9th December 1906
The Jug Hole! What fascination and happy memories arise at the mere mention of the name. Whilst searching the Matlock area for new cave-worlds to conquer, the writer heard a local legend relative to the now famous ‘Jug Hole,’ which at the time had never been explored.
From this it seemed to be “a most mysterious place, and one not to be entered without due care, for beyond its arched entrance, there existed a deep pool, which if once crossed would give easy access to a beautiful cavern.”
The actual opening, some 50 feet wide and 100 feet long, runs due north and south into Masson Hill, opposite Snitterton, and resembles in miniature the grander entrance of the Peak Cavern, Castleton. The entrance, beautifully foliaged, presents a splendid appearance as one stands on the top of the steep slope of earth and stones. From within this deep recess, the perspective is even more imposing, as the sidewalls and loft-overhanging roof are then clearly silhouetted against the sky.
Our first visit to the Jug Hole – in 1906 – was impromptu, and we found ourselves too well dressed to attempt serious exploration work. The next visit also failed to elucidate anything definite regarding the main cavern, and the Jug Hole indeed seemed a mystery.
Several weeks later, the writer led another attack with a well-equipped party, including the owner, Mr R.Mountney. It is fitting to here record the names of this party, for whilst squatted round the camp fire, they unanimously decided to form an organisation which still flourishes, and is known in British climbing circles as the Derbyshire Pennine Club. Their names are: Messrs H.Bishop, C.Christie, G.F.R.Freeman, R.Holt, P.Jarvis, P.Pearson, J.W.Puttrell, W.Smithard and G.A.Tutton. The following details of these early visits are taken from the writer’s notebooks.
On this occasion about 700 feet of rope, 140 feet of rope ladders and other tackle were requisitioned. The line of action on the east side was continued. Entering a low opening on hand and knees, we crawled like human crabs up a steep, narrow passage, ultimately arriving at the lip of a chasm, the limit of our previous visit.
After fixing the ladders securely into position, Christie again essayed a descent and this time reached the bottom, 60 feet below, but it proved a ‘dead end,’ so the ladder was hauled up. Next, picking up two coils of rope, measuring lines, candles, cameras etc., we steered to the rear or extreme end of the entrance to the right of two shaft tops, and went on, due south, to another shaft about 20 feet deep. Before reaching the latter however, it was necessary to force through a small aperture. Whilst descending this shaft, we noticed an upward current of air; a favourable sign. We now entered a small but lofty opening.
Here, while waiting for the reassembling of the party, it was observed that three members had disappeared, where, or by what route, no one knew. We felt that they were qualified to look after themselves, so after yodelling loudly without result, we clambered down a rift, then on, until we arrived at a tiny stream on the right. This was followed down its rocky bed until it disappeared in a pothole, or ‘sink.’
We tried to clear the hole of its loose rock, but soon found that the channel beneath was too small even for our slimmest members to negotiate. Ahead, the passage ended in a cul-de-sac, and apparently our only course was to retreat. The writer, out of curiosity however, crept into a crevice between two huge detached rocks on the left, then finding that the opening promised well, the party followed.
To hurry amidst these chaotic rocks might easily have spelt disaster, for several were finely balanced, and set at an acute angle. Emerging, we heard the sound of running water, and joyfully stepped down a steep mud slope to the juncture of two streamlets. What an uncanny spot, and yet how interesting. Who expected seeing these rills flowing so calmly between their crumbly banks of decomposed toadstone. Now it was the abode of peace, but in flood time this cave would doubtless be pandemonium itself, for the rush and roar of the subterranean waters would indeed be terrific!
Looking forward, we noticed the united streams flowing along the base of the rock. Halting, we took our bearings and noted our surroundings, with the result that two routes presented themselves. Upstream, a tempting course offered, but deciding to act upon the old principle of following the flow of a stream, we steered toward a low arch through which the waters disappeared. Meanwhile an inquisitive comrade crept through a circular hole up on the left and reported that undoubtedly it was the best way, and drier. We gladly deserted the ‘all wet route,’ but after crawling a distance of 30 feet, we came to the stream again and we were then able to walk erect alongside.
By the echoing of our voices it was clear that we were in a lofty chamber. Hitherto, the place had been somewhat devoid of calcareous deposits, but now stalactitic formation on walls and sloping roof were visible. Now came the thought; where were our missing friends? Should we proceed or return to the entrance and, if not there, commence a definite search? Whilst considering the matter however, we noticed some moving lights high on the left and at once yodelled to the wanderers who soon joined us. Somewhat relieved, we gladly turned our attention to the surrounding scenery.
Overhead, hundreds of fragile straw shaped stalactites and small curtains decorated the roof, and on the floor were specimens of stalagmites. The best scene was on our left, a steep sloping mass of calcareous matter, which stretched 150 feet upward in wavy tiers toward the roof at an angle of 30 degrees; a fine adamantine cascade.
Ascending, we observed its regular horizontal lines or ribbed markings; en-route, several members would step unwittingly into deep holes filled with deceptively clear water. Some of these silent pools, measuring from five inches to five feet long, were daintily encrusted with lime deposits – here as tiny lagoons with lace like borders, there shaped like a cluster of corals, or a shoot of raspberries. One shallow pool, in particular, presented a rare type of pool formation in a long jutting ledge of a rich yellow colour. The rounded edge forced into bays, and the underside showed delicate water markings of this same auric hue.
The stream hereabouts disappeared down a narrow recess on the right, and it seemed doubtful if we should see it again. Going forward on hands and knees along a low passage, we arrived at the top of a steep sloping stalactite chamber of the bedding plane type, really a continuation of the one just left. The roof was so low we had to wriggle and slide down on our stomachs, feet first, not a pleasant operation, especially if one happened to lodge in a water hole for a few seconds. Not knowing what was ahead, we pressed carefully onward between stalactites and stalagmites, some white as snow, until once more we were surprised to meet our old friend, the stream.
Now we passed splendid specimens of bee-hive shaped cones of dripstone formation, and closely following the rippling brook, we arrived at the end of our exploration, an oval siphon in a narrow opening of the rock joint, half the size of it’s namesake in Giant’s Hole, Castleton.
An hour or so later, a happy group of cave men emerged at the main entrance, under a star lit sky, having luckily found another and easier exit thereto. The general direction of the Jug Hole slaw is south-south west, its length about 600 feet, whilst the stalagmite cascade, 150 feet high by 100 feet broad, is probably the largest in Britain.
Derbyshire Pennine Club 