signified and the thing signifying; yet we must search narrowly for any thing in it to make a Wonder, or even any thing so strange, or odd, or vulgar, as the Name would seem to import.”
This seems a bit harsh, as the entrance to Peak Cavern is, I would have thought, impressive by any standards. On the other hand, Defoe goes right over the top in his reaction to nearby Eldon Hole: “this pothole is about a mile deep … and … goes directly down perpendicular into the Earth, and perhaps to the Center”. It is actually 75 m deep.
Although Defoe’s Tour was not intended to be a guide book, a series of revisions by various editors up to 1778 made it ever more like one; even going to the lengths of adding in descriptions of caves not included in the original version. The success of the Tour and the rise of the ‘picturesque’ movement in art and architecture (epitomized by the romantic landscape designs of Humphrey Repton) no doubt encouraged the early 19th century vogue of ‘curious travellers’ who sought out and explored previously neglected corners of the countryside in order to write about their experience. Where previously the ideal landscape had been one which showed the civilizing hand of man in formal gardens and straight avenues of trees, ‘wild nature’ now became fashionable. Any accessible landscape featuring dramatic cliffs and wooded gorges, crumbling ruins and, of course, caves, became a tourist attraction. A swelling tide of visitors headed for the fashionable delights of the Peak and Wookey Hole, the scars and potholes of the Yorkshire Dales, the seacaves of Scotland and Kent’s Cavern at Torquay. Even the great Dr Samuel Johnson seems to have been caught up with enthusiasm for a sea cave he visited on Skye during his tour of the Hebrides in 1773.
The descriptions by the ‘curious travellers’ generally aimed to convey emotions of awe, wonder or terror at the beauty and power of ‘wild nature’. Caves lent themselves particularly well to the Gothic imaginations of young romantic writers like Benjamin Malkin, who described a visit to the entrance of Porthyr-Ogof in his The Scenery, Antiquities, and Biography of South Wales (1807):
Fig. 1.3 Fingal’s Cave from a hand-coloured wood engraving by Whimper, in Anon: Natural Phenomena, pub. London, SPCK, 1849. (Courtesy of Trevor Shaw)
“We penetrated about an hundred yards, as far as any glimmering of daylight from the mouth directed us: and this specimen of Stygian horror was amply sufficient to satisfy all rational curiosity. The passage over uneven rocks, with scarcely a guiding light, and in many places with a bottomless gulph directly under on the left, in a misty atmosphere from the vapour of the place and the exhaustion of a laborious walk, was not to be pleasurably continued for any length of time or distance. … Any person who will enter this cavern … may form a just idea … of the classical Avernus and poetical descent into the infernal regions.”
The north-country clergyman John Hutton stands out among the ‘curious travellers’ as someone who developed a genuine interest in caves. His A Tour to the Caves in the environs of Ingleborough and Settle (in various editions from 1780 onwards) contained descriptions of some two dozen caves and potholes and was the first book in Britain, and one of the first in the world, whose main purpose was to describe the natural history of caves. In spite of his liberal use of Gothic adjectives such as “horrid”, “dreadful” and “terrible”, a real enthusiasm for his subject comes through, and in the two later editions of his book he added a section entitled “conclusions of a philosophic nature”, in which he discusses limestone geology, cavern formation and hydrology. Some of his views, particularly those on the springs and underground streams of the area, were farsighted, although others seem laughably quaint in the light of modern science. It is interesting for the modern reader to note the touchstone against which he measured his own ideas:
“I think I may say without presumption, that my theory is conformable to events as related by Moses; and my reasoning agreeable to the philosophical principles of Sir Isaac Newton, where they could be introduced.”
The early 19th century boom in natural science, when it spread to caves, focussed initially on two fields of research which Hutton had completely overlooked – namely palaeontology and archaeology. Deposits of bones had been known from caves in mainland Europe at least as far back as the 16th century, when speculation about their nature had inclined, as might be expected, to the fantastic. Some were considered to be dragon bones, while others – the sub-fossil tusks of elephants or mammoths, known as ‘unicorn horn’ – were greatly prized for their reputed medicinal properties. Quite an industry sprang up around such deposits, and their discoverers or the owners of the caves could become rich on the proceeds.
