Iran trip report

Here is a report of our trip down the rivers in Iran.

I am having a little time out of the drivers seat in Istanbul on our way
back to the UK. I hope to be in the UK by the 10th August. Photos and a
fuller report will appear on my web site as soon as I have time to write
and upload the files, but I go a video to edit and sell as well Look out
for "Paddling in the Axis of Evil - the video" in a store near you soon!

Iran was as fascinating as last time and what video footage we have
reviewed is stunning - Alex Nicks is already back in the UK putting
together the 10 minute "taster" to interest the TV companies and I can't
wait to drop off 30 reels of film to be developed.

Why did I go back to Iran? After Bob Debs and I paddled the Bakhtyaria
river in 2001 I had been thinking about it, the river would not leave my
mind, every so often in those quiet moments or driving late at night an
image of the gorges or an action or something Bob or Debs had said on
the river would jump into mental focus; it had been such an amazing
trip, the most full-on trip in my lifetime of running rivers. I wanted
to be back in those gorges where you feel small, I wanted to see the
places again where the geography and geology are on such a scale that
they conspire to alter your feeling of time and place, where the
remoteness of the river gives an edge to a rapid that anywhere else
would be unremarkable, a place that so extends your senses that your
memory fails from overload. Don't suggest the Grand Canyon - it just
isn't in the same category.

We rolled into Iran from Turkey, filled up with diesel for just over a
US dollar for 50 litres. Fears of an anti-western backlash as a result
of the stupid invasion of Iraq were unfounded and as we drove through
the crowded streets of Tabriz the other drivers would shout greetings in
broken English or Turkish, the lingua Franca of the area, and welcome us
to their country.

We drove the 1500 miles down to Sepid Dasht to check the river levels
and call in on the local English teacher, Abbas Sayadii, my friend from
previous visits. I had taken a gamble on the river levels - the two
previous years we had paddled in the region the river level had been
perfect but they had been low snowpack years and so we had decided to go
six weeks later. This meant we had to deal with summer temperatures of
40ºC and above.

The river level was perfect! We stayed the night at Abbas’s house and
the following day drove to Isfahan to meet up with Bob, Debs, Igor and
Diego, who had flown into Iran. Also I made contact with Amir Hossein,
an Iranian kayaking friend, who I hoped would be able to come on the
trip. Both Amir and Abbas could make the trip down the Sezar.

Two days later we were on the river having survived the onslaught by the
local kids in Sepid Dasht. The kids were far the worst behaved kids
anyone of the well travelled group had ever met - but then the adults’
way of controlling the kids was by throwing rocks at them and so their
behaviour appears to be controlled by fear rather than respect. Abbas
and Amir were both excitedly talking up their Iranian fearlessness. We
launched and set off down the initial rapids - a slalom through big
boulders with the raft guide having to carefully choose the correct line
so as not to be presented with a gap too narrow for the raft. Amir much
to his chagrin was filmed hurling his shoes and paddle to the ground in
frustration after a swim when, on his third attempt at an Eskimo roll,
was knocked back down by an over-enthusiastic X - rescue by Becky.
Abbas’s paddling power on the raft noticeable decreased as we entered
rapids - but boy were they enjoying it and so was everyone. It was a
happy smiling group that arrived at camp for the first night and
everyone was at their most
enthusiastically helpful - the older and more experienced walked away
from the kitchen to reduce the size of the committee cooking!

The next day it was on down the river and on down to the one portage on
the Sezar - a little nerve-racking this as three years had passed since
I last ran the river and if we failed to recognise the entry to the
rapid, once entered stopping a loaded raft before the boulder choke
would be well nigh impossible. Fortunately, Bob and I, veterans of two
previous trips down this river spotted the portage. It is all very well
gathering a group of your peers to run a river but inviting two Iranians
adds a certain extra responsibility especially as they may not be fully
aware of the dangers! We camped by the portage and in the morning
carried around the rapid paddling an empty raft down to the last
possible eddy above the boulder choke and putting back on just below and
then running the raft to the next small eddy to reload. Throw lines and
rope burns to a couple of hands prevented the disaster of the raft
careering on
down the narrow gorge without the group's gear!

