DUHOK, Iraqi Kurdistan — Our “travel agent” in Turkey was a bit misinformed. After contracting with the Kurdish coyotes to take us into Zakho, we were told we would cross a small river and then walk two of three kilometers to a truck that would take us to Zakho.
This was a big lie.
Our guide with the rocky teeth that we met in the alpine field was more of a baby sitter. He took us to a safe-house in a village on the Turkish-Iraqi border. We had a dinner of rice, cucumbers, tomatoes and naan, the bread served with every meal here. Soon three men showed up. Only one, a small man with a wrestler’s physique and a ready smile, gave his name: Çimli. The other two were friendly, but didn’t talk much. They shook our hands and smiled, and then talked amongst themselves for a while. No one spoke English and J. and I don’t speak Turkish or Kurmanji, the Kurdish dialect.
We waited around for about an hour, killing time by watching KurdSat recordings of popular Kurdish singers. The smugglers occupied themselves with a great deal of coming and going. Finally, we were ready to go. The five of us shouldered the packs — the smugglers refused to let us carry our own — and set out. As the smallest of the party, I got stuck carrying the food and the chai set. I was a walking tea cozy.
Once out of the safe-house, we were loaded in the back of a tractor, where J. and I laid down as flat as we could, watching the stars stream by overhead. After a short but vertebrae-bruising ride, we were let out on the side of the road. A couple of quick words and the five of us, J., myself and our three coyote guides, set off down a hill.
To our left we could plainly see the Turkish encampments about 1 km away. With a ring of lights and perched on a hillside, they looked like downed flying saucers. We hoofed it down several hills for another kilometer or so, and then came to a river — the Heyil Cayi, according to my map. The Turkish base was very close now, perhaps 500 meters away. Down underneath the bridge, two sentries were on duty.
J. pulled out his night vision goggles and handed them to Çimli, who was very impressed. He smiled at J. in the darkness, his teeth gleaming in the Turks’ flood lights. “Amrika,” he said. “Bosch!” Good.
The goggles gave us a tremendous advantage. The Turkish sentries, stupidly, were also smoking, showing us exactly where they were. From the darkness of the riverbank, even I could see the ember of their cigarettes.
Çimli started timing the sentries. When they turned their backs and started walking downstream away from the bridge, we made a run for it.
We scrambled down the riverbank, and hit the bridge. Running in a crouch, we were in full view of the base, whose inhabitants had thoughtfully lighted the whole bridge like Yankee Stadium at night. We were running through the “kill zone,” a patch of territory where it would be more than easy to pick off targets.
Halfway across, and the juice kicked in. I no longer cared if I was seen or not and broke into a full scale sprint. J. was close behind me, but even with his longer legs he couldn’t catch me. Huffing and spitting, we made it to the other side, protected by rocks. I almost took a tumble, but righted myself in the nick of time before dashing my head against a large boulder just at the end of the bridge.
All of us across, we kept a mean pace until we were well out of sight of the Turks. Finally, we rested next to a spring. Each of us drank our fill under the sky and one of our guides turned to me and J.
“Turkishiye, no problem,” he said and wiped his hands together.
“Problem yok,” I replied. No problem. It was in Turkish, but he smiled anyway.
Now the journey got rough. J. and I had naively believed N. when he said that we would cross the river and take a little two or three kilometer hike, and then there would be a truck to take us to Zakho. We had already done the 2-3 km trek and were thinking, “This isn’t so bad” when Çimli and Co. took us off trail. What followed from there were some of the most hellish hours of my life.
We had started out from the safe-house at around 9 p.m. It was now after midnight and it was pitch black. We wouldn’t stop marching and climbing until sunrise.
We climbed three mountains that night, up and down. According to the altimeter in my GPS receiver, we were up around 5,500 feet at one point. And these mountains weren’t gentle slopes nor was there a flat surface on them. Each step was a gamble, hoping that I wouldn’t lose my footing and tumble down into the river we were following some 300-400 feet below. Often the “trail” wasn’t even visible, known only to Çimli and his cohorts from years traversing this terrain. My ankles ached from the twisting. My calves and quads burned. My combat boots thankfully had a good tread and didn’t slip underneath me — much — but the steel caps banged my toes painfully, ripping the nails from three of them.
We stopped once that night, for about an hour. As the walking tea cozy, it was imperative I survive, so I was pushed, hauled and lugged up a sheer cliff to a roomy cave in the side of the mountain where we had a very civilized second dinner. Çimli sang J. Lo songs and J. taught the smugglers words for the various makes of rifles. We were quickly becoming friends.