The Victorian naturalists were the first to appreciate the antiquity of cave bone deposits and their value as a geological record of Britain’s past. The best known of the early cave excavators was Dean Buckland, who plundered cave deposits throughout the country in the 1820s. In the interpretation of his results he was limited by the thinking of his day, but he recognized that many of the bones were from animals no longer present in Britain, and in some cases from animals that no longer existed at all. He was the first to suggest that the explanation for the accumulation of fossil bones in some caves might be that in the distant past hyaenas had used the caves as dens and dragged the carcasses of animals into them. Buckland also made the first find of an Old Stone Age human burial, the ‘Red Lady of Paviland’ found in Goat Hole on the Gower coast, so-called because her body had been anointed with ochre before burial.
Fig. 1.4 Gough’s Cave digging in early 1935, first published in Bristol Evening World, 1 Feb 1935. (Trevor Shaw collection, courtesy of Cheddar Caves Ltd.)
In the 1830s, Schmerling recognized that the remains of humans and of extinct mammals found together in the same deposits in Belgium were of the same age. It was not, however, until later in the century, that the work of William Pengelly and Boyd Dawkins and their colleagues established that these remains dated back thousands of years to the Ice Ages of the Pleistocene era, when cave-dwelling people shared our familiar countryside with a fearsome array of giant animals, including cave bears, hyaenas, woolly mammoth, bison, aurochs and woolly rhinoceros. Excavation in caves has, of course, continued to the present day, and cave sites worldwide have now yielded material which has helped to shape our understanding of human evolution and the birth of our culture.
The systematic exploration, documentation and commercial exploitation of caves was already underway in China many centuries before miners and natural historians first began to measure and record details of our European cave systems in a scientific way. One of the first of this breed of explorers in Britain was John Beaumont, a 17th century Somerset surgeon and an amateur student of mining and geology. When in 1674 lead miners excavating a shaft in the Mendip Hills accidentally breached a natural underground chamber, Beaumont hastened to the site and hired six miners to accompany him into the cave. Carrying candles, the company descended the 18 m shaft to the first chamber, which Beaumont proceeded to measure: it was 73 m long, two metres wide and nine metres high. “The floor of it is full of loose rocks,” wrote Beaumont in his subsequent report to the Royal Society, “its roof is firmly vaulted with limestone rocks, having flowers of all colours hanging from them which present a most beautiful object to the eye.” The intrepid surgeon then led a 100 m crawl through a further low passage which opened into the side of a second chamber, so vast, Beaumont reported, that “by the light of our candles we could not fully discern the roof, floor, nor sides of it.” The miners, accustomed as they were to the underground, could not be persuaded to enter this chasm, even for double pay. So Beaumont went down himself:
Fig. 1.5 Interior Chamber of Cox’s Stalactite Cavern, Cheddar, Somersetshire. Lithograph by Newman & Co. London; pub. S. Cox, Cheddar about 1850. (Courtesy of Trevor Shaw)
“I fastened a cord about me, and ordered them to let me down gently. But being down about two fathom I found the rocks to bear away, so that I could touch nothing to guide myself by, and the rope began to turn round very fast, whereupon I ordered the miners to let me down as quick as they could.”
He landed dizzy but safe 21 m below, on the floor of a cavern 35 m in diameter and nearly 37 m high within which he found large veins of lead ore. Surprisingly, Beaumont’s account failed to stimulate much curiosity about caves in scientific circles, and after a brief flurry of lead mining, the cave, known as Lamb Leer, was abandoned; its entrance shaft eventually collapsed and the sealed-off chamber was virtually forgotten for two centuries.
The rediscovery of Beaumont’s long-lost Lamb Leer cave took place in 1879, the same year that a young French law student, Edouard-Alfred Martel, made his first visit to the famous Adelsberg Cave in Slovenia (which was then part of Austria, but since World War II has reverted to its local name of Postojna Jama). Martel was completely enthralled, and in 1883 began to devote all his vacation time to cave explorations in the Causses of southwestern France. What set him apart from previous cave explorers, was his meticulous preparations and his systematic recording of all aspects of the caves he explored, combined with a tremendous physical ability and courage. His speciality was deep vertical pits, and in 1889 he successfully negotiated the 213 m vertical entrance shaft of the Rabanel pothole north-west of Marseilles – an outstanding feat given the equipment then available.
