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Welcome to the Caving Stories Podcast. Episode three: No Way Back Up. Two cavers, and one enemy: gravity. Every story in this episode comes from Caving Stories on YouTube, where these stories are animated. Find the channel at youtube dot com, slash, at caving underscore stories.

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England turned sideways and fed himself into the slot, ribs pulled in to make himself fit. The stone gave him nothing. He went an inch at a time, the wet walls snagging at his clothes.

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He came out at the bottom soaked through, shirt and trousers dripping, his chest heaving.

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After that it got easier. Gravity was on his side now. With a hand on the rope, he lowered himself seven feet into the chamber, where the passage opened wide enough to stretch out. For the first time, he could straighten his body.

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His headlamp picked out the next section, just below him. Another ten-foot drop, leading deeper into the cave.

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England stopped and let the silence settle. His beam showed more of the same. Passages that twisted and turned, and then simply fell away.

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As much as he wanted to keep going, he knew the risks of going deeper alone. That next drop needed more rope work, and with no partner to help or secure him, the chance of disaster was too high.

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So he turned back, even though he didn't want to. He was already damp and chilled from the moisture clinging to the walls, and he knew better than to push his luck.

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Climbing back up the ten-foot drop was simple. Years of caving guided him. Hands on the rope, feet finding solid holds, every pull bringing him closer to the surface.

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He reached the bottom of the slot with a sense of relief. And that was the moment he understood what he was really up against.

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On the way down, gravity had done the work for him. On the way up, it was going to be the one thing he could not beat.

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He looked up at the slot he'd come through. From below, it looked even tighter.

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He positioned himself underneath and started to climb, using the rope for leverage. But when he reached the slot, he stopped moving. The narrow walls pressed in on him, leaving almost no room to maneuver.

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His muscles, already worn out by the cold and the effort, strained. The same gravity that had helped him down was now working against him. He twisted and pulled, trying to force his way back through.

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It was unforgiving. The slot was tighter than he remembered, and every attempt left him more exhausted. Soaked by the wet rock, his clothes clung to his skin, and each move felt heavier than the last.

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Above him, Lewis and Moore could see he was struggling. They hauled on the rope to help, but the slot left no room for leverage. Every tug only wedged him deeper into the rock, pinning him in place.

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A simple trip had turned into something else entirely, and his strength was running out. His hands shook from cold and exhaustion, and the truth settled heavily on him. He was trapped.

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There was no give anywhere. The rock simply held him, closed in from both sides.

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It was already cold inside the cave, and because it was winter, freezing air from the entrance turned the conditions into a fight against hypothermia.

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His soaked clothes clung to him like ice, draining the last of his warmth. He shivered uncontrollably, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The slot wouldn't even let his chest fully expand. It felt as if the cave itself were slowly smothering him.

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Derek was clinging inside a crack in the cave floor, both hands braced against its walls. Then he felt it start to shift. His own movement had loosened the sides, and they began to collapse again.

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Rocks tumbled from above, debris pouring into the shaft like a waterfall. The weight of it drove Derek downward, deeper into the vertical shaft.

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He kept sliding, and only the desperate pressure of his hands saved him from a deadly thirty-five-foot fall.

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He scrambled to reposition his legs, searching for any ledge for his feet or knees. But the walls were either too smooth, or covered in loose stones. His feet kicked uselessly in the darkness, finding nothing solid.

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Then something big came out of the dark and slammed into his shoulder. For a split second, he lost his grip. His hands slipped off the walls, and he dropped several more feet before he flung his arms out and stopped himself.

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Derek was now fifteen feet down the shaft. Twice as far from help, and much closer to the stream below.

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He knew he couldn't hold this for long. His arms were already trembling from the strain, and when his muscles gave out, he would fall. The question was not whether he would fall, but when, and whether help would come while he still had strength left.

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When the others reached the spot where Derek had been walking moments earlier, they found a gaping hole where solid floor should have been. They edged toward it, testing every step to make sure the rest of the floor would hold.

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Then they shone their lights down into the crack. Derek was about fifteen feet below them, wedged in the narrow shaft, arms pushed against the walls in a desperate chimney position.

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He looked up at them, and they saw the exhaustion and pain on his face. His arms were visibly shaking from holding up his own weight. He could not last much longer.

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They knew they had a few minutes at most. They pulled the rope from their gear and got ready to lower it. The opening was choked with debris from the collapse, so they had to guide the rope carefully through the rubble to where Derek could reach it.

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When the rope finally reached him, and they told him to tie it around his chest, Derek faced an impossible task. Only his arms were keeping him from falling thirty-five feet onto the rocks below. To take one hand off the wall and grab the rope, he would have to loosen the very grip that was holding him up.

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Two arms. Thirty-five feet. And a rope he couldn't reach without letting go.

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Thanks for listening to the Caving Stories Podcast. If you want to see these stories animated, subscribe to Caving Stories on YouTube. Search for Caving Stories, or go to youtube dot com, slash, at caving underscore stories. See you underground.