Ghar Parau 1972

by Harvey Lomas

Planning And Finances

The second expedition to Ghar Parau was a far longer expedition than that of the previous year. Firstly it was a different kind of of undertaking. Ghar Parau had the chance of becoming the world’s deepest known cave. The year before we knew very little or nothing about the areas around Kermanshah; our task then was solely to try and find caves.

Now we had a cave, Ghar Parau, some 2,300 ft. deep. John Middleton, the leader on the first expedition, was unfortunately unable to take part in this second one. David Judson who was Deputy Leader on the first trip stepped into John’s place. A. C. Waltham became the Deputy Leader; almost all the members from the previous year came, and some fresh blood was brought in, mostly from the Craven Pothole Club.

The previous expedition had been entirely financed by members. This time sponsorship was sought—book rights, television rights and grants from the R.G.S., M.E.F., W.U.E.A. and the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club. The bulk of the planning naturally fell on David Judson, Tony Waltham and the treasurer, John Whalley, and took ten months. It included an attempt to arrange through Kermanshah for a water supply for a camp on the plateu of Kuh-Parau. The plan favoured by most of the members was to use ladders to the first camp and Prusiking techniques from then on.

It had also been decided early on that most members would fly out to Iran while a party travelled overland with the gear. In addition three big cartons would be sent via T.I.R. to Tehran. The overland party consisted of S. Craven, R. Blackham, J. Allonby and myself. The Landrover left England on 5th August 1972, the rest followed two weeks later on the 19th August.

After ten months of normal clean living I found myself once more on the road. The route taken was the same as the previous year—Belgium, Germany, Austria, Jugoslavia, Bulgaria, Turkey and finally Iran. We arrived in Kermanshah on Monday, 14th August. Little time was lost in finding a camp; permission was given to camp in the grounds of the new television station. The site chosen was in a little wood, very good for shade. There were six days in which to acclimatise, find all the cool spots and keep away from the flies if that was ever possible.

Two days before the flying contingent arrived, Roy Black-ham and Stephen Craven went to Tehran to meet them and also to pick up the three cartons of much needed food. When they went to collect, they found that the goods had been impounded by the Iranian Customs on the Turkish-Iranian border some 700 miles due west of Tehran. When the matter had been cleared with the government departments in the capital Craven had to drive to the border and then back to Kermanshah. This took several days and he did not arrive back until Friday, 25th August.

While this was taking place the expedition had to carry on, on limited food, so that only a small party could go up to the plateau. An attempt to organise a helicopter lift petered out in a succession of directions from one office to another. Fortunately negotiations were more fruitful with the ‘Donkey Man’, a one-eyed Kurd who seemed to own the mules. The only trouble was the hire rate which rose by the day and even by the hour. The first job was laddering the cave and drilling holes for belaying bolts. John Harper who knew the cave organised the team. By Wednesday, 23rd August, food became short and progress in the cave stopped. On the Friday the main food had arrived and on the Saturday the gear was ready for the plateau.

This was it—rope, food, extra camping gear, were carried up to Mangalat, the village just before the first col (Mangalat Col). The walk started in the late afternoon to avoid the sun. The rest of the party set quite a pace and I still felt unfit from mild dysentery. Having new boots to break in did not help. There was good light as far as the first col, though it faded quickly above that. The party had separated into couples and I was with John Whalley. It had been ten months since I last did this walk. I managed to find the correct gully to climb. We were in semi-darkness by now, when John asked. “Leopards— was it true they lived in these mountains?” “No”, I said, “in my opinion they are extinct in this area”. John would not take my word, arming himself with a piece of wood, and saying that he did not feel like taking chances.

I said, “If it’s any consolation, they are nocturnal and this is when they do their hunting”. John picked up a larger stick. The higher we went the more difficult it became. The only signs of life we could see about the black mountain side were the Kurdish tents with fires burning far down below. The sound of bells on the flocks were the only noises to be heard above the wind. Occasionally we would become caught up in patches of large thistles. As far as the second col the path could be followed, though higher it became more obscure, and eventually disappeared. The moon cast a shadow on our side of Kuh-Parau and in total darkness we were lost. At this point questions from John regarding leopards became more frequent. We went straight up and reached the plateau with only about half a mile to walk across to the camp. Later Mike Jenkins and Bob Graham did come across a leopard on the summit ridge of Kuh-Parau but it just moved out of sight.

