After dinner Derek insisted that Frayling and I go for a walk along the Nile corniche. Wincing at the thought, I went along and quickly found that away from his expected role of formality and academic erudition, Christopher was at heart a fun and funny fellow, game for whatever might come his way, a surprising and encouraging revelation indeed.
Filming began immediately in the Valley of the Kings. I was very impressed by the professionalism of the team. Every shot was carefully constructed, even those that would appear for just a few seconds in the final product. Quality was foremost, and for those appearing on camera the sitting around between setups seemed endless. Frayling, though, was brilliant. With a quick glance at his notes, he could deliver an articulate stream of wonderful commentary, often requiring only one take. Eventually we opened KV 60, and I conducted a short tour of the tomb followed by a journey into KV 43, the tomb of Thutmose IV with its surviving evidence of an ancient tomb robbery. Both were discovered in 1903 by Howard Carter and added much to the telling of his story.
The real drama, though, would begin with our descent into the depths of KV 20, the valley tomb of Hatshepsut, one of the steepest, deepest, longest, most dangerous, and nastiest tombs in all of Egypt. Howard Carter had excavated the tomb beginning in 1903 while working for Theodore Davis. It is very likely the first tomb ever carved in the valley, initiated by the pharaoh Thutmose I and continued by his daughter, Hatshepsut. In many ways the tomb appears experimental, as if its builders really didn’t understand the geology of the valley. Its single long corridor snakes down through a thick bed of solid, beautiful limestone before penetrating into the underlying shale, which is exceedingly loose and dangerous. At the point where the two beds intersect, one can actually look up at the ceiling and see the underside of the limestone bedrock.
Clearing KV 20 was an ordeal for Carter and his workmen, its corridor and lower chambers being packed with solidified flood debris. The sheer length and steepness of the tomb made the work extremely grueling, and the air was hot, foul, and imbued with the stench of bat dung. Carter described it as “one of the most irksome projects I have ever undertaken.” It is indeed a nasty place, and even now, cleared of most of the debris, it is an arduous and extremely unpleasant tomb to explore. I first visited the tomb in 1984 with two friends. At the time its broken door lay wide open, and we began to descend with increasing trepidation. About two-thirds of the way down, my companions, overwhelmed by the dust and bat stink, had had enough. I proceeded on my own and reached the lower chambers with their crumbling shale walls and hordes of bats quivering from the ceiling. I was satisfied to scan the rooms quickly with the dust-opaqued light of my headlamp and beat a quick retreat, but not before unintentionally arousing the ire of the occupants. Pursued by a veritable flock of bats, I scrambled quickly to join my waiting friends, and we struggled to leave the wretched confines of the tomb as quickly as possible. The bats kept coming, and our heads were filled with thoughts of rabies or other bat-inflicted maladies as we lay prone on the tomb’s floor within sight of its entrance above. Looking up at the square light at the end of the dark tunnel, we could see the bats flitting about the entrance like a swarm of angry mosquitoes, their flapping wings translucent from the light of the sun. Eventually they all darted speedily back into the depths of their lair, and we emerged from the tomb, savoring every breath of fresh air.
It was this sort of adventure that I hoped we could replicate in the film. It would give a real sense of the peril that Carter was willing to endure so early in his career, and a real sense of his determination. The plan was that Frayling and I would descend into the tomb just far enough to demonstrate its treacherous nature, and then bats would fly out and terrorize us. The steep and slippery floor of the tomb presented a dangerous filming environment and required great care. A rock accidentally kicked near the entrance could be heard to bounce and bounce and bounce, and we were very aware that the same fate could be awaiting a dropped piece of equipment or perhaps a dropped member of the television crew. In preparation for this sequence, however, I had obtained a sturdy wooden beam cut exactly to fit into ancient notches in the tomb’s walls. Similar beams had been used to assist in lowering the heavy stone sarcophagi into the burial chamber, and now they could serve as anchors for men with cameras.