To calculate a pit’s depth, he would read the barometric pressure at the bottom and compare it with the surface pressure. He measured the horizontal dimensions of each newly-discovered chamber with a metal tape, drawing a sketch of the cave as he worked. Roof heights were calculated with an ingenious contraption: after attaching a silk thread to a small paper balloon, he would suspend an alcohol-soaked sponge beneath it, light the sponge, and measure off the length of thread carried aloft by the miniature hot-air balloon. Martel also habitually recorded subterranean air and water temperatures, finding variations with depth and season, and amassed whole volumes about cave geology, hydrology, meteorology and flora and fauna. But perhaps his greatest contribution to cave science was his research on how subterranean water circulates – a study prompted by his own bout with ptomaine poisoning, contracted from drinking spring water in 1891. After recovering from the illness, he traced the spring’s source using fluorescein dye introduced to nearby sink holes. Descending the appropriate pit, he found the putrefying carcass of a dead calf that had contaminated the spring with what he wryly termed “veal bouillon”. Further study allowed him to distinguish between “true springs”, fed by diffuse circulation of rainwater, cleaned and filtered by its passage through soil and rocks, and “false springs” fed by a rapid flow from sinkholes via cave passages too large to filter out impurities. Martel’s subsequent campaigning for stricter control of sources of drinking water eventually led to a dramatic reduction in deaths from typhoid and won him a gold medal from the French Government.
In 1895 Martel founded the French ‘Société de Spéléologie’, arguing that ‘speleology’, which had been previously considered a sport or a singular eccentricity, should be recognized as a fully-fledged science – “a subdivision of physical geography, like limnology for lakes and oceanography for seas.” A prolific author, he edited Spelunca, his Society’s bulletin, and wrote books about his own cave discoveries. In 1907 the French Academy of Sciences awarded him the grand prize for physical sciences, and in 1928 he was elected president of the Geographical Society of Paris. By the time he died in 1938, aged 78, the grand old man of speleology had personally probed nearly 1500 caves, hundreds of which had never been entered before; his technical innovations had become standard equipment for other cavers; and above all, his persistence and dedication had created a framework within which the seedling science of speleology could develop and blossom.
Meanwhile, the systematic documentation of caves had also started in Britain, with the formation of the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club in 1892. Under the influence of S.W. Cuttriss, dubbed ‘the scientist’ for his assiduity in recording the group’s findings, its members drew up surveys of the caves they explored, and kept notes of temperatures, altitudes and geographical features.
The great exploration challenge of the day was the awesome Gaping Gill, a pothole high on the slopes of Ingleborough Hill which had been plumbed to a depth of 110 m, but had never been descended. The main obstacle to its exploration came from Fell Beck, an icy stream which cascades down the entrance, filling it with spray and extinguishing any flame which might light a caver’s descent, as well as half-drowning him. A local man, John Birkbeck, had made two heroic, but unsuccessful attempts to descend the pit in the 1840s, after digging a trench to divert the Fell Beck to another sink. His first try nearly proved fatal, when strands of his rope were severed on a rock ledge, but on his second attempt he reached a ledge at 58 m which now bears his name. Yorkshire Ramblers’ member Edward Calvert took up the challenge and had almost completed his own preparations for a descent on rope ladders in 1895, when Martel arrived on the scene, hot-foot from London where he had been invited to address an International Geographical Congress on cave-hunting methods.
As something of a celebrity, Martel was encouraged by the lord of Ingleborough Manor to have a crack at the great pothole and given the support needed to refurbish and extend Birkbeck’s trench. On August 1, before an eager crowd, Martel knotted together his lengths of ladder and lowered them into the darkness. As he climbed down the four metre-wide shaft he was rapidly enveloped by “half-suffocating whirls of air and water” which soaked his clothes and the field telephone which he relied upon to communicate instructions to the back-up team who controlled his safety line from the surface. The cascade redoubled 40 m down and he had to descend through a “frigid torrent gushing from a large fissure”. Pausing on Birkbeck’s ledge to untangle the huge heap of rope which had lodged there, he continued into the unknown depths below. Sixteen metres on, the walls of the shaft suddenly receded and Martel found himself swinging like a pendulum near the roof of an immense chamber nearly 160 m long by 30 m high. He alighted on the floor only 23 minutes after he began the descent, and characteristically at once set about measuring and sketching his discovery. For an hour and a quarter, the Frenchman revelled in the spectacle of the “Hall of the Winds”, Britain’s largest underground chamber from whose roof the waters of the Fell Beck tumbled “in a great nimbus of vapour and light”. There was a certain sense of nationalist triumph too: “The most pleasant feature was the thought that I had succeeded where the English had failed, and on their own ground.”