We tried to talk to them, find out how far it was to go. But the answer to “Kak kilometer Zakho?” How many kilomters to Zakho? was always the same: “Bir kilometer!” One kilometer! “One kilometer straight up?” I asked. Çimli just made an up and down motion with hand like waves. Not encouraging.
It was getting cold now, and we walked and walked some more. The mountains in the Turkish-Iraqi border region are either one big rock with sheer faces and very few hand- and toeholds, or piles upon innumerable piles of broken, sharp shale that shift under your feet and cut at the your ankles. While my boots were high enough to protect from the cutting, they didn’t allow enough ankle rotation to walk along the mountain sides like a mountain goat. Our guides, clad in Iraqi web belts, Kurdish pants, military jacket and toting Kalishnikovs, also wore Nike and Reebok tennis shoes. Their ankles were as thick as PVC pipes. They, of course, had no problem on these slopes.
By dawn we were close to another Turkish base, and I was hallucinating. I imagined the guide in front of me was Emre, from Diyarbakir, and I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t responding to me when I called out to him. Çimli and the guys needed to get to a hiding place because I wasn’t going to make it much longer. The pace they had set was brutal. On a flat, paved surface, it would have been a brisk walk, the kind that leaves one a bit winded after half an hour. This was over unstable terrain, at night, up and down several times. And they never really stopped. And they did it carrying our packs, which weighed 30-40 pounds each. I have a great deal of respect for these guys, especially since they seem to live on mountain air, chai and cigarettes.
As light was breaking over us, we were almost to the shelter, a cluster of rocks that protected us from Turkish snipers. But we had to cross an old mining operation that had blasted an entire side of a mountain — which we had to clamber up, of course — into trillions of little pieces of shale. They just fell away in my hands, and it was like climbing a sand dune, except every grain of sand cuts through your skin. My hands will bear many scars after this.
Near the top, I gave out. I couldn’t make and begged Çimli to leave me, shoot me or something. It was not one of my finer moments. This was the one time I was glad he didn’t speak English. Instead, he hauled me up by my coat collar, pulled me up the slope and onto a road. Finally, we made it to the shelter where they dumped me behind some rocks and covered me with a camouflaged tarp so the Turks wouldn’t see me. I slept for an hour before I awoke, shivering. I drank some chai and fell back asleep until mid-morning. We would stay at that little camp until 1 p.m.
After that night, I wasn’t sure it could get worse. It did. All day and into the night we marched, never stopping for more than 10 minutes at a time. The GPS receiver didn’t work here and I suspect the U.S. was jamming the signal in the region. It still showed us in the little meadow where we thought this would be a light little adventure.
By nightfall, we were in the snows of the mountains, doggedly walking. I no longer knew anything or cared about anything except placing my feet in the footsteps of the peshmerga before me. When I could, I would reach down and grab a handful of snow to suck on, hoping for some hydration. It helped… a little.
I don’t know what time we entered the valley and finally saw Zakho in the distance, but it was before midnight. We were being handed off to two KDP peshmergas, Abdullah Karim and Sabdi. Abdullah was the younger of the two, looking a bit like Freddie Mercury in his prime. Sabdi was obviously an old warrior, with his graying red hair and fading mustache. But he was a tough old slugger. They took our packs from us. I, of course, was again the walking tea cozy.
For $200 they would take us to Duhok, which was fine with me. I was too exhausted to haggle, and in the light of the cigarette lighter by which we conducted the transaction, Ben Franklin seemed to be making faces at me.
That night, we walked until morning, through more snow, and with only another hour to sleep. I fell down where we stopped and didn’t get up until they made me.
“Mister, mister!” Abdullah hissed, poking me with his rifle. I woke up fast.
At daybreak we started out again, climbing up and down hills. Abdullah was enthusiastic and funny, making driving noises and warning us of Turkish tanks that shell the cabs on the road to Zakho. J. couldn’t understand why the Turks would do this, as we were in Iraq, a sovereign country, and the Turks were shelling civilians. At point, later in the day, we would come across an unexploded cluster mine, dropped from a plane. Also, I picked up a few pieces of Turkish shrapnel, left over from where the Turks had shelled the field. The road, which we avoided until well out of sight of the Turkish base, was pockmarked and scarred from the barrages. How did shelling Kurdish civilians and taxis enhance Turkish security? I wondered.