Frayling and I donned dust masks, proceeded into the tomb, and were quickly reminded of its dangers. A slip on my part was not staged, and though slightly unnerved, we continued our descent. We would of course need a few bats for drama, and a sufficient number at that, to compel us to leave the tomb. I sent a cameraman and an Egyptian assistant down to the bottom to scare up a few. Excited by the beams of flashlights, the bats flew ahead of their agitators, and soon a voice from below could be heard announcing their impending arrival. Very soon dozens arrived, more than we expected, and Frayling and I crouched against the wall as they buzzed by, grazing our heads in their passing. We eventually made our way out, and the cameras were able to capture their eerie bat ballet in the hazy light of the entrance.
The sound for the sequence we filmed in KV 20 was difficult to capture. The dust masks obscured our voices, and some of the commentary uttered during the bat attack was probably inappropriate for children. The sound would have to be replicated elsewhere, a practice not at all unusual in the art of filmmaking. We found a suitable acoustic environment in a surprising place: a bathroom in our Luxor hotel, which had acoustics that were amenable to the task. I situated myself in the empty bathtub, and Frayling sat on the closed lid of the porcelain throne while a sound technician extended his microphone boom through the doorway. Covering our mouths with the dust masks, we re-created our tomb adventure—“Here come the bats!” and “Let’s get out of here!” and so forth—having a good laugh in the process.
The highlight of this whole enterprise, for me at least, would be the sequence at the remote Hatshepsut cliff tomb outside the valley. The potential hazards were very real. For a variety of reasons, we got a late start on our first day filming, but we eventually arrived at the edge of the desert, where I had arranged for several porters to assist with the gear. Additionally, a number of donkeys would be put to use, and we loaded them into the backs of pickup trucks. Donkeys were a common means of transportation in ancient Egypt and in Howard Carter’s day as well. Even today these sturdy creatures are hard at work in nearly every Egyptian village, as they can carry heavy loads and travel sure-footedly in terrain where no vehicle can pass. (As an interesting aside and a look into the social life of Carter, I once saw a photograph in the personal scrapbook of a famous early-twentieth-century Egyptologist that depicted a herd of donkeys scurrying away with a rider in its midst. The photo’s caption read, “Carter and his contemporaries.”) Carter was often seen excavating in proper English attire, so we found it only fitting that we should wear some nice coats out into the desert. After a few more delays, our caravan lurched forward toward the Theban mountains.
Our mechanized desert caravan was filmed from close, far, and wide, and eventually we arrived at the end of the desert track. While the porters and their loads were organized, Frayling and I selected the donkeys we would ride. “I like the one with the frilly knickers!” joked Frayling. As if to show who was boss, his lanky steed kicked him off in short order. Mine insisted on rapidly spinning in circles, but I would not be dismayed. I had ridden donkeys on a number of previous occasions and knew that if I hung on, the donkey would eventually get bored and stop.
With the cameras rolling, Frayling and I enjoyed our ride in the manner of Carter. Wired for sound, we engaged in an impromptu conversation regarding whose donkey was more attractive and reliable. Needless to say, our comments did not survive the editing process. Already it was becoming incredibly hot, and we had yet to arrive near the dreaded cliff. As we approached the end of the wadi, one of the porters succumbed to the heat. We immediately took measures to have him returned to a local village for treatment and carried on.
Frayling had been prompted very little a
bout what he was to experience that day, with the idea that the camera could capture his authentic reactions. Nearing the end of the wadi, we dismounted from our noble chargers, and Frayling asked how much farther. The rest of the way would be on foot, and I indicated perhaps twenty minutes to half an hour. “That’s your pace!” he replied with a laugh. “No, that’s your pace!” I added. We began to ascend the hillside, Christopher flagging just slightly behind and feeling the effects of the heat. Soon we reached a vantage point from which we could gain a good view of the cliff tomb’s dark and lofty entrance. I silently chuckled as Frayling declared “It looks lethal!” while resolutely maintaining a respectable British stiff upper lip.
