RHYTHM IN TIME
A Hidden Short Story by Wiley Russell
"The mountain’s summit is 17,000 feet. To the southwest is a mini-summit at 16,000 feet."
Paul Traver stood at the front of the auditorium with a laser pointer aimed at a wall screen filled with the image of a snowcapped mountain.
"Why is it so difficult to climb?" a man in the fifth row asked.
"From the bottom to 14,000 feet you may spend half a day scaling a mountainside, only to find yourself on top of a ridge at 5,000 feet looking into a canyon with another ridge above it at 8,000."
Paul used the laser pointer to circle the mountaintop. "Anyway, it’s believed the ship rested here near the summit for several thousand years. Then sometime prior to 1942 the ship slid down the mountain, breaking into two pieces, and came to rest at approximately 14,000 feet inside a box canyon."
Paul gestured to a woman with her hand up. "You said the ship could be seen from the base of the mountain at one time. Can people see it today?"
"No. Not with it inside this canyon. Mt. Ararat sits on the Anatolian Plateau of eastern Turkey and there are numerous eyewitness accounts of seeing Noah’s Ark with the naked eye from the plateau. Keep in mind the ship was 450 feet long, 75 wide and 45 tall. When it rested near the summit it would have appeared as a ‘long black log’ to anyone looking up from the plateau."
"So who’s seen it since then?" a boy asked.
"The most famous account occurred in 1902," Paul said. "Ten-year-old George Hagopian was working the summer with his uncle, Ahmed Abas, near the mountain tending goats. His uncle told him that the summer had been hot enough to melt the snow off the ark and that he would take George to see it if he wanted."
Paul laughed. When he noticed people staring he explained. "George’s uncle was so surprised by how petrified the ship was, that he shot it with his rifle, but the bullet just bounced off. It’s hard to imagine someone shooting the ark."
"How did you get started researching this, Mr. Traver?"
"My father, who passed away three years ago, was a structural engineer. I followed his path, but chose hydraulic engineering. My job deals with canal construction, water wells, defining flood zones. In 1985 I read an article about the search for Noah’s Ark that suggested the ship was accessible approximately every twenty years, because in that time frame eastern Turkey experiences what’s called a ‘geodesic year.’ That’s a peak in a series of unusually-hot summers where the glaciers measure their smallest. And it’s always during these geodesic years that stories of the ark being spotted show up. George Hagopian in 1902, a Franciscan monk in 1920, an army pilot in 1942, a CIA spy plane in 1961."
"We know you believe the ship is there, but what does your wife think?" a woman asked.
"I’m not married," Paul said. "I’ve been moving from country to country since I got out of college and just haven’t settled down. But I’ll be forty-eight next year and I think it’s about time to put down some roots."
Paul could have sworn that the eyes of several women in the audience were sparkling at him.
"Ah . . . if there are no more questions, I’d like to thank all of you for coming today, and I hope you enjoyed the presentations."
Paul received a round of applause.
The host of the meeting came to the podium and addressed the group. Paul’s talk about Noah’s Ark had been the last presentation given that day at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. The Saturday before Easter had been devoted to lectures about biblical treasures. In the morning a man spoke about the Ark of Covenant and after lunch Paul followed a gentleman who had talked about the Holy Grail.
In the university parking lot Paul set his laptop and notebooks in the trunk of his Crown Vic. He drove out and onto the main four lane. He glanced at his watch¾ 5 p.m.¾ and decided to hit the McDonald’s drive-thru before getting on the highway back to Tulsa.
A mile from campus he pulled into McDonald’s. Waiting behind another car Paul saw a dozen little brown sparrows hopping along the parking lot. Half the birds watched the side doors and the others watched people in cars pick up their orders at the window.
A woman with two kids came out heading for a car. The sparrows hopped toward them, probably wishing for some morsel to drop to the asphalt.
Paul ordered a chicken-sandwich meal. When he got the food he glanced over at the sparrows watching him.
The traffic was heavy and he had to make a left turn, but at that moment a stoplight had caught everyone. It was go now or get caught in the rush.
To heck with it.
He pulled over to the side and sprinkled most of the French fries onto the ground as the sparrows jumped about picking them up and flying off.
Paul turned the car back toward the exit, there was still time to beat the traffic. He was about to double-check the oncoming cars when what was left of the fries spilled onto the floorboard. As Paul reached down to grab the box he forgot to get on the brake pedal.
An air horn from a diesel tractor blasted right in his ear. He jerked upright and realized he was in the road. A solid wall of chrome grill was all he saw. Then the explosion was crushing him, bending him sideways in the seat. His upper body going one way and his legs staying near the floorboard.
Then he was enveloped in an incredible calmness.
* * *
Paul rolled onto his back in bed and his eyes fluttered open. The first thing that hit him was the heat in the room. His undershirt was soaked with sweat. Paul sat up, his feet touched the gritty wooden floor. Where am I?
He stood up and looked down at his clothes; baggy white cotton shorts with a drawstring and a loose-fitting sleeveless undershirt.
A knock came at the door.
What should I do?
He decided whatever was going to happen was almost out of his control. "Come in," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.