Fig. 1.6 Gaping Gill – the main chamber showing the waterfall falling 110 metres from the surface. A photograph taken in the 1930s by Eli Simpson. (Trevor Shaw collection)
Martel’s descent of Gaping Gill received wide publicity and awakened an interest in the possibilities of cave exploration in other parts of Britain. A group of Derbyshire rock climbers calling themselves the Kyndwr Club started to explore the caves of that county and further afield. One of their leading spirits was Dr E.A. Baker, a native of Somerset, but at that time resident in the Midlands. He was a colourful and influential character, an academic who later became director of the School of Librarianship in the University of London, but whose interest in caving was primarily sporting.
At about this time, H.E. Balch, a young postal worker at Wells in Somerset, came across a fragment of reindeer antler in the Hyena Den near Wookey Hole and, inspired by the work of Professor (later Sir William) Boyd Dawkins, at once threw himself into a study of all kinds of archaeological and fossil cave sites on Mendip. Soon Balch had founded the Wells Natural History and Archaeological Society and started the collections which eventually grew into Wells Museum. The subsequent arrival on the Mendip scene in 1902 of Baker and his colleagues from Derbyshire led to a long and fruitful collaboration, during which many of Mendip’s greatest caves were dug open and explored. Both Balch and Baker were prolific writers and their publications, spread over several decades, played a large part in stimulating an interest in caving during the early part of this century. A number of clubs began to appear which cheerfully combined a scientific and sporting approach to caving, setting a pattern which has continued to the present day. Scientifically motivated ‘speleologists’ still recognize their dependence on sporting cavers for much of the initial exploration and often for support when working in the more exacting situations. Many are in any case themselves sporting cavers, or were in their younger days. On the other side very few of those whose motives are primarily sporting are completely uninterested in the whys and wherefores of the natural features which provide them with their sport. They also appreciate that scientific understanding increases the chances of finding more caves.
There are few completely unexplored places anywhere on the surface of the earth and none in a country such as Britain; but caves hold out the promise, or at least the hope, of completely new discovery. Most cavers must sometimes dream of one day discovering a new cave, or an extension to a known one, and of being the first to gaze upon whatever wonders it may hold. If these are the things which provide motivation for caving as a sport, they are nearly always reinforced by at least some measure of scientific curiosity, and most cavers combine the two in varying proportions.
In the years after World War II, the popularity of caving, as of so many other active pursuits, increased enormously in many parts of the world. In Britain the 1950s and 60s in particular saw a great proliferation of caving clubs and, although some of these were ephemeral, the overall level of interest and activity has remained high. Perhaps the most important development in British caving in the early post-war years was the opening up of South Wales as a major caving region. Up until 1936, cavers had taken surprisingly little interest in the area considering that Porth-yr-Ogof had been known for hundreds of years and Dan-yr-Ogof had been discovered and explored as far as the waterfalls in 1912. It was to these two caves that experienced cavers from Yorkshire and Mendip first turned their attention in 1936 and interest in the area developed rapidly. By the time that caving came to a virtual halt with the outbreak of war in 1939, the potential of South Wales was apparent to all. In 1946 the South Wales Caving Club was formed and within a few months two of its members, Peter Harvey and Ian Nixon, dug their way into the lower end of the great Ogof Ffynnon Ddu cave system on the east side of the Upper Tawe Valley. Initially rapid exploration was halted by a series of sumps (flooded sections of passage) and it was not until 1966 that a dig in the upper levels of the cave gave access into the vast maze of OFD II. A rush of new discoveries followed in quick succession over the next year, extending the vertical range of the cave to 300 m and its total length to around 40 km, making it Britain’s deepest and longest cave system. (Although cave divers have since linked up various parts of the Ease Gill system in Yorkshire to give it the number one position with an overall passage length of over 70 km).
As we have seen, cave science, and in particular the archaeological and palaeontological investigation of caves, started well before the development of caving as a sport. As early as the mid-nineteenth century the living faunas of caves were receiving fairly extensive study in mainland Europe and America by the likes of J.C. Schiodte and A.S. Packard; and following the influence of Martel, the physical aspects of speleology – geology, geomorphology and hydrology – were well established there by the turn of the century.
Evidence that early man was conscious of the existence of a subterranean fauna dates back to a remarkable engraving of a cave cricket on a bison bone discovered by Count Begouen while excavating in the Grotte des Trois Frères in the French Pyrenees. The carving is believed to be 18,000 years old, yet is sufficiently clear and detailed for the subject to be recognizeable as a Troglophilus species, which today is distributed from Italy to Asia Minor, but no longer inhabits France.