We carried on and eventually reached the top, camera crew in tow. At the cleft I removed my coat, and both Frayling and I put on safety helmets. I coached him down the crevice, an exercise requiring the judicious use of fingers, toes, and utmost caution. With experience as a professional mountain guide, I was well used to delivering inexperienced novices through treacherous terrain, and Christopher soon arrived safely on the sloping ledge, where he found a secure place to sit while I set up the anchors and ropes.
Preparations for this moment had actually begun months before, when I sent an equipment list to the BBC to requisition the mountaineering hardware, including helmets, harnesses, and descending devices for the camera crew. During my earlier reconnaissance, I’d explored the range of potential anchors and designed a system that was essentially “bombproof,” to use the mountaineering vernacular. Not only was I responsible for my own safety, but I was supervising the crew as well. Since it would be necessary for me to back over the edge of the cliff several times, I attached an ascending device to my harness that would allow me to climb back up the rope, saving me a long, hot hike back up from the bottom of the wadi after each shot.
The afternoon before, a meeting was held at the hotel pool. There was much planning to do concerning the next day, which would involve significant logistics and great personal perseverance on the part of most of the participants. A subject at issue was whether or not Frayling should descend the cliff with me. Christopher was quite willing and insisted that with a little practice he would be up to the task, and I supported him in this request. It would look too easy, argued Derek Towers, if the inexperienced professor managed to make his way down the cliff, thus detracting from the boldness of Carter and the physical seriousness of the situation. I suggested that I could train Frayling from the roof of the hotel or perhaps from one of the steep rock buttresses across the river. But Derek was the boss, and he made a good point that the sense of real danger would likely be lost. A lack of time to pursue either option, however, decisively ended the question.
How, then, could Frayling decline gracefully during the cliff tomb sequence? It was suggested that he would climb down through the cleft to the sloping ledge, at which point he would indicate his reluctance to proceed, preferring instead to leave the rest to the expert. “Fine,” I agreed, “and I’ll respond to him by saying, ‘I readily agree.’”
“Nobody says that!” vetoed Towers. “That’s so archaic and unnatural!”
“There’s a good chance that I’m going to say it anyway,” I cheekily insisted. “Besides, I heard you use that very phrase during yesterday’s meeting, and I kind of liked it!”
For the rest of the evening, I teased some of my companions by occasionally inserting the phrase “I readily agree” at appropriate conversational moments.
During the next day’s filming, the big moment arrived, with Frayling sitting on the ledge and declining to descend the cliff while I set up the anchors and rope. There were several ears anxiously awaiting my response, in hopes that the obnoxious phrase would not be uttered. “I wholeheartedly concur!” I replied instead. In the aftermath it’s truly a shame that some program reviewers suggested that Frayling was less than sporting by not descending the cliff. I can attest that he was quite willing, although I think more viewers can identify with his feigned reluctance than if he had actually tried such a stunt.
Making a film can be tedious business. Every desired camera angle requires a separate setup, and our director and cameramen were perfectionists. Views from above, from across, from the side, and from below laboriously filmed over several days are eventually combined in the editing process into one connected sequence sometimes lasting but a few minutes. Lighting, sound, camera stability, and crew safety were of utmost importance on our project as Towers carefully supervised everything. Eventually I descended all the way to the tomb while filmed from the opposite hillside.
Our return again to the top of the cliff, the moment long anticipated by the film crew, eventually arrived. They, too, must descend to the cliff tomb, and none had any significant mountaineering experience. And what an absolutely horrible and terrifying place to learn! I taught them how to rappel while I protected each with a separate rope. Derek Towers led the way, and everyone remained surprisingly unperturbed. I reassured them that they were well secured, even if panic should overtake them, but by the end of the day some even professed to enjoy the experience. Donkeys laden with equipment were brought below the cliff, and I hoisted each package of gear up to the mouth of the tomb. It wasn’t long before it became clear that our daylight hours were short in number and it was time to quit to return on another day. Darkness comes amazingly quickly in the Theban mountains, and we descended to the ground while several of the crew packed up and led our cast of many down the wadi to the awaiting vehicles. It had been an unusually long, hot, and tiring day.
