Trip report Iran

Pictures to be posted on the web page when I get time but here is the
written word. Reports of previous trips are on my web page apologies if
I posted this before!

Why did I go back to Iran? After Bob, Debs and I paddled the Bakhtyari
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, I wanted the
remoteness of the river that gives an edge to a rapid that anywhere else
would be unremarkable, It is 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.)

I drove out to Turkey with Ally Collett and collected Alex Nicks and Rob
Coffee along with Becky Bristow in Turkey and then rolled on into Iran
from Turkey. Here we filled up with diesel for just over one 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. 1500 miles further down the road and we arrived at the
village of Sepid Dasht on the banks of the Sezar river to check the
river levels and to 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 times we had paddled in the region the river
level had been perfect but research told us that they had been low snow
pack years. We had gambled and decided to go six weeks later. This six
week shift 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 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 as we
launched and set off down the initial rapids - a slalom through big
boulders with the raft guide having to choose carefully 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,
he was knocked back down by an over-enthusiastic X - rescue attempt by
Becky. Abbas's paddling power on the raft noticeably 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!

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 cool of 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 had 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 Bakhtyari river meets the Sezar at
Do-Ob (Two Waters). We camped on the far bank and a couple of kms
downstream of the railway village 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 and collect the
important police statements for the insurance claims. Back in Sepid
Dasht and the police 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; I have been robbed on every
occasion I have been to the Bakhtyari region of Loristan, why return to
this region when there are other rivers in Iran and the rest of the
world to be paddled? - Why? Because of the Bakhtyari river.

So after re-supplying we set off to make a second descent, this time
knowing it would be an eight-night self-support trip through absolute
wilderness but 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 nine day self-support
kayak trip - and we three had only done one by mistake - our last
descent of the Bakhtyari river which was planned as a six day trip. Nine
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 any river trip I have ever done. (On the previous descent
the spring had been dry - I have a photo of it). The others entering the
gorges had only a 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 losing paddles. Igor fell whilst scouting when a
boulder he stood on collapsed. He fell 3 metres down the river bank and
badly sprained his wrist; luckily he still had his helmet on. This
sprained wrist was a big problem, we were in the middle of nowhere. A
walkout was considered but it would have been a major undertaking,
possibly taking four days. 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
were 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 Bakhtyari is the
Grandest of Canyons - bar none.


Afterword.
We finished the Bakhtyari 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. 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
form 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, maybe the fact that the
authorities from Khoramabad now knew of this theft, anyway 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 the Sepid Dasht police had also "lost"
the forms we had written giving our names, nationalities and the like as
well as the list of reported stolen goods. 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. It was blatantly obvious that any
enquiries had not taken place outside of the police station.

I heard later that the three officers from Sepid Dasht had been arrested
and carted off to Khoramabad for their incompetence.

Abbas and I went to Andimerskh, four hours by train, to collect the bag
and deal with the authorities there. In the bag were the four cameras,
the pelicases, the video footage, the microphones but not the passports
and money and most of the smaller, more portable items. An amazing
result. 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 decided 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. Historically the Lors (we were in Loristan) were noted for
their raiding the caravanserai that would have passed by the Zagros
mountains in ancient times; it would appear that this tradition has not
died out, just that we had become the new caravanserai. To top it all
the kids filled the locks in my Ford Transit with road tar and twigs so
we had to get a syringe and squirt petrol into them to be able to open
the doors.

Team members:
Dave Manby, Bob Marchant, Deb Cook, Alex Nicks, Ally Collett,
Quentin "Igor" Carson, Diego Valsecchi, Rob Coffee, Becky Bristow.
--
Dave Manby
Details of the Coruh river and my book "Many Rivers To Run" at
http://www.dmanby.demon.co.uk