Brac is an idyllic little island, one of over 100 nestled off the coast of war-torn Croatia in former Yugoslavia.

An unexpected telephone call from the British Military Forces, Adventurous Training Centre Brac, was the start of an extraordinary caving adventure.  Within ten minutes drive from the centre a natural pothole  existed approx 25m in diameter at the surface and reputed to be over 200m deep.

It was with some trepidation that I arrived at the location with as much rope and caving equipment that Lufthansa airway would allow in excess baggage.

Because of the loose nature of the initial surface pitch  and the fact that  I was the only caver on the island this was to be a solo attempt.  My assistant and driver immediately, having seen the pothole, bid me farewell and disappeared to the local café with the re-assuring words “I’ll be back after a quick cuppa” ringing in my ears.  The first two pitches of 10 and 30m got me clear of the loose debris and into a free hanging narrowing abyss of about 10m diameter from which I drilled a bolt before dropping a stone which I timed at approx 12m per second; 20 seconds later a vague and dull thud indicated the depth “Phew that was deep over 250m”.  Some aerial gymnastics with the aid of a skyhook allowed me to swing across the void and place two more bolts at 20 and 25m.  By this time, the effort of free hanging at an angle to hand drill the bolts (each taking about 20 minutes to place) was placing a massive amount of stress on my body through the harness.  The clean walls and sighting of the bolts to create a clear vertical hang for the rope meant I was either clean hanging in mid air off the skyhook or the bolt.  A few more rope antics allowed some respite as I manufactured makeshift foot stirrups, however, after being down the pothole for over 3 hours and nearly at the end of my first 200m of rope I decided to ascend for a rest and, more importantly, to get rope.  Thirty metres from the top an unexpected and frightening clatter had me fearing the worst and   expecting a landslide of stones and debris channelled down on top of me.  To my surprise everything went quiet except for the cooing of a pair of wild pigeons which were incredibly perched in a little  fissure on the opposite side wall.  Their actions were to create more mayhem the following day.

Back on the surface I was reunited with my trusted, but cautious assistant who then explained how the locals would throw huge boulders down the pothole and listen in amusement to the length of time it took for the clattering of the rock to subside.  I thanked him for the useful information and asked that for the following days trip he stood guard to avoid any such occurrence whilst I was down the hole. 

That night back at the centre a search for more rope produced 4 x 50m lengths of dynamic climbing rope only.  With this and a few gruesome stories of what the locals thought lay down at the bottom of the pit as a result of  military and other activities in the area swimming in my already vivid imagination I set off in an apprehensive mood.  The limit of the first days descent was soon reached with the added load, three of the four 50m ropes.  Soon the void split into two as a small cleft appeared with a hidden pitch below it.  Following the mid air vertical  hang I was able with the help of the sky hook to continue placing bolts at 30-50m distances each time peering into the never ending void.  At the end of the second rope the discomfort of free hanging for over two and half hours was becoming worrying.  I picked a pebble from my bag and dropped it and hopefully timed its descent “6 seconds, over 50m and I only had 50m left”.  This final rope abruptly came to an end as free hanging I peered down straining my eyes to see the bottom “no such luck”.  With hopeful anticipation I tied my emergency 25m rope onto the end of the climbing rope crossed the knot and descended , 10m further down annoyingly I had to reverse back up the rope and place another bolt to stop the rope rubbing on  a sharp edge another 2m of precious rope used up I would never teach the bottom.  Slowly, but surely, my highlight began to pick  out the features of the gravelled bottom of the pit and thankfully about 2m of spare rope laying on the bottom.

The pit bottom was about 6m in diameter with a collection of debris leading down a steep scree slope into a small entrance which led to a chamber of about 50m wide which was strewn with further debris washed in over the years.  Elated but feeling uncomfortable among the items surrounding me, I took photographs of the various items varying from a tent, tyres off buses, motors, clothing etc.

Pushing in an easterly direction for 20m following the dip in the chamber floor  I came to a small passage which led to any eyehole overlooking another pitch of about 40m in a well shaft which sumped into a 10m wide pool at the bottom of the pothole.  Four hours later I emerged ar the surface in one piece with the addition of a few more millimole of adrenaline due to the pigeons or my assistant dislodging two small landslides of stone which thankfully hurtled past as I ducked under the cover of overhanging re-belays.  Jokingly I woke my assistant from his slumber in the vehicle and thanked him for his diligence.  The pothole I estimated to be over 300m in depth and almost vertical from top to bottom except for the final 40m pitch.  My imminent departure brought a halt to any further exploration but hopefully I will return with a full team to continue the adventure.

For further information contact Chips Rafferty