Earlier that afternoon Frayling had almost met his doom. Having climbed back up the cleft and hiked back down to our base, he accidentally strayed onto one of the ephemeral trails that can be found here and there in desert terrain. The result left Frayling stranded and barely hanging on above a large drop. Despite our urgent calls to the porters to assist, no one came to his rescue. I quickly rigged my gear to descend rapidly and deal with the situation, and Christopher barely managed to return to safety. Now the day was closing, and I insisted on retrieving the climbing gear while the others hiked out. Being responsible for the safety of my friends was both a personal and a professional obligation, and I felt very uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the ropes out overnight in an environment where they could potentially be damaged by gnawing creatures or other natural forces.
With a cameraman in tow, we literally ran up the slope yet again to the cliff top and sprinted along its edge as the day’s brightness dimmed with each second. Approaching the cleft, I jumped in and speedily maneuvered downward. As I reached a tight section, I felt a tremendous strike to the top of my head. Accompanied by a flash of light in my skull and a horrible thud, the blow left me temporarily stunned and disoriented, and I nearly let go. The cameraman in hot pursuit had accidentally knocked loose a grapefruit-size rock as he ran along the edge directly above the cliff. It fell at least ten feet before meeting its unintentional target. In our haste I had neglected to put on my helmet.
I wedged myself in the crack and numbly gathered the courage to investigate my injury. My fingers felt a deep gash, and my hand returned covered with blood. The cameraman was extremely concerned and severely apologetic. Had I been dislodged from my holds, I might have tumbled down through the cleft, onto the sloping ledge, and over the big edge, perhaps hitting the lip of Hatshepsut’s tomb as I hurtled to the ground. It was an accident, I assured him, and more pressing matters were at hand.
I asked him to check my eyes, and he reported that one of my pupils was dilated, suggesting a concussion, a skull fracture, or some similar injury. Still intent on accomplishing our mission, I insisted on collecting the gear and making a best effort to get out. It would be better to lose consciousness, a distinct possibility, on a trail than to be wedged at night in a crack on the edge of a remote cliff in the desert.
With the anchor dismantled and the ropes coiled, we slithered back up to the cliff top. In the dimness of the encroaching darkness, we carefully made our w
ay down to the wadi. I wasn’t feeling particularly well but was still walking, and we made steady progress in the blackness, eventually reaching our waiting and concerned colleagues, who had their own problems. Our porters had decided that they should be paid at least double the agreed amount. It was the BBC, after all, and they surely must have deep pockets! “Could you help us settle this matter, Don?” asked Towers, unaware of my situation. I silently replied by shining a flashlight at the gash on the top of my head, and my requested services were immediately excused.
Returning across the river, I cleaned up the gash while a couple of my teammates generously located a big bag of ice, which I applied in an attempt to reduce the swelling. I had to make a crucial decision. Should I rush to a nearby hospital and possibly disrupt this wonderful television adventure? Or should I try to treat things myself and hope for the best? I nervously chose the latter, and eventually I drifted off to sleep but then awoke with a start, disoriented and feeling nauseous. Beset by panic, I raced out of the hotel through Luxor’s dark streets in a groggy attempt to find the only doctor I knew in town. Amazingly, I actually found his clinic, but all my desperate knocking was in vain, as the office was closed. The following day, which we were taking off for some reason or other, is a patchy memory at best. Somehow I crossed the Nile, made my way toward the desert cliffs, only to awake from my dream state to find myself descending a small trail in an obscure desert wadi parallel to the road leading up to the Valley of the Kings. I had no recollection of how I reached that spot, but I continued down to the green of the Nile Valley and returned to Luxor. My tenuous condition quickly improved that evening, and I felt ready and able to carry on with filming the next day.
Beneath the Sands of Egypt Page 20