Wednesday columnist Zella Compton on why anyone would want to go caving

Last weekend I read about two cavers trapped in a narrow tunnel in the Tatra Mountains, Poland. Dozens of rescuers are fighting to reach them. I don’t understand caving in the slightest. Why would anyone want to enter cold, dank tunnels and caves and squirm their way into the bowels of the earth? It’s terrifying.

There are a lot of things that I don’t particularly want to do, but I get that they provide adrenaline. Like water-skiing.

I tried it once. I learnt how to get up and swish from side to side, but within a couple of hours I was a tad bored.

After all, you’re just being pulled along by a boat.

I’ve been hang-gliding which was epic, for the time it lasted.

But I’ve never since felt the need to launch myself off a mountain with a bit of nylon to keep me airborne.

But with both of those I understand that there will be joy for some people – being outside, moving fast, having a blast.

But caving? I went once, when I was

a teenager, on a thoroughly miserable expedition into the depths of Wales. It was cold, dark and endless. It consisted of a lot of sitting around waiting for everyone to catch up through the tiny tunnel parts, and then a lot more sitting around in the dark as we abseiled down some shaft into another gloomy area to sit around and wait for everyone else.

So much sitting around with water dripping down my neck. Ugh. And in the times that I was waiting? All I could think about was the mass of the mountain above me and the sheer terror of that mountain deciding enough was enough and coming crushing down on me.

There was no adrenaline involved in that sport in the slightest.

So what propels people to crawl into these spaces out of their own choice? I was on a school trip when I descended the depths in Wales, so had no say in the matter.

It really is beyond my comprehension why people would choose to do it. If not for shelter or sustenance or adrenaline, I can’t really think of what’s left.