At one rest break, Abdullah filled us in on his view of world politics. “George Bush: Okaaaaaay!” he said, and gave a big thumbs up. Tony Blair got the same treatment. “Donald Rumsfeld, Colin Powell, Condeleeza RIce,” he said, ticking off their names on his fingers. “Bosch!” But he literally held his nose and sneered when he came to the names of French President Jacques Chirac and German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder. He even found it in his heart to dis France’s ambassador to the United Nations.
He asked if J. and I had children. We didn’t but he did. He had five, he said. But then he started ticking them off again. The first one was killed by the Turks. The second by the Iranians. The third by the Syrians and the fourth by the Iraqis. For all the death Abdullah has seen personally, he seemed remarkably unbitter. But he was a full-on, “let’s roll” supporter of this war.
“Saddam, krrreeeeeek!” he said, and made a slicing motion across his throat. “Amrika, Kurdi dost!” he said, indicating the friendship that existed between the Kurds and the United States. I felt such compassion for him at the moment, I wanted to hug him. Instead, I patted his arm and nodded. “Friends,” I said. I desperately hoped I wasn’t lying to him.
After another four hours of marching, we finally made it to the taxi, which was a pickup truck driven by Abdullah. We had to go through a little military intelligence routine by a Kurd calling himself “Che Guevara.” (That’s him on the left in the attached picture. J is in the middle.) If any operational details of this trip leaked out, they would know who to pinch. I think I’m OK, since I don’t know any details.
Finally, Duhok. It was grueling journey and I can hear the bombs falling on Mosul less than 40 miles to the south. One was large enough to shake the windows of the hotel while I was writing this. I wonder if the trip over the mountains was really worth it… Tomorrow, Arbil.
It sounds like a journey from some amazing fiction novel… absolutely fascinating.
Glad you’re safe!
Jesus Christ, man…quite incredible. It’s always an amazing thing to be confronted with the difficulties of life that people outside Western civilization have to face.
Good luck and Godspeed.
Whew!! That’s almost more than I can stand, reading what you went through. And for those of you who doubted that Christopher was where he said he was, I hope this lays to rest those doubts. He still has difficult days ahead, so let’s all keep praying and having strong positive thoughts for J. and Chris.
Thanks to everyone again for all your good wishes for him.
Great update, Christopher.
hey, “when are you going to start reporting”? JUST KIDDING. GREAT reporting. enjoy getting a different side of things — just getting there is a story worth reporting. you and your fellow travelers stay safe.
You’ve GOT to be shitting me! This is either a hoax, or you are a fucking idiot, probably the latter. Ever consider preparing for the outdoors? Ever walk to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back up? Hemingway you are not.
You can hear the bombardment 40 miles away? I doubt it, unless they are dropping nukes, and probably just see the flash not hear the boom.
Here’s some good advice, you’re out of your depth. Make a right turn and go back to somewhere they play by the rules.
[Off topic comment deleted]
I’ve been reading you for a week now, since I first discovered your website. I think you’re absolutely insane, and, one of the most remarkable truth adventurists I’ve ever come across. You have redefined “extreme” reporting. I anxiously await your next entry, like a daily reality fix. Safe journey to you both.
Raoul, you have obviously never been within 40 miles of an artilary bombardment. You most certainly can hear it from that far away.
And since you seem to know so much about what my brother is doing I suggest you get up out of your recliner, get your ass to Iraq, and report to us on your weblog as to what is happening and how you got there.
chris, don’t know if u guys r in touch, but ramin T is in iran.
it is an interesting reminder of the reality (that mainstream media doesn’t cover so much!) to hear that u saw that turk ‘security’ bombs the shit out of civilian nearby iraq.
ay vey. be well. ./bc
Well Mikey, I see being a know-it-all runs in the family, or you’re the same person. Not only have I experienced a lot of arty, 105/155/NGF, I know what kind of a boom CAS makes too. Not only can you NOT hear artillery at 40 miles, it can only be most faintly heard at 20, and that’s with the wind behind it. There are a lot of conditions that can make it impossible to hear at five miles.
The MAIN point is that this is either a ruse, or an idiotic exercise in self-indulgent ego-gratification. Who wanders into the wilds of the world without having thought through the process?
Reminds me of reading Seven Pillars of Wisdom, minus the ‘mystique.’ I look forward to more. Keep strong, fellow.
