Paddling Whitewater in Iran

BAKHTIARI

I felt like I was in heaven on the first day of our trip down the Bakhtiari. I knew that the river ahead was going to become more remote, beautiful, and challenging with each passing day. These are the kinds of adventures that feed my soul as nothing else can. That is what I looked forward to—eight days of being surrounded by the wild and the unknown.

We didn’t know whether to expect friendly people offering tea or another frightful experience like we’d had on the Sezar. Even though Debs, Bob, and Dave had paddled the same stretch of river three years earlier, it was all new for me.

On the Bakhtiari, we were treated to box-walled canyons, cascading waterfalls, pristine beaches, nearly continuous Class IV and V whitewater, and geology that rivaled that of the Grand Canyon.

One day while scouting a major rapid, we noticed three men with guns watching us from the riverbank. Neither running the rapid nor walking around it was very appealing. Some of us made a snap decision to go for it.

Halfway through the massive torrent, I flipped and got pinned upside down between two large boulders. After several agonizing seconds, I realized I was trapped and made a wet exit to escape.

Immediately, I was sucked underwater. Only rarely did I pop to the surface, and each time I had just seconds to gasp for another breath. I could feel myself growing weaker by the moment. Suddenly Alex’s kayak appeared out of nowhere, and he told me to grab on. I clung to his boat and Debs tossed a throw-bag from shore. I was fighting to get air back into my lungs when I finally joined her. Solid ground had never felt so good.

The next morning I was less energetic than usual, but the canyon’s beauty inspired me to see what waited around the next corner. Surrounded by multicolored rock formations, we paddled through the most remote and dramatic landscape I’d ever experienced. In places, the inner gorge was so

narrow that the river was squeezed between towering canyon walls. Paddling deeper and deeper into the canyon was intimidating yet exhilarating.

I was grateful to be in such a wild place of such exquisite beauty, doing what I love most.

That’s not to say it wasn’t arduous. Portaging creekboats and several days’ worth of food, setting up traverse lines, and lowering our boats required stamina and strength. It was hot and sticky. Though it was physically demanding, we relished the challenge. We worked together as a team each day and watched shooting stars overhead at night.

ZEZ

After our trips on the Sezar and Bakhtiari Rivers, we couldn’t resist the urge to quench our thirst for a first descent, particularly knowing that many of them would be lost because of dam projects proposed for the surrounding Zagros Mountains. We loaded our boats with a few days’ worth of food and gear and hitched a ride 20 miles over a mountain pass to a high plateau. We unloaded beside the upper reaches of the braided Zez River. Some nomads greeted us in Farsi from their black tents pitched nearby. Others watched incredulously. Their sheep grazed the flats alongside the river. We soon left them behind and floated downstream.

Later, we approached a village where a bridge spanned the river. When one of our party members pulled out his camera, I said, “Do you think we should be flashing our expensive gear around here?” He just couldn’t resist shooting photos of the perfect Class V drops in the golden afternoon light. Meanwhile, the villagers watched us intently.

Later, we had to scout and portage around some of the most challenging whitewater. After we had paddled through several demanding sections, an Iranian man grabbed the loop on my kayak and started dragging me to shore before I realized what was happening. I didn’t know whether to crack his hand with my paddle or try to reason with him. Meanwhile, two accomplices appeared and gestured that they wanted our cameras. It soon became clear that they would hold me until the cameras were handed over. I feared for my life. Eventually, one camera was given to them and my boat was let go, and we paddled away as fast as we could. We went as far downstream as possible before stopping for the night. We didn’t know if they might appear again and demand more.

TEHRAN

After our three river trips, I spent a few days in the capital city of Tehran to celebrate. Since there are no pubs or bars anywhere in the country, two young Iranian women helped me locate the hippest coffee shop in the city. As we walked inside, they immediately pulled their headscarves back, exposing a couple inches of their hair. It’s one of the ways that young people in Iran are testing the boundaries of their freedom. One told me about the day she wore a pair of capri pants that showed a little of her bare ankle. She was dragged off to jail. I was shocked at the harsh treatment, but she said it could have been worse.

Many of the Iranian people we spoke with are resentful about women’s inequality and their restrictions. Artists, journalists, and intellectuals are similarly mistreated.

Isolated by their clerical dictatorship, Iranians want to know more about the outside world. Everywhere we traveled, I sensed that people wanted more freedom. Their eyes revealed a deep curiosity about our lives. Many confessed that they craved the kind of freedom that Westerners enjoy. We can do almost anything we want, while they can’t even wear a pair of shorts.

Iran offers an intense traveling experience that’s not for everyone, but if you go, there’s lots of hidden beauty to be found.