Rather different from my usual blogs. At the time of writing this it seems likely that the US is about to launch an attack on Iran. Hopefully that assumption is wrong as the potential to spill over into a major war is considerable. However current events have made me think about my only time in Iran, some 20 years ago. So I thought I’d share my experience of an encounter with the Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corp, many years ago.
Back in around 2006 I was working on a survey vessel off Iran, more specifically in the South Pars Gas Field in the Persian Gulf. Oil and gas survey vessels are essentially platforms used to conduct a wide range of survey and sampling techniques that better inform on the physical environment. This one was a brand new 42 metre offshore support vessel, built earlier that year in the Wuxi shipyard in China. We were helping to map for new pipeline routes. The vessel charter itself is normally the most expensive part of such an operation, so teams work around the clock in shifts to maximise efficiency.
I was there to provide visual imaging of the seabed along the proposed pipeline corridor, and had brought along a towed underwater camera system for the project. But as a biologist I was also part of the grab sampling team, where a large, heavy grab is lowered to the seabed at pre-determined stations, and samples of the seabed sediment collected for physical and biological analysis.
There is a lot of heavy equipment moving around, winch drums, cables and grab buckets, so safety is a priority. At night the entire back deck is floodlit to ensure everyone can be seen and all moving parts can be seen. One effect of this however, is that, outside of this pool of intense white light everything is dark, the surrounding sea is inky black. We were working two hour shifts through the night. It was around 2.30am, around 30 minutes into my shift, when the night took an unexpected turn.
A grab bucket had just landed on the grab table, located near the stern, port side of the vessel, when we first heard it. A deep, powerful throbbing sound. My first thought was there must be a helicopter above us, but I could see no lights other than our own. As the sound grew louder we stopped working and looked at each other. I don’t recall anyone saying anything, but I’m sure we were all thinking ‘what the hell?’
The noise had reached a roaring crescendo when we finally saw it, the silhouette of a large launch emerging from the darkness on our starboard side. The vessel appeared uniformly dark coloured and displayed no lights. It only became partially visible when close enough to pick up the reflected light from our downward pointing spotlights, and from small hand-held torches carried by three or four men standing on its long foredeck. Once it came alongside I estimated its length to be between 15 and 20 metres. No insignia or other markings were visible, but from size and shape it appeared to be either a high-speed patrol boat (such as the Taregh) or an IPS torpedo boat (note: I knew nothing of these at the time, so this is comparing images from memory with information available online). Once alongside several armed men climbed onboard. They stated they were Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC). I could see no badges or insignia on their uniforms, but no-one was about to argue the point. As inconspicuously as possible, I took off my hard hat and placed it over my SLR camera. Events then took a rather surreal turn. The soldier in charge stated that they had a problem, and that they needed engine oil from us. An engineer was summoned. The Second Engineer was a tall, young Syrian guy, whose name I confess I have forgotten. He was a likeable guy and by far the most useful person in the engine room. He was also someone with little respect for ‘rules’. When we had berthed in one of Iran’s oil ports a few days earlier, we were informed in no uncertain terms that no-one except the few Iranians aboard were allowed off the ship. I was sitting on deck around midnight, it being far too hot in my cabin, when I saw the 2nd Engineer and one other crew heading towards the gangway. ‘Hey, you know we’re not supposed to….?’ I left my question hanging. ‘It’ll be interesting. Want to come?’ he replied. I hesitated….. what was the worst that could happen? I decided not to contemplate the answer. ‘Sure’ I said, and tagged along down the gangway behind them. To my amazement there was no obvious port security. Immediately back from the quay was a long truck stop, where numerous arctics hauling who knows what were stopped for the night. Along the roadside small camps were set up; Iranian truckers were sitting around eating and drinking tea. Several called us over to offer us tea. We sat with them drinking hot sweet tea. I spoke no Farsi and they spoke little English, so conversation was limited to ‘where are you from’ and other pleasantries. Having stared at the imposing Iranian coastline for many days, it felt good to finally set foot on it. We sneaked back on board a little after 1am with a mixture of elation and relief.
The 2nd Engineer emerged and spoke to the commanding soldier. Whether in Arabic or Farsi I couldn’t tell. It seemed that the soldier was repeating his request for oil. The 2nd Engineer turned and descended the ladder that lead to the engine room. After what seemed like a long time but was probably only a few minutes he emerged again, carrying a small plastic Coke bottle filled with oil. Without a word he presented the tiny bottle to the armed military man. No one said a word. In my head I was thinking ‘Shit, this is going to go very bad’. The soldier looked at the bottle, looked at the Syrian engineer, then took the small bottle. A few words were said to the other armed men, they climbed back on board their own vessel, the engine roared, and they left. Just like that.
To this day I’m still not exactly sure what happened that night. The next few days were very busy, and then our work was complete and I was off the ship. I never had a chance to talk to the 2nd engineer about about what was said between him and the men from the boat. Nor do I have a good explanation as to why they simply accepted a tiny amount of oil. Is it possible that this was not simply engine oil but specialist lubricant for some other piece of equipment, and only a small amount was required? Maybe. Was the oil simply a pretext for boarding to check exactly what we were doing and that we were indeed simply an oil survey vessel? Again, maybe; but none of those who boarded seemed to have much interest in checking what we were doing. It was one of those events where, once it is over, you ask yourself ‘did that really happen?’ Let’s hope the current tensions in the Persian Gulf are defused as quickly.
If you found this post interesting, you may also like my blog Lessons in stupidity ..Diving the trawl
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