Mark Agnew
Playing the bagpipes by the Gates to Hell. Photo: Anthony Coupland
A fiery pit that has been burning for years is no myth
The English poet A. E. Houseman was writing about a mythical journey to eternal damnation in his poem Hell Gate, published in 1895. But through the lens of a Central Asia traveller, he may well have been prophesizing about a burning pit of fire in the middle of the Turkmenistan Desert, which has been alight for 40 to 50 years.
Onward led the road again
Through the sad uncoloured plain
Under twilight brooding dim,
And along the utmost rim
Wall and rampart risen to sight
Cast a shadow not of night,
And beyond them seemed to glow
Bonfires lighted long ago.
And my dark conductor broke
Silence at my side and spoke,
Saying, " You conjecture well:
Yonder is the gate of hell.
In the midst of the Turkmenistan’s Karakum desert, the Darvaza crater, also known as the Gates to Hell, is a massive burning crater of unknown origin. Most sources say that in 1971, the Soviet's found the gas reserve and opened it up. As methane spilled into the air, they lit assuming it would burn off in a matter of days. It was better to burn it than release gas into the air. Instead of a fire that lasted for a few days, a huge crater formed that still burns with an intensity to this day.
Enquire about a talk today
Explorer and adventurer George Kourounis was sent by National Geographic to study the crater in 2013. He couldn't get a straight answer about the origin of the Gates to Hell. Local geologists said it started in the 1960s and was bubbling with gas and mud for years before it was lit in the 1980s.
Others have suggested it lit on fire without human input, like a lightening strike.
The true story of how it started is shrouded by the workings of the Soviet Union, where reporting a mistake like setting a massive crater on fire was best avoided for risk of being punished.
I visited it in 2012.
Two friends - Coups and Fred - and I were driving from London to Mongolia. We passed through the city of Ashgabat. It was a weird city. Huge marble buildings at uniform distances apart adorned clean roads. Lane after lane of modern tarmac could accommodate countless cars, but seemed to accommodate none other than our old Suzuki Swift. The perfect city was empty.
We left the city and began to head north along one of just two roads that allowed you to drive from south to north - the others skirted the edge of the country in a long circle.
A kilometre or two outside the city, the multi-lane, perfect tarmac abruptly ended. A road with potholes as wide as our car led the way to our destination. A barren colourless desert stretched out either side of us. Onward led the road again, a sad uncoloured plain.
I could smell my facial hair burning under my nose.
We slowly made our way along the road, finding it harder and harder to spot the potholes in the diminishing light. After a few hours, we began to scan the side of the road for a man with a 4X4. We'd been told to keep our eyes peeled. This was the guy who would take us to the Gates of Hell.
Eventually we spotted him. We got out and he knew exactly why we'd come. There were a couple of other cars as well. We were on the Mongol Rally and the other drivers were also making the same journey. It was common to find a collection of cars from the Rally at particularly famous sites. We all introduced each other, paid the guy with a 4X4 a few dollars each and piled into the car. We left our trusty Swift behind as he plowed off into the desert.
As the sunset, I thought I could make out a hazy light on the horizon, like the tell tale signs of a city, except, I knew there were no buildings here, no settlement to light the night sky. Cast a shadow not of night, and beyond them seemed to glow, bonfires lighted long ago.
Finally, it appeared. We couldn't make it out until we were upon it.
The Gates of Hell.
It was about 60 metres across and 30 metres deep. At the edge, there is a steep drop for a few metres then it slopes into a huge bowl shape. At its centre an enormous flame waved back and forth like a Bunsen burner. The entire surface was burning with a million small fires.
The sound of it was intense - a low roar, a constant sound of fire.
The man with the 4X4 drove away and promised to pick us up in the morning. We hoped he would make good on the promise. We all discussed where to set up our tents and wondered about the poisonous nature of the gas and the wind direction.
The true majesty of the crater revealed itself when it got dark. It was a magnificent orange disk in an otherwise pitch black environment.
Looking at pictures now, I see there is a fence, a little road, a place to park. Back in 2012, there was nothing. It was just a huge hole in the desert. And it roared with fire. We stood a foot away from the edge, staring down - it was easy to imagine entering Satan's layer. And along the utmost rim, a wall and rampart risen to sight.
I did the only sensible thing I could think of - I donned my kilt, stood on the edge and played my bagpipes. I played The Gael, a suitability epic tune for the occasion. When a gust of wind blew towards me the heat suddenly became intense and I could smell my facial hair burning under my nose.
Us and the other Rally drivers spent the evening staring in wonder at this pit before us, taking pictures that do not do it justice and marvelling at its power.
In the morning, the hum of a motor announced our exit. Our lift had made good on his word and delivered us back to our lonely Suzuki Swift. We continued North towards Uzbekistan, the other Rally drivers chose a different route. We were once again surrounded by nothing but sand, flat as far as the eye can see. Even the slightest bump hid what was out there - Yonder is the gate of hell.