The next day I wanted a good trip, and somehow felt I was going to get one. After several alterations in plan I ended up going with John Whalley and carrying three big ropes all nicely coiled and each 300 ft. long. So, with three shiny new ropes, we entered the cave. It was not too difficult traversing through the large entrance chambers, though the occasional crawl presented a problem. Our real trouble began below the much feared “Eroica”. This splendid third pitch is completely freehanging. I abseiled down first and John followed after he had lowered the three ropes. I felt very nervous when I stepped over the edge and the rope had a thick coating of mud. One had absolute trust in the equipment and in the people who had fixed it there. Into the void I started moving fast down the rope, eventually splashing into a pool of water. John and I took turns in carrying the extra rope; by now all three had become wet, and loose, just bundles to be shoved through the narrow sections, to fall into pools at the bottom of narrow pots, then to be fished out of the cold brown mucky water. The deeper you go the more difficult it becomes and we ended up throwing them down climbs. One of us would stand at the bottom of the ‘pots’ and the other would throw the ropes down into the pool, showering his fellow with very cold gritty water. Trying to manoeuvre with two ropes over your shoulder, catching on stalactites, stalagmites, rock projections, and even the other fellows boots, was hard. We reached the first sump, and unfortunately went down to the siphon: we should have climbed into’ the roof, just before some very difficult climbs and squeezes. This mistake demoralised us so we decided to call it a day. Besides John was having trouble with his sight.

The next day, Monday, was a rest day for John and myself, but not for Mike Jenkins and Peter Standing. They went down to look for a camp site near the limit of previous exploration. They past the previous year’s depth and found a siphon blocking the passage about one hundred feet further down. It was quite a disappointment to us all.

The only thing now was for Glyn Edwards and Peter Livesey to attempt to find a route over the siphon. Both were very good climbers; the success of the expedition rested upon them. Just above the siphon the roof dipped steeply down to the water. Glyn and Peter’s job was to find a route farther back where the passage was highest.

Halfway down Peter became ill, so Arthur Champion of the Craven Pothole Club, took his place. The chances were slender. It was a long way down at 2,300 ft. and risks could not be taken. Glyn and Arthur made several attempts at climbing out, up pitches on very muddy walls with hardly any protection, but could not find a route.

The only tasks that remained were to photograph the cave and to conclude the survey. John Harper and Clive Green went down to the bottom and finished off the survey. John Whalley, Tony Waltham, Bob Graham and I undertook the photographic work. John Whalley was the chef, the rest of us were but the kitchen helpers. Although his recipe took a long time to prepare, the results were excellent and much praised. The last and final task, the de-tackling, is usually a very hard part of any expedition. In three trips the cave was stripped of the ladders and ropes, that had only a week previously been carried down so hopefully.

Next men and equipment headed down to Kermanshah. Stephen Craven and I were first down to the col. We had to arrange for mules the next morning to ferry the gear down from the plateau. When the mules arrived, six in all, the Kurds started to overload the poor creatures; some even collapsed under the strain. On the way down one mule was killed when it lost balance and fell well over 1,000 ft.

On arriving in Kermanshah, my first operation was to set up a shower, on the lawn of the television station. There was quite a contrast, high up on the quiet dusty plateau among eagles and leopards, surrounded by great pinnacles of jagged limestone, in looking down at Kermanshah and seeing clouds of swirling hot air, or conversely in gazing up at Kuh-Parau mountain from the noisy crowded streets of the city.

Members soon after coming down from the mountain went their separate ways, some to Isfahan, others to climb Mount Damavand. The overland party of four headed for Tehran. We planned to go home via Baghdad and Syria and on to Southern Turkey. Visas were necessary in order to visit these places, hence the trip to Tehran.

The expedition had been staying with an ex-Craven Pothole Club member, Dr. John Sutcliff, in Tehran. Having been used to sleeping rough under the stars for over a month, we were pleased at the chance of staying under a roof (an air conditioned roof). The effect was most refreshing, as was cool beer and an open air swimming pool. On my first night I remember jumping straight off the balcony into the pool. Some people even had a bed to sleep in. The following day was to be a very busy one indeed. Iran had no diplomatic relations with Iraq, so we had to go via the Afghanistan Embassy. The Iraqis, rather than completely close their Embassy, just changed brass plates. It was the time of the Olympic massacre and we were proposing to visit a left-wing Arab state, so the situation was delicate.

The embassy was found, we all bundled through the narrow gate straight into the little office, with a little Arab, supporting a large smile. We stood directly in front of him and asked for visas. “Yes”, he said. On producing our British passports his smile dropped as though someone had dropped a portrait of their latest general on his foot! There were no visas for Britons; this had been so for about a year. No trip to Baghdad —this was quite a disappointment. To make up for the Baghdad flop Isfahan was the next place, and after several days of the good life, the journey home began. Down to Isfahan, across the Zagros Mountains to Kermanshah, up to the Turkish border, through the mountainous region of Southern Turkey.

