There is something deeply appealing about deep holes. It probably has something to do with suppressed freudian psychology or something, but all I know is that when confronted with something deep, dark, moist and tunnel like I get excited.
When I moved down to North Cornwall 'beach shack' back in September, I was excited to hear about tales of bottomless mineshafts in the local pub. Mineshafts, which according to my new friends were only about 30 mins from my front door. So off I went, with only an hangover for company in search of these 'bottomless pits'. What I found was better than I could imagine, protected by steel bars, the 'kite shaft' protected something bigger than all of us....
Imagine dropping a rock down a hole that could be heard for upwards of 16 seconds before becoming inaudible, epic tension growing with every second of its fall. Oh sweet depth, in all its infinite glory, plumbed by the terminal velocity of boulders. Beautiful. Sure enough, my weekly walk past the shaft became a ritual and the ritual became a journey. A journey that I knew had to go beyond rocks, beyond just me, a journey which needed friends and fireworks.
So fast forward to February 2010 my friends Tom and Harry accompanied me along with a firework to the 'kite shaft' and the rest they say is history:
Posts
5 comments:
You deleted my comment about this being TERRIBLE for poor bats (the flying, not the wooden, kind)
Evil brother
No way, I didnt even see it! I never delete comments
well you're a bad person anyway! POOOOR BATS!
Thats why we threw it down there, to check for bats! Conclusion: No bats!
Conclusion: Dead colony of bats!
Post a Comment