For the next surviving reference to cave life in Europe, we must move on to the 16th century and the observant Count Trissino, who, in a letter dated 5th March 1537, recorded what must have been a form of the cave-limited amphipod, Niphargus. He noted that at the far end of the Covolo di Costozza in northern Italy there was a deep pool of clear water. “In this water no fish of any kind are found, except for some tiny shrimp-like creatures similar to the marine shrimps that are sold in Venice.”
Fig. 1.7 A prehistoric engraving on a bison bone, discovered by Count Bégouen in the Grotte des Trois Frères (French Pyrenees), featuring the cave cricket Troglophilus. (After Bégouen)
The Slovenian Olm, Proteus, seems to have been well-known to the villagers of the Trieste area for centuries. Specimens occasionally appeared after floods in the Lintverm (from the German ‘Lindvurm’, meaning ‘dragon’) – a tributary of the River Bela near Vrihnika. With their long, pink, rather reptilian bodies, they were taken, not unreasonably, to be dragon fry – the offspring of a shadowy monster who lived in the roaring cave from which the river flowed and who caused periodic floods by opening sluice gates when her living quarters were threatened by rising water. But in the 1680s, Baron Johann Valvasor, a Slovene nobleman and well-travelled amateur scientist, ruined centuries of colourful legend by exposing the Olm as a perfectly natural blind cave salamander.
In 1799, the German naturalist-explorer Baron Alexander von Humboldt, accompanied by a French botanist called Bonpland, visited the famous Cueva del Guacharo in the Caripe Valley of Venezuela. There he collected and described a cavernicolous bird, Steatornis caripensis, belonging to the order which includes the nightjars, which had been known for a long time to the Indians under the name ‘guacharo’. Humboldt was greatly impressed by the screeches produced by the birds when disturbed at their cave roost. “Their shrill and piercing cries strike upon the rocky vaults,” he wrote, “and are repeated by the subterranean echoes.” Having heard them myself, I would describe the racket as the sound of a thousand mad chickens locked up in a barn with a fox.
In 1808, Schreibers discovered the first invertebrate cave fauna in Austria and more extensive collecting was done in the Postojna area by Count Franz von Hohenwart and others from 1831 onwards. It was there too that the Danish zoologist J.C. Schiodte recognized that cave faunas showed differing degrees of specialization to life in darkness, and so laid the foundations for a system of ecological classification of cave life. This was advanced in a more rigorous form in 1854 by J.R. Schiner and has been widely used by cave biologists ever since. This work perhaps marked the beginnings of the systematic discipline of ‘biospȼologie’, a term proposed by Armand Viré in 1904, to refer to the study of subterranean life.
Fig. 1.8 The old route across the underground river Pivka in the Great Hall of Postojna Jama in Slovenia from an aquatint engraved by G. Dobler after a painting by Alois Schaffenrath, published in 1830. (Courtesy of Trevor Shaw)
In the USA important work continued intermittently from 1840. In that year Davidson collected the first specimens of a blind white fish in Mammoth Cave, described by de Kay, Wyman and Tellkampf as Amblyopsis spelaea. Tellkampf went on to describe other fauna from Mammoth Cave and was followed by E.D. Cope and A.S. Packard, whose remarkable studies through the 1870s put America for a time at the forefront of biospeleological research. Meanwhile, in the 1840s, V. Motschoulsky reported the first cave-specialized insects captured in the caves of Caucasia, and in 1857 De la Rouzee discovered the first cavernicolous insects known from France.
Scientific investigation of our cave faunas began in a round-about way in about 1852, when Professor Westwood and S. Bate included the following reference in their History of the British Sessile-eyed Crustacea, Vol.1, published in 1863.
“In the year 1852”, writes Bate, “Professor Westwood was so fortunate as to obtain from a pump-well near Maidenhead, a quantity of [Niphargus sp.] … since when they have been found in Hampshire, Wiltshire … and very recently in Dublin.”
Shortly afterwards, news of the discovery in Europe and America of strange blind cave animals prompted Naturalists E. Percival Wright and A.H. Haliday to search for similar creatures in Mitchelstown New Cave in Co. Tipperary. Their search was successful and they described their find – a tiny Collembolan doubtfully identified as Lipura stillicidii Schiodte – in a paper read before a British Association Meeting in Dublin in 1857.
