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In a slightly different form, this chapter was the cover story for the British magazine Fortean Times (March, 1999). In the early 1990s, Simmons coproduced a segment of NBC's "Unsolved Mysteries" that included original aerial footage of Ararat, statements from eyewitness Ed Davis and satellite imaging specialist George Stephen, III. Robin Everett Simmons is an artist, writer and filmmaker. You may contact him at [email protected]. Chapter 28 1989-1990 Robin Simmons Robin Simmons with Helicopter Pilot Yuri Poskrebysheb 1990 Courtesy of Robin Simmons. Photo by George Adams The story of a cataclysmic flood and a lone family that survives in a hand-made boat is one of the oldest stories of our global culture. Hundreds of similar but apparently independent versions exist all over the planet. Is it possible that this epic myth is based on fact? Even more fantastic, could the great Ark of Noah be preserved, right now, in the icy reaches of Mount Ararat? There's a well-known account of ten-year-old Georgie Hagopian, who saw Noah’s Ark while climbing Ararat with his uncle in 1904. The date isn't precise but this was around the time my grandfather was in the region and heard convincing stories of the ark, preserved in ice and snow, still occasionally visible. My grandfather died in 1980, aged 106. As a boy, I listened to his adventures as a doctor in eastern Turkey and Russia between 1904 and 1910. He worked in the very shadow of Greater Ararat―the legendary biblical landing place of Noah's ship. My grandfather said some of the Kurds and Armenians he treated confided that the great Ark was preserved on Ararat. They said, it's "high on the northern side, a little below the saddle" of the twin-peaked dormant volcano. He showed me the spot on an old photograph of Ararat. He said the oldest place names of that area preserve antique meanings that translate as "Noah's Village," "First Vineyard," "House of Shem" (Noah's son), "First Market Town" and "Place of First Descent" and so on. Most of these names, he thought, are no longer in general use but are very specific in old-style Armenian. My grandfather's story so impressed me that over the years I noted any material pertaining to this enduring enigma. It seems as if, every couple of years, someone claims a new Noah’s Ark discovery in a book, documentary or TV special. Some are laughably amateurish; others are clumsy hoaxes. Robin Simmons 459 Even supermarket tabloids regularly exploit this mystery. Before long, I had a veritable flood of questionable and unverifiable data. There were arks everywhere – all over Ararat as well as boat-shaped earthen impressions in nearby lower elevations and many more in the pass between Greater and Lesser Ararat. The Koran speaks of the Ark landing on Al Cudi; there's a mountain by that name 200 miles south of Ararat. (Some researchers suggest that the Arabic root for Cudi mean "the highest" and refers to the upper part of Greater Ararat.) Kuh e Alvand, yet another "Ararat" is in Iran. It has a long tradition among locals as the ark's landing place. More contentious sites exist in other countries and continents. I spoke to several living eyewitnesses―like Georgie―who claimed to have seen the Ark of Noah, or big parts of it, on Ararat. And there's the tale of a months- long expedition by Czar Nicholas' soldiers, during which the Ark was supposedly entered and photographed. It's location was allegedly mapped somewhere in the rugged, canyon-riddled upper regions on the "Armenian side." This expedition was just prior to the Bolshevik Revolution during which, it is said, many of the Czar's soldiers were hunted down and slaughtered and the Ark photos, maps and artifacts disappeared. Relatives of the few soldiers who survived have family records that seem to confirm the authenticity of the expedition. A recent story hints that some of Czar Nicholas' personal items may have been transferred from their secret vaults in Moscow and Leningrad to the Stanford Research Institute (SRI) in California. The SRI is a federally funded 'institute' that serves the intelligence community. Could the cache of alleged transferred items include documents pertaining to the Czar's Ararat expedition? Then I met the late Ed Davis, an octogenarian and breeder of prized Nubian goats in the American Ed Davis southwest. His story of seeing the Ark Photo by Robin Simmons has been circulated widely among Ark hunters and dismissed by many as the pipe dream of an old man with a big imagination and a faulty memory. I 460 THE EXPLORERS OF ARARAT spent a day talking with this smart and kindly gentleman. This is a condensed version of what he said: Something happened to me in '43 that's haunted me all my life... I'm in the 363rd Army Corps of Engineers working out of a base in Hamadan (ancient Ekbatan), Iran. We're building a Way Station into Russia from Turkey. A supply route. My driver's a young man named Badi Abas. One day while we're at a quarry site loading rock, he points to a distant peak that's sometimes visible and says, "Agri Dagh, my home." We can see it clearly on the horizon with its year-round snowcap. "Mt. Ararat, that's where the Ark landed?" I say. He nods. "My grandfather knows where it is and has gone up there," he says matter-of-factly. I thought, Boy would I like to see that... One day in July, his grandfather, Abas-Abas, visits our base and tells Badi the ice on Ararat is melting to where you can see part of the ark. Badi tells me if I want to see it they will take me there. I had done a favor for their village that put me in good stead with the Abas family. In fact, they now have water, where before they had to walk two miles to get it... So I go to my commanding officer and ask for a leave. He says, "It's dangerous, you'll get killed." I tell him how much I want to go. He says, "I can give you R&R in Tehran and you could take the long way." I stock up on extra gasoline, oil and tires. A few days later, we get up early and Badi Abas and I drive down along the border as far as Qazvin until we get to his little village. This was the settlement I had helped them get water. We spend the night there... At dawn the next day, we reach the foothills of Ararat and arrive at another primitive village. Abas tells me the name of the village means "Where Noah Planted The Vine." I see grapevines so big at their trunk you can't reach around them. Very, very old. Abas says they have a cave filled with artifacts that came from the ark. They find them strewn in a canyon below the ark, collect them to keep from outsiders who, they think, would profane them. It's all sacred to them. That night, they show me the artifacts. Oil lamps, clay vats, old style tools, things like that. I see a cage-like door, maybe thirty by forty inches, made of woven branches. It's hard as stone, looks petrified. It has a hand- carved lock or latch on it. I could even see the wood grain. We sleep. At first light, we put on mountain clothes and they bring up a string of horses. I leave with seven male members of the Abas family and we ride—seems like an awful long time. Finally we come to a hidden cave deep in the canyons of Greater A View of Upper Ahora Gorge, the Summit, Saddle, and Abich II Ararat. They say it's where T. E. as well as the Relative Positions of Three Possible Ark-like Objects. Photo by Robin Simmons 1990 Robin Simmons 461 Lawrence (of Arabia) hid when he was doing reconnaissance. There's a huge pot of hot food waiting for us. There's fungus there that glows in the dark. And they say Lawrence put it on his face to convince the Kurds he was a god and get them to join him in his war against the Turks. We eat and then climb back on our horses and continue riding higher on the narrow trail. They tell me we're going through the "Back Door." It's a secret route used by smugglers or bandits. Along the way, they point out a pair of human legs sticking out of the ice and tell me he shouldn't have been up there. I believe them. I don't know how the horses are able to follow the route. In some places you can tell we were riding along a high cliff but most of the time it's hard to see because of the rain and fog. A freezing wind is blowing and it feels like it's going right through me. Soon, Abas tells me to be quiet because we're at a place where Russian sentries, stationed below, might hear us. We ride in silence for the rest of the day. Sometimes they'd communicate in their own private code by short whistles. Eventually we run out of trail. Someone from the Abas family is waiting for us, takes our horses and we are roped together and climb on foot much higher to another cave.