Raoul, having been in the military myself I have heard “arty” barrages from over 20 miles away. But what Chris’ was talking about is not an artilary barrage (I mispoke in my original comment), but bombing. A 2000 lb bomb makes a lot louder boom than an artilary round going off. And when you drop lots of them at the same time over a period of time you can hear the explosions from miles and miles away.
And you calling me a know-it-all is the pot calling the kettle black.
Jesus, Chris, the trip sounds wrenching. I’m glad you have decent boots. If this doesn’t sound too insane, given the painful details, I very much enjoyed this dispatch — the description got the experience across really vividly. Love the “walking tea cozy” line. Good luck, take care! We’re thinking of you.
Do tell Mike, let’s hear your military resume, rank and MOS will do. So far all I see here is what is referred to as a lashup, i.e. throwing shit together, and hoping something happens.
You have no reason in the world to suggest that there were 2000 lb bombs being dropped, or that they could be heard. THERE IS STILL NO WAY IN HELL THAT THEY COULD BE HEARD FROM 40 MILES AWAY.
Raoul, I see that since you seem to have nothing useful to say you resort to the old rhetorical trick of calling into question my credibility. I could ask the same questions of you, but I won’t. You claim to have “experienced a lot of arty” and I take you at your word until you give me some reason to doubt you (which you have not done). Yet my word is not good enough for you. Since you are apparently not interested in conducting yourself in a civlized manner I’m done responding you.
Thanks Michael - ANY response feeds the trolls and I personally would like to see this one starve to death!!(meaning leave this place)
Chris,
What a great story!!! I almost lost the air in my lungs as I sprinted across that bridge along with you. It would be interesting to get some of J’s perspective on the same trail - would he do a good interview? Keep writin’ — but take care and be safe. Ignore trolls
It is a scientific fact that a lion’s roar can be heard as far as 10 miles away.
Hearing a 2000 lb bomb from 40 miles? No problem.
Kathi, normally I don’t feel the trolls. But I guess I just read his comment at the wrong time and I jumped into the fray. Loyalty to one’s brother and all that dontcha know! :-)
For the record, artillery barrages on the western front in the Great War could be heard over seventy miles away in Dover. Even old naval engagements on the Channel in the 17th century using fairly primitive smoothbore muzzleloaders could be heard in London. Even medium Artillery fire being discerned from fourty or fifty miles away is perfectly reasonable. Heavy bombing even moreso. Raoul is the faker here, as anyone who had been within that distance of a live-firing of an artillery piece would know it.
This is quite the fascinating journey; the best of luck is offered to Chris.
Sorry to feed the trolls, but Chris did in fact say “less than 40 miles to the south”… so stop arguing about some of the technical things and just respect the man for what he is doing.
Fantastic piece of writing, this is what the internet was supposed to do, bring intelligently organized information to the world (And me sitting in Ontario, Canada). Fantastic.
Arif Mahmood
An odyssey like that and the man can still alliterate: “sharp shale that shift.” I’m quite impressed. You’re my new personal hero, Chris. You display true courage. Stay safe… if you ever want to give up the journalism thing, you know you can have a great future in adventure travel.
This is the juice and I’m definitely passing it on to anyone I encounter. Great work from a great journalist.
Wow, what a journey. Glad you’ve made it this far safely. Look forward to hearing more. Your site is one of my newest addictions. Keep it up!
And because I can’t help but feed the trolls in an attempt to educate them, Raoul … you might be interested in reading this report by a Reuters reporter who is also in Dohuk and who also heard the bombings.
J. kinda has a passing resemblance to the paramilitary CIA guy in “The Agency,” which is exactly as I pictured him from the earlier description.
It’s little, pointless things like this that make me happy.
Raoul, go to your dungeon in the trollhaus, contemplate your behaviour, and don’t ever come out. Michael, you’re a good bro. Geez - I am exhausted after making that crossing with Chris! I’m going to bed. Thanks, “C”, rock on.
Once again, I was spellbound as I read and bummed when it was over. Extreme Journalism. Wow, you’ve started something.
Too bad all the news can’t be reported like this.
Chris:
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
You certainly put all the media whores to shame - if they know what shame is.
Don’t go too crazy, please, and look after yourself.
My prayer is with you.
Raoul, I remember the sounds of the bombs which fell approx. 30 miles away from my boarding school, during the 6 day war, very well. Even today, watching the war coverage on TV, I have a tendency to cringe to the sounds of bombardments.