By now the river was entering the spectacular stage where the railway
that runs alongside the rivers disappears into a dozen or more tunnels.
Built largely by the allies in the second world war to supply the
Russian front much of the railway track and steel sleepers are marked
with BSC WORKINGTON. Abbas is researching the railway and its
construction; he is also worried because the head engineer said that he
guaranteed the railway for 50 years and it is now 60 years old. Abbas
does, however, tend to the literal and on several occasions our
satirical or cynical comments caused confusion or embarrassment.

The second night we camped where the Bakhtyaria river meets the Sezar at
Do-Ob (Two Waters). We camped on the far bank and a couple of kms
downstream of Tange Panch. Abbas warned us to be careful that night and
everyone gathered their belongings around them before going to sleep but
between 2.00am and 3.00am thieves came into the camp taking three
“pelicases” containing two digital cameras, one of the 3 chip
digital video cameras, microphones, a Pentax camera, video tapes and two
passports and over 1000 dollars in cash along with miscellaneous
paddling gear and clothing. In the morning Abbas, as translator and
also with local knowledge and contacts, Rob Coffey with the most stolen
and I went to Tange Panch to see what could be done and reported the
theft to the railway police and spread the word around the elders and
friends of Abbas in the village. But, as the father of one of Abbas’s
students said “They are all thieves here - they even steal the wire
from the railway” Meanwhile the others searched around in the rocks
but the thieves were from Tange Panch and would have known every nook
and cranny and hiding place if they had even stashed the goods and so it
was to no avail. After setting enquiries in motion I left Rob and Abbas
to deal with the authorities who were coming down by the next train.

The rest of us had to paddle on down to Telle Zange where there was a
practical take-out and a railway station from were we could catch a
train back to Sepid Dasht. There we could report the theft to the police
there and collect the important police statements for the insurance
claims. We arrived back in Sepid Dasht and saw the police who
procrastinated and prevaricated, promising to carry out “full
enquiries” the following day, but I had no faith in the police doing
anything. We told them that we would be returning in about ten days to
see if their full enquiries had revealed anything.

Ah, but why go through all this again, why return to the region when
there are other rivers in Iran and the rest of the world to be paddled?
- Why? Because of the Bakhtyaria river.

So after re-supplying we set off again down the river. This time
knowing it would be an eight night self-support trip through absolute
wilderness and that the blind canyons did not conceal lethal waterfalls.
The kayaks (thank you Pyranha) had to carry all the dehydrated food
(thank you Expeditionfoods.com) for the group along with cooking and
camping gear as well as the film equipment (thank you Dayman, Lowe Pro,
Manfrotte and Kodak) all stored in waterproof bags (thank you Palm) in
the rear of the kayaks. We also carried spare breakdown paddles (thank
you Robson), throw bags and first aid kits just in case. Apart from Bob
Debs and me, no one else on the trip had done 9 day self support trip -
and we had only done one by mistake; our last descent of the Bakhtyaria
river was planned as a 6 day trip. 9 Days is a long time for a
white-water self-support run! The first few nights were cold - we put on
at 1860 m. and Manbi International micro fleece was much in evidence as
were their sunglasses in the harsh light of day.

