Sink holes have a bad reputation nowadays. Threatening life and property. Huge whale like mouths gape and swallow up vehicles, houses, people, like a hungry Bowhead. Their sudden ugly unwanted appearance, a sign that unknowingly to us, something is going on beneath our very feet. Occasionally, they reveal their more beautiful nature.
Before pitching up at Castleton Camp, we make a detour. Turn left. Not right. Hoping that the narrowing country lanes don’t decide to squeeze the living daylights out of Beastie and force an embarrassing reverse.
The find of Blue John Cavern a result of a couple of walkers stumbling upon a sink hole and not into it. Though it’s thought the Romans may have got here first. No surprise there then. By the time we climb down there’s no need to carry candles, or make use of thin spindly ladders. A lit concrete staircase of 245 steps, with the help of a handrail, and guide, transports us into Blue John’s dingy wet bowels.
Three hundred years on from that lucky stumble, Blue John is still mined for its decorative qualities.