Chris, I cherish the moment I discovered your blogg. Keep safe and thanks for letting us partake in your adventures.
Dear Chris,
Thank you for your lengthy, descriptive, insightful and thought-provoking reports. I have only recently begun digesting your entries on a daily basis and I must say, you have every ounce of my respect and admiration.
Your Long March entry was particularly moving and funny too! I loved the bit about one of your guides singing a J-Lo tune… amazing how and where American popular culture travels. Most of all, thank you for writing with such sensitivity and care about the people you encounter on your journey. You’ve perceived them with more humanity than almost any other journalist I’ve read throughout this war, with the exception of Robert Fisk. Thank you for making them matter as human beings, regardless of their political persuasions.
InsyaAllah you’ll make it home again safely. My thoughts are with you.
Chris,
Hang in there, buddy. The Kurds have been almost invisible to the world, and what you are doing may very well impact their lives in a real and positive way. I hope your poor, aching body is resting up. You are doing a fine job, and don’t let anyone tell you different.
Jane
As always, Chris, you’ve done a great job…. you are my new coffe-buddy!! I cannot help but get up in the mornings and anxiously check for new posts from you!! What a service you are providing to all of us who enjoy a good read, a good story and a good adventure. I am living vicariously through your posts. Take care, stay safe, you are in my prayers.
Chris
This is best reporting I’ve found yet. I found your site last week and after reading the first few reports I immediately became a paypal contributor. I am somewhat uncomfortable with the level of risks, at least from my perspective, that you are undertaking to bring us this immediate and exotic reporting. You are definitely “far up river”.
Regards
Herb Swanson
Great Work! That sounded like a heck of a trip. Take care and we’ll be waiting to hear more on your findings.
Great Work! That sounded like a heck of a trip. Take care and we’ll be waiting to hear more on your findings.
Great example of “group-think” here. You believe because you want to. Step on down to the next blog and pick up your glass of koolade from Jim Jones.
LOL, I’m willing to posit that I’ve heard more ordnance detonate at known distance than all of you pathetic blogaristas together. You, “heard the bombing” during the 6 day war 30 miles away? I believe that you think you heard it. And Marina, it’s now how close you are to the “artillery piece”, but where the shell lands that counts.
The point is clear for anyone that questions, that this site smells of fraud, or incompetence. I particularly love how Mikey retreats into his, “I was in the military” mode. All you rear-echelon-mother-fuckers like to talk your shit, but you’ve never yanked a lanyard have ya?
Lastly, if your ass is kicked by the “movement to contact”, what the fuck are you going to do when you get there? There is a fine line between courage and stupidity, and if you are indeed in Iraq, you’re way across the line.
Raoul, no-one is making you come to this site and read the reports. If you don’t believe them fine, don’t read them. I believe them and that’s good enough for me.
Fascinating read … be careful out there! Just this description of the trip is enough to enthrall us all.
The only thing that I find hard to believe is that four of Abdullah’s children were killed by four different area countries. Perhaps he’s lying, or perhaps it really did happen. Just seems odd, killed by Iraqis and (almost) all of its neighbors.
Raoul: Parts of the story are a little bit hard to believe, but hey, who really cares? Suppose that they’re making this all up? They obviously did some research, and it’s an exciting and enjoyable story. There are other “warblogs” out there that are obviously fake. And as soon as we get some more pictures, I’m sure you’ll be persuaded.
I don’t think this is a scam.
Cheers.
I have been following the comments here and I just wanted to add my bit on the Raoul comments. This discussion of number of miles and how far you can hear it seems to be off topic. I HAVE BEEN on the receiving end of rocket and mortar fire, a long time ago in Viet Nam, and I have to agree with Raoul that its where it lands that counts, and we counted more feet and yards than in miles. Chris is way out there and running very high risks. I think the reports are tremendous. Raoul sounds like a professional and is upset by what he sees as needless risks. I just appreciate Chris that he is willing to risk so much to give his reader a sense of the dangers, peoples and landscape.
Regards
Herb Swanson
“vile and extremely mean-spirited”? A more honest read might lead one to think that Raoul is giving you something akin to the truth. No doubt all you good liberals will stone him. There is nothing more expensive than being right.
Great work, Chris. Your adventures remind me of Patrick Hyde, a character in Craig Thomas novels.
Keep up the good work. I guess, you are heralding a new age of war-reporting, based on independent journalism.