More than thirty years were to elapse before the next glimmer of enthusiasm for Irish cave life manifested itself in the form of a joint excursion in 1894 by the Dublin, Cork and Limerick Field Clubs to the Cave of Mitchelstown. One of the participants, George H. Carpenter, recorded that “after an informal luncheon on the roadside, the party being provided with candles, descended the sloping passage and ladder which led to the depths below.” They spent two hours searching for cave animals and, although they failed to reach the underground river, made a reasonable collection of fauna, including the rare blind cave spider now known as Porrhomma rosenhaueri. In the same year, pioneering English arachnologist F.O.P. Cambridge collected spiders in Wookey Hole, but without finding anything of particular interest.
Early in 1895 E.A. Martel and his wife paid a well-publicised visit to Ireland. The event prompted the Fauna and Flora Committee of the Royal Irish Academy to support H.L. Jameson with a grant “to further investigate cave fauna in Ireland”. He joined the Martels in the Enniskillen area of Co. Fermanagh and, while the Frenchman surveyed the caves and drew up his plans, Jameson collected cave animals. The interest seems to have persisted, for Jameson is also known to have made faunal collections in Speedwell Mine in Derbyshire in 1901, but there then followed a gap of over thirty years during which British cave fauna was again neglected.
Fig. 1.9 One of the earliest illustrations of cave fauna from Adolf Schmidl’s Die Grotten und Höhlen von Adelsberg, Lueg, Planina und Laas. Wien, Braumüller, 1854. (Courtesy Trevor Shaw)
In 1936 the British Speleological Association was launched, with a brief to co-ordinate the work of caving clubs and to foster interest in the scientific aspects of caving. Things did not run entirely smoothly, however, and in 1947 another body, the Cave Research Group of Great Britain, emerged with a more specific research interest. Both societies ran in parallel until 1973 when they merged to form the British Cave Research Association which has become a major publisher of speleological research.
Meanwhile another organization concerned with cave science had been formed in 1962. This was the Association of the Pengelly Cave Research Centre, now the William Pengelly Cave Studies Trust. It is London-based, but its interests are very much centred in Devon where it runs the Pengelly Cave Research Centre at Buckfastleigh. The trust is active in education and conservation and produces publications covering a broad range of speleological topics.
The multidisciplinary nature of speleology allows significant contributions to be made as much by talented amateur observers as by trained professional scientists, and we owe much of our present knowledge of the faunas of British caves to the work of a handful of exceptionally dedicated amateur naturalists. The central figures of the group were Brigadier E.A. (Aubrey) Glennie and his niece Mary Hazelton, who in 1938 began making systematic collections in the caves of Yorkshire, Derbyshire and Mendip. Glennie, an excellent all-round naturalist, picked up his interest in cave life while serving in India, where among other things, he published a study on the nesting behaviour of Himalayan Swiftlets in caves. On his retirement in 1946, he became a driving force in the biological work of the newly formed Cave Research Group, and was soon recognized as an authority on British hypogean amphipods. Hazelton assumed the mantle of Biological Recorder to the CRG, and for the next 29 years diligently co-ordinated the identification of collections submitted by fellow cavers and compiled the results for publication, first in the Transactions of the Cave Research Group and later of the British Cave Research Association. Among the most notable contributors to the faunal collections of this period were Jean Dixon of the Northern Cavern & Mine Research Society and W.G.R. Maxwell of Chelsea Speleological Society.
The 1950s saw the appearance on the scene of two particularly influential figures, both professional biologists. One was Dr Anne Mason-Williams, a microbiologist whose pioneering studies on the microflora of South Wales caves remains the definitive work in this field. The other was Dr G.T. ‘Jeff’ Jefferson, a lecturer in zoology at University College, Cardiff, who quickly established himself as the leading authority on British cave faunas and went on to become president of the British Cave Research Association, and a greatly respected ambassador for speleology in Britain. Jefferson’s major contribution to cave science in Britain before his untimely death in 1986, was in shaping the wealth of observation gathered by his amateur predecessors into a coherent picture of the biogeographical history and ecological relationships of our cave fauna. It is his work above all that has provided the inspiration for this book.
Non-cavers are fond of asking cavers why they venture underground. The usual answer is along the lines that “caving is good fun”. Many would add that caving is most fun when spiced with the excitement of discovery. For the sporting caver, this means finding a way into previously unvisited passages, or whole new cave systems. For the speleologist there is the further excitement of recording new observations and of gaining fresh insights into the history, development, or life of the cave. The discipline of cave biology remains poorly developed in Britain and Ireland, affording tremendous scope for discoveries of all sorts by amateur as well as professional naturalists.
Driving curiosity and a sense of wonder are perhaps the two features which above all unite the caver and the naturalist. I hope that this book can make the passion of the one intelligible to the other, and so enhance the experience of both.