The first night involved a drive of 150 miles down through the holy city of Quwair. It was there that I saw my first really impressive looking mosque and that was only a sample of the things to come. In the morning we entered the city in style on the top of the Landrover roofrack. My first impressions seemed just another dusty town, very western in appearance, full of madly rushing taxis—a national feature of Iran. The first mosque I saw was the ‘Chahabareh College” (School of Theology). It was bright blue, mosaic tiles, patterns in gold, white, and a rusty red—the designs varied, mostly flowers connected by white curving lines.

We had only five hours in Isfahan. I would have liked more, but the others didn’t agree. Next I went to the “Maiden Shah Squar”, which was dominated by the “Majjid-i-shah” or Royal Mosque. After our brief visit to Isfahan, the long journey back to Kermanshah began. The route threaded through the Zagros mountain into Luristan, at first travelling along wide plains as far as Daran. At this stage our tyres began to rip beyond repair, and we had to buy new ones. As soon as Kermanshah was reached all the gear was repacked. It took a whole day and finally we said farewell to Kuh-Parau and the people who had helped the expedition.

The Journey Back Home

The journey started on 11th September and lasted until 26th September, starting in a Landrover, ending in a plane! The route taken was the best and most interesting we could think of, and that was to go up to Lake Reza’lyeh, thus cutting across Turkey.

The first night we camped as usual by the side of the road near Miyandoab; then on to Lake Reza’iyeh. Once in Turkey the scenery improved greatly, with high mountain ranges and lush green valleys carrying large streams. The area as often in Turkey is covered with impressive castles guarding spectacular gorges. The road from Yuksekovia to Van is typical of this type of scenery. We were not yet out of the old Kurdistan and seeing Kurds riding on horseback through the rocky gorges in their colourful costumes added splendour to the wild surroundings. From there we went to Lake Van, leaving behind the most rugged stretch of road. There were still numerous passes to negotiate on the way to Kayseri. Apart from the windscreen shattering and the trailer tyre bursting, the journey was faultless.

Our objective in visiting Kayseri was a valley called Goreme, situated near the town of Urgiip, just forty miles from Kayseri. The whole of this area is covered in the most unique landforms I have ever seen, with great pillars of volcanic ash eroded to a cone shape and ranging from 10 ft. high to 150 ft. high. These the local people have turned into fortified dwellings. One entered at the bottom, then climbed from floor to floor via little shafts with hand holds carved into the sides. On each level the rooms were connected by very narrow passages, each of which had small windows where the hot unbelievable sun shone through into the cool, semi-dark musty smelling rooms. Some of these eroded towers had rocks balanced on their very tops, probably to give a little more impact to the tourists.

Another feature in the valley of Goreme is equally remarkable, a small valley sliced into the Anatolian plateau which has carved into its sides early Christian dwellings, comprising churches, and general living quarters. For the price of four Turkish Leria (approximately lOp) one was able to explore the valley at will, inspecting the chapels. Each had a name—”The Church with the apple”, “The Church with the buckle”, the latter being the largest of all the Goreme churches. Inside the churches there are beautiful paintings of scenes from the New Testament, though raiders over the centuries have tried to disfigure them. The churches had several levels and one could explore them all; that day I must have explored several miles of narrow passages with all the thrills of a good caving trip. The occasion I remember best was when I started to climb a shaft and suddenly realised that three sides were missing, leaving me in a very exposed position! In the floors of the churches and in places leading off from the main hall, coffins had been dug out of the soft rock in rows. Care was needed when walking over them and there was a very strong and unpleasant smell about the place. We could only spend a day in this unique and strange place of Goreme.

From Urgiip we headed south towards the refreshing Mediterranean through Mersin, along to Antalya (between these the scenery improved tremendously). We then turned inland again to Isparta and from there to Izmir. It had taken seven days to cross Turkey; Greece took a day, and the route then went through Jugoslavia.

Near the city of Titograd in Southern Jugoslavia, relationships in the Landrover reached crisis point. There were two separate schools of thought, one wanted to rush back to England, the other didn’t want to rush; we went our separate ways. So I found myself along with John Allonby and Roy Blackham, with a large rucksack and a Persian carpet. We managed to obtain a succession of lifts to the beautiful town of Dubrovnik where the three of us just got a cheap student’s flight back to England.

List of Expedition Members

John Allonby Roy Blackham Arthur Champion Stephen Craven David P. Ede Glyn Edwards Robert Graham Clive Green John Harper Michael Jenkins David M. Judson Peter M. Livesey Harvey A. Lomas Peter A. Standing Anthony Waltham John C. Whalley

Craven Pothole Club Craven Pothole Club Craven Pothole Club Craven Pothole Club Nature Conservancy Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club Wolverhampton Caving Club Craven Pothole Club Wolverhampton Caving Club Wolverhampton Caving Club Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club Bristol Pothole Club Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club British Speleological Association Happy Wanderers’ Craven Pothole Club