LOL, I‘m willing to posit that I’ve heard more ordnance detonate at known distance than all of you pathetic blogaristas together. You, “heard the bombing” during the 6 day war 30 miles away? I believe that you think you heard it. And Marina, it’s now how close you are to the “artillery piece”, but where the shell lands that counts.
The point is clear for anyone that questions, that this site smells of fraud, or incompetence. I particularly love how Mikey retreats into his, “I was in the military” mode. All you rear-echelon-mother-fuckers like to talk your shit, but you’ve never yanked a lanyard have ya?
Lastly, if your ass is kicked by the “movement to contact”, what the fuck are you going to do when you get there? There is a fine line between courage and stupidity, and if you are indeed in Iraq, you’re way across the line.
Armchair general speaking it seems.
Good Luck Chris and J. Your story gives me respect for bravery as a neighbor is delivered from the US casualty count to NYC.
Would someone like Raoul kill Chris & J if they encountered them? Raoul is military, and in the past I think wars have been necessary.
This one is destructive at a time when Americans are getting over perhaps some “Operation Northwoods” operation to go after mid-east Oil rich countries for destroy, take-over, rebuild, and convert to Christianity; democratize. When new government goes up, whether it be controlled by US or UN, I wonder how your guide will feel about them? Former Arms Dealer?
On top of everything, there is garbage in the news, all over the place except here, even though Chris and J are nowhere near Bagdad. Please be careful and get plenty of rest when possible. I continuously wish a safe travel, hope for your safety and continued reporting.
It is mad funny that the guide likes J. Lo.
Raoul, I sense that you are a bit angry, is this because you’re not the one reporting in Iraq? Getting the attention you need? I dont care how long you have been in the military and as many before have pointed out - if your only goal is to complain - dont.
Chris - keep it up.
Deborah
Chris has put together an excellent explanation of “WHY IRAQ” on the left hand side of his home page. Many of the puzzle pieces fell into place for me after reading it. His explanation is not all about “rebuild, and convert to Christianity; democratize.” its much more subtle.
Regards
Gentlemen, Raoul, for pete’s sake - I don’t care how much military action you’ve seen; I don’t care what kind of an expert you are on explosives or how good/bad your hearing is; and I don’t care how “right” you are! Go create your own website and write up your heroics for those who want to see them on your own ‘blog. This ‘blog is a first-hand report from a man who is there, right now, reporting what he sees. If you have a problem with it, LOG OUT.
Godspeed Christopher and his guides. Godspeed the Kurds in their fight for self-determination and freedom, in whatever form. My financial support to Christopher is some of the best money I ever spent…
In this valley we live in we can hear thunder rumbling from a good distance away. Is it 40 miles or 30 or 50? I can’t say for sure, but I know it is a long ways. If one can hear thunder rumble from such a distance I find it hard to believe one would not hear bombs from an equal distance.
Perhaps Raoul lives in the urban jungle and has never been to the country where concrete doesn’t bend, distort and stifle sounds. At the very least his immature use of the English language pretty much assures us of his ignorance.
Report on and stay safe Christopher.
I’ll post this link again since it was stripped from my previous comment when they removed html in the comments.
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/nm/20030403/wlnm/iraqmosulbombingdc_2
A Reuters reporter in Dohuk who also heard the bombing in Mosul the same night that Chris did.
Hi all… I’ll engage in a little Raoul-bashing, but know that I’m aware this is a guilty pleasure on my part. :-)
First of all, the issue of sound traveling or not is almost completely irrelevant. That was one fine detail out of several thousand, and I for one am thankful to Chris for each and every one of them. This is textured stuff… screw the AP’s “inverted pyramid” or whatever. If you get so horny when arguing about the carrying power of massive explosions, Raoul, why don’t you go and look up “soliton wave” in some good science reference. Then you can come back, explain it to us, and admit that physics tells us that you can NOT say Chris did NOT hear that explosion 40 miles away. Once humbled, you can then entertain us with some other insignifigant detail you think “proves” Chris is some left-wing wacko with a direct line to the wire services and is making all this up.
Fine line between courage and stupidity? Well, there’s a very broad one between a real man walking into danger for the benefit of his readers, and a fucking pansy-ass couch potato has-been who is glued to a web site so he can pretend he’s a badass. For my money — and I do mean money contributed to this site — Chris is very clearly a man of courage, and Raoul, well, Raoul can go fuck himself. I’d put myself in the “pansy-ass couch potato” camp with Raoul, except that I’m not carping poor Chris on irrelevant details — and doing it erroneously to boot!
