Experience: I was trapped in a nine-inch crevice

One Sunday last year, eight of us hiked for a couple of hours through the desert near San Diego to reach Thunder Canyon Cave. We had to abseil through a waterfall to get inside, so we put on our wetsuits and lowered ourselves 30ft down. By 11am we were inside.

With further crawling, climbing, wading through icy water and a bit of chimneying, we reached a fissure known as the Terrible Traverse. This is because it takes a right angle into a nine-inch crack. Having caved for four hours, I was tired, wet and sore but also exhilarated as, although I'm an experienced caver, I'd never reached this point before.

The group leader, Luca, was guiding three newbies. One of them, Steve, in his 50s, got jammed in the cranny. There was 10 minutes of pulling and fiddling until Steve was free. He was exhausted and freaked out. He needed to leave.

Luca, assuming I'd been through the crevice before, guided Steve through another 15 minutes of cave to an exit. I was second from last to go through and out of earshot. I didn't realise that Luca wasn't there – if I'd known, I wouldn't have attempted the fissure, as I needed an experienced guide.

The challenge is to move your feet first down the length of the crack, then angle your body sideways to shimmy along, before dropping five feet to the floor of the next chamber. On my first attempt, intuition told me I wouldn't make it through, but the group encouraged me to try again. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone by having to make the long trip back through the cave, so I backed out and took off my wetsuit.

In just my T-shirt, I tried to slide through again but my hips jammed. My feet were poking out the other side and my left arm supported my body. My hand rested on a wooden plank that had been left covering boulders to protect cavers from slipping. Luca returned and the team tried everything to shift me as I mentally focused on escape.

After two hours my arm weakened, so I slid further into the crack, where the gap was only eight and a half inches wide. My body weight was now on my left elbow, my back and chest touching the cold granite walls. The guy behind me, Jim, tried unsuccessfully to pull me back. Of course, I was blocking his escape, too.

With the risk of hypothermia, the group shielded me with jackets and bin bags. I was told to keep moving but I could only raise my right arm slightly, look up or down, and scissor my right leg.

Apart from the beam coming from Jim's headlamp, I was in darkness. As I was drifting in and out of a dreamlike state, Jim told stories to try to keep me awake. I'd been trapped for five hours and I no longer expected to make it out alive. But at 39 years old, I wasn't prepared to give up either.

After seven hours, Luca spotted the rescue helicopter. But it took another hour for them to locate us and find a suitable landing spot. The medical team worried I'd get compartment syndrome if my chest started to swell, pushing against my heart and possibly leading to cardiac arrest. With a dim view of both my survival and Jim's, they called Cave Rescue, who also needed to fly in, and then they left.

Nine hours in, I had delirious visions. I was worried about how my wife, Raina, would be able to keep our house with the 500-year-old oak tree we'd married beneath. An hour later Cave Rescue arrived with a flurry of activity. They jacked up the plank near my head to angle me so I could exit the crack. As they began to yank my feet, the walls painfully compressed. When they asked if they should stop, I shouted: "Keep going – I don't care if you break my fucking ribs, just get me out!"

When released I was profoundly joyous – giddy with freedom. After rehydrating and resting for 20 minutes, I managed to climb out of the cave. At 3.45am I was winched off the hillside by a helicopter to meet an ambulance. I had a few scrapes and bruises, but we say if you go home unscathed, it wasn't a good expedition.

I've revisited the cave but am not venturing through the crevice. They pulled me through, so I know I fit, but I'd feel embarrassed if I got stuck again.

As told to Sarah Smith

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