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After another hour of scrambling through the muddy passages, he heard voices from what turned out to be a group of university students who had just entered the cave. “Head to the clubhouse and tell the rescue team there’s been an accident,” Mark told their leader. “I’ll bring your group to the surface.” Caver Gary MitChell was joking with friends at the clubhouse when the stu- dents’ leader arrived and told himwhat had happened. An incident controller, Gary began gathering help and prep- ping the digital equipment needed to coordinate the rescue. Since the South Wales Caving Club is the hub of the South and Mid Wales Cave Rescue Team (SMWCRT), all the equipment they needed was close by, as were many of the rescuers, who had arrived for that night’s party. Mark arrived at the clubhouse, shak- ing and out of breath. Someone gave him a cup of tea, and he briefed Gary about the accident. Within less than an hour, four cavers, including Mark and advanced first- aider Steffan Davies, were making their way to George. They carried blankets, food and drink, a first-aid kit and Cave- Link, a communication system that could send text messages through up to 800 metres of solid rock. Gary, who stayed above ground to coordinate the rescue, sent a message to members of the SMWCRT: “I have a reportable incident in the Smithy, OFD, very limited info yet but please advise if you’re available.” Down in the dank rift, 90 minutes had passed sinceMark had left. Mel couldn’t see George from her precarious perch, but she kept him talking. “George, help is on its way. Tell me, what have you got planned for Christmas?” she called down to him. In all, she asked dozens of questions about his job, family, part- ner Julie and their dog. I don’t want him to feel as though he is here on his own , she thought. I have to keep him conscious. SMWCRT A rescue control room was quickly set up at the South Wales Caving Club. 100 june/july 2026 George, writhing in pain and losing blood from the wound in his jaw, was groggy and finding it increasingly diffi- cult to breathe. What if I choke on my blood or am sick and choke on my vomit? he thought. I’m not sure I’ll get out of here alive. His grandmother, who had died a few weeks earlier, came into George’s thoughts. It feels as if she’s looking out for me. He also thought he heard the voices of rescuers several times, but it was an illusion brought on by his dazed state. With no sign of help, Mel’s mind was racing. How long do I wait here before I need to do something? George, who was lying on a downhill slope, shifted to take the weight off his chest and to reposition his shattered leg, both of which were causing intense pain. He cried out in agony as hemoved to a slumped sitting position. Mel went quiet, concerned for her friend. More than three hours had passed now. Just at that moment, George heard voices—this time the real voices of the four rescuers. Help was finally at hand. Steffan examined George. It was hard to see the full extent of his injuries through his caving outfit, but the dam- age to his leg and chin was obvious. “I’m Steffan Davies, one of the first- aiders with the rescue,” he said. “Can you tell me where it hurts?“ “My leg,” groaned George. “Would you like some morphine?” asked Steffan. “F***, yes,” George replied. When the helpers tried to give George energy gel, it seeped out of the hole in his mouth. He was shivering, cold to the touch and possibly going into hypo- thermia. So much blood was flowing from George’s mouth that Steffan was concerned he’d choke. Working with the other rescuers, Steffan put a splint on George’s leg, which caused horrific pain. George’s pulse was racing, indicating possible internal bleeding. He told Steffan that breathing was difficult. They sent a request to Gary in the control room for a spinal splint, canis- ters of oxygen and a mask. Meanwhile, two of the rescuers threw a line to Mel, which she used for support as she crossed the gap in the cave floor. She made her way to the clubhouse, where she stayed with Julie, George’s partner. The second group to go underground included Dr. Rebecca Specht, a mem- ber of SMWCRT. She had been packing her camper van to travel with her fam- ily to the club’s social weekend when she received the call for rescuers. The group reached George around six hours after the accident. Seven res- cuers manoeuvred the 183-centimetre- tall, athletically built man onto a stretcher. It was, says Dr. Specht, like a “giant game of Twister” in a very con- fined space, but eventually they man- aged it. George was wrapped in warm, waterproof layers and a tough canvas outer layer. Dr. Specht tended to him for around readersdigest.com.au 101