Bob, Debs and I knew we would be rewarded with everything you could ask
for on a river trip: we knew that there was quality white water, but had
forgotten how much there was; we knew the scenery was of unimaginable
grandeur, but we had forgotten just how towering the walls were; we knew
we would be entering places where the only people who had ever been
there before were Bob, Debs and me on our last trip down the river; we
knew there would be springs to drink from and this year we had the bonus
of rounding a corner to see a spring falling clear into the river from
the calcium outcrop that had grown out over the millennia high up on the
canyon wall, lit up by the evening sun; the most stunning vision I have
ever seen. (On the previous descent the spring had been dry - I have a
photo of it). The others entering the gorge had little more knowledge
than we had had on our first trip: Bob, Debs and I were frequently
having to reply “I don't know”, to questions like “How far?”,
“How long?”, and “When?”. There was so much to see that we
could not recall much of it even when we came across it again. The
white water too was not without incident and, on one rapid, Becky and
Rob swam, both loosing paddles, and Igor fell whilst scouting when a
boulder he stood on collapsed. He fell 3 metres and badly sprained his
wrist. Igor’s sprained wrist was a big problem; we were in the middle
of nowhere. A walk out was considered but it would have been a major
undertaking, also we were close to where we had been robbed on our last
trip down the river. That time four locals had entered our camp, taken
two pairs of Robson paddles and tried to extort money from us for their
return - not a friendly area for trekking. We were below the hardest of
the rapids and so to paddle out was the best option. Ibuprofen and
codeine were administered in large quantities, splints duct taped to his
forearm and we nursed Igor down the river for the next few days. I did
not lie to him when I told him that the river was grade II from there on
down - I had just forgotten the grade IV sections, they had been
overwritten in my memory by the drama of the attempted extortion. He
stoically did not complain though at times he could not hide a grimace
of pain as he had to pull hard on his arm. He agreed (mind you
afterwards) that it was well worth the rewards of the lower river and
the grandest of the canyons. The Bakhtyaria is the Grandest of Canyons -
bar none.

Photos will follow (I promise as soon as I get them developed) It is
pointless my trying to describe in words the visual; it is SO superb and
on such a scale.


P.S.
We finished the Bakhtyaria river by paddling down to Telle Zange again
and caught the train to Sepid Dasht and Abbas's house. Abbas and I went
back to the police station: none of our gear had turned up, however,
superior police officers from Khoramabad were in town on a routine check
and the local police were far more attentive. Eventually Abbas and I
obtained a from of police statement with an official stamp on it which
would have to do for the claims. Meanwhile maybe pressure had been
brought to bear on the residents of Tange Panch and a bag containing the
cameras and some other stolen goods had turned up and been handed in to
the Railway police. When this news filtered up the railway line to
Sepid Dasht, the local police rushed down on the next train to claim the
bag of stolen goods and the credit. The railway police refused to hand
the bag and contents over to the Sepid Dasht police not trusting them at
all, instead they followed procedure and sent the bag down the line to
the local head office in Andimerskh. Back in Sepid Dasht all this was
apparent to the superior officers from Khoramabad. It then transpired
they had also “lost” the forms we had written giving our names,
nationalities and the like. Also the extent of their enquiries was
revealed when I had to draw a map of the exact location of the theft.
This may have been so that the local police could try and argue that the
theft took place outside their jurisdiction and so did not have to
pursue any enquiries. Add to this that Amir’s land rover had been
broken into despite being left in the police compound for safety and his
wallet and driving documents had been stolen whilst we were on the
Sezar. However, Abbas and I had to go to Andimerskh, four hours by
train, to collect the bag and deal with the authorities there. In the
bag was the four cameras, the pelicases, the video footage, the
microphones but not the passports and money and most of the smaller,
more portable items. What was really troubling about this was the
reverence that Abbas had to proffer to the local police whilst we were
dealing with them. Their arrogance, ineffectiveness and intrusive and
idiotic repeated questioning of Abbas was such that when Alex, Becky,
Rob and Diego were attacked, threatened and had a camera extorted from
them by locals whilst running the Zez, a side creek that flows into the
Sezar at Sepid Dasht that we decide not to report this to the police. We
had caused Abbas considerable hassle taken up much of his time and
caused him local embarrassment - he almost was made to feel responsible
for the theft by the local police and inhabitants of Sepid Dasht. We
were astounded by the general attitude, not just the police but also the
locals; it was “Why were we so careless with our belongings”. We had
just underestimated the criminality of the region that stretches back
into history. The Lors, we were in Loristan, were noted for their
raiding the caravanserai that would have passed by the Zagros mountains
where that Lors live in ancient times; it would appear that this
tradition has not died out, just we had become the new caravanserai. To
top it all the kids filled my locks with road tar and twigs so we had to
get a syringe and squirt petrol into them to be able to open the doors.

I heard later that the three officers from Sepid Dasht had been arrested
and carted off to Khoramabad for their incompetence.
--
Dave Manby
Details of the Coruh river and my book "Many Rivers To Run" at
http://www.dmanby.demon.co.uk