Godspeed Chris… be as safe as you can.
Some quick points of fact: under average conditions you can hear the shockwave from a bolt of lightening about 10-15 miles away; Duhok is about 1,000 ft higher in elevation than Mosul; at 40 miles the loss in elevation due to the curvature of the earth is relatively negligible; except under atmospheric inversions sound tends to bend upward in the atmosphere; there have also been heavy bombings near Faidah, which is between Dohok and Mosul; and finally this report:
http://www.novinite.com/view_news.php?id=21280
states:
“Reuters correspondent Jon Hemming said in Dohuk, 40 miles to the north of Iraq’s third largest city, the attack was unusual because bombing near that city was not normally audible.”
At around the same time as Chris’ report, giving us some independent confirmation that bombing to the south was audible at Dohuk. So a) physical conditions suggest that it wouldn’t be completely impossible, because of the altitude and given the right atmospheric conditions, b) he may have been hearing bombs north of Mosul, and c) Reuters reported it too.
Eat groupthink.
Heh, and somebody else aleady posted the reuters report while I was fiddling with physics I haven’t touched in 5 years and no longer remember. Woo.
Actually, people living up to 30 miles from Ft.Lewis call in to complain about excessive noise when they’re doing late night firings of mortars and artillery. Bombs dropping will be louder than that.
This is great reporting. This site will win an award for this effort, the best one on the net during this war.
Chris, say hi to “J”. Let him know that my papers have arrived and that I can meet him if needed…looking forward to his return. Airfare to Syria, $1200. Entrance visa, $100. “Tour guide”, $200, Having coffee in Baghdad after the fall, priceless, Visa it’s everywhere you want to be.
The Turkish tanks shelling civilians in Zakho is a total fabrication and a lie. You seemed to be taken by Kurdish fairy tales you have been hearing over there. Maybe more rightful question under the circumstances, would be why Americans shelling the Iraqi civilians (which we watch on TV so it is not an hearsay) in Iraqi towns and cities?
I have a question, “If you side with the occupying forces of your country doesn’t that make a you a traitor technically?”
Amazing, please take care.
CanZ —
This is just my opinion, but I don’t think “technically” and “traitorous” go together. I don’t think that working to free your people from a brutal dictator qualifies as traitorous, even though you would be rebelling against the government. If I vote for a Democrat in the next presidential election, I’m not a traitor.
However, in another case it might be different. Take the example of any of several Arab monarchies. These states are oil-rich and typically provide excellent education, health care, and quality of life in a fairly free society, but nevertheless it’s a dictatorial situation and the Emirs, princes, whatever, don’t usually tolerate a lot of criticism (or freedom of the press). In that situation if you fomented rebellion, you’d be attacking the source of those well-run and much-loved state services. I think that would be quite traitorous.
Certainly, the overthrow of civilian authority by a group of zealots who seek to impose a strict, narrowly-interpreted moral code — be it sharia or Marxism — is traitorous, I believe. But Mullah Omar disagrees with me on this.
Maybe we could agree that the judgment of an accused traitor should be the job of a great many people and not entrusted to a single individual or a homogeneous group of people?
Oh, for God’s sake.
You can’t hear bombing from 40 miles away? Turkish shelling civilians is just Kurdish fairy tales? And all of this is somehow meant to discredit what Christopher is doing — which is putting his own ass on the line a long way from home so that the rest of us can get a little news that hasn’t gone through the big money filters of mainstream media.
Not a chance. When I was a boy, I lived in Kamaranmaras province in Turkey, near Diyarbakir. I encountered many Kurds and Chris’s descriptions make it sound like very little has changed since the late 1980s. It’s gotten more violent, perhaps.
And as a journalist who has done some fairly dangerous field reporting — nothing even remotely close to what Chris is doing, of course — I would advise Chris and his family to treat the trolls with amused contempt. The view from the cheap seats is pretty good, or so I’ve been told, and if some idiotic weekend reservist wants to get his George Patton on and talk about auditory range of bombing, you let him go right ahead. Worry about your boy over there, not the teeming hordes of uninformed blog readers (and I include myself in this).
He’s doing good work. He’s writing good prose, good enough that I’m envious of him for writing it. He’s telling the truth. That, ultimately, is all that matters.