The door opened and the moonlight lit up a small silhouette. The figure came a few steps toward the bed. It was a boy, dressed in similarly odd clothing; tan baggy pants, blue shirt and vest. A round brown cap sat on his head with long black hair shooting out the sides.
"Mr. Paul?" the boy said, his slight accent almost undetected.
"Yes . . ."
"Is time."
"What time?" He swallowed hard.
"Come."
Paul walked across the room, past the boy, part of him wanting to see what was outside, another part terrified of what he might find.
Suddenly, the boy grabbed his arm. "No!"
"What!"
The boy laughed and pointed to a dusty chest of drawers where a leather bag was open. "Clothes first."
The boy struck a match and lit an oil lamp, the room brightened. Paul could tell it was some type of storeroom with sacks of grain stacked about.
He saw a hand mirror lying near the bag and picked it up.
"My God." Paul ran a hand over the heavy stubble from several days of not shaving, but the surprise was that he looked to be at least fifteen years younger, not much over thirty.
"Parallel universe," he said to himself. "I know who I am, and what I do, but I wasn’t here yesterday. I was at McDonald’s!"
The boy cringed. "Macdinolds?"
"I must have fallen into a space-time warp outside McDonald’s. What year is it?" Paul asked.
"You fever?" the boy said.
"Calendar. You know, year?"
"Is 1320," he said.
"Where in 1320!" Paul pulled out a pair of wool trousers with suspenders from the bag, along with a heavy blue cotton shirt. He dressed as quickly as he could. Then slid on some socks and laced up a pair of boots.
Paul took a deep breath and the two of them went outside. He looked around at the small village. None of the structures much more than mud brick, limbs and straw. Beyond the buildings was nothing but desert plain.
They walked down the dirt road, the moonlight just enough to see by.
Paul’s heart pounded so hard he thought he was going to fall down. "Ararat," he was finally able to say.
"Agri Dagi." The boy pointed.
Turkish for "Mother of the World," Paul remembered.
The mountain rose off the plain with gentle slopes near her base, but past that she was torn with giant canyons as if she had a secret no one was to see.
The clothing; the village. It was coming to Paul. Turks use the Islamic calendar. And 1320 would be about . . . 1900 . . . 1902?
Paul stared down at the boy. "George? George Hagopian?"
"Georgy, Mr. Paul." Then a questioning look. "You sure no fever?"
"No, Georgy. No Fever."
"Eat now." Georgy ran back up the road toward a man who was leading three horses out of a stable. Georgy dug through one of the packs, pulled something out and ran back to Paul.
"Have this. Is good one," Georgy said. He offered Paul a piece of stuffed pocket bread.
Paul took the food. The man with the horses stopped beside them, dressed in loose-fitting black pants and a green shirt with vest. Around his waist Paul recognized a kusak, a wide piece of red cloth wrapped like a girdle, holding two big knives. On his head he wore a bashlyk, a round fur hat.
"Take please, Paul." The man handed him a faded-brown wool jacket.
Georgy began speaking in Arabic as Paul tried the sandwich. The meat was salty, but the garlic and onion seemed to compliment it.
They’re talking about me almost walking outside in my underwear, Paul thought. It was as if his intuition were increasing with each passing moment.
As the other two laughed Paul heard Georgy use the word "uncle."
"Ahmed Abas?" Paul said.
"Yes," the man answered.
"You . . ." Paul could hardly believe this was happening. "You’ve seen Noah’s Ark?"
"Yes. One times."
Georgy smiled. "Tomorrow will make two times."
They’re on their way to the ark!
Georgy and Ahmed mounted their horses and sat looking down at Paul.
"Come, Paul," Ahmed said.
He didn’t have to tell Paul twice, he practically jumped on the horse.
They made their way quietly down the road and around the corner of a house. Paul pulled the reins on his horse to a stop.
There in the center of the village was a water well, but not what anyone would expect in the middle of nowhere. It was a Westchester Model 7. Paul had seen one in a museum. The Westchester was the water-pump Cadillac of its time. Through a revolutionary gear-reduction system, even the cranking motion of a boy could generate over fifty gallons of water per minute.
"Thank you," Ahmed said to Paul.
I put this here. Paul felt lightheaded. I brought them water.
"Wait till you hook a diesel engine on it," Paul mumbled.
"What?" Ahmed asked. "What is ‘deezel ungen’ mean."
"It means I talk too much," Paul said.
The three of them crossed the plain to the foot of Ararat. As they rode Paul felt increasingly relaxed. Whatever was going on, it must have a reason. The more he turned loose of himself, the more he felt a part of everything around him.
At midday they found themselves at a sheer mountainside.
"Guess this is it for the horses," Paul said as he dismounted.
Georgy watered the animals from a bag as Ahmed searched the stone.
"Is here," Ahmed said, waving. "Bring horses."
Paul and Georgy led the horses to an outcrop of boulders, their hooves sending tiny avalanches of pebbles racing down the hillside.
Ahmed stood at a fissure that went back into the mountain like a trail.
"Come." Ahmed walked his horse into the narrow opening, barely five feet wide. "Paul follow. Georgy last."
The trail moved upward at a steep grade. They had gone several hundred yards when Ahmed held up a hand for them to stop and be silent.
Paul knew the stories of smugglers and bandits using Ararat as a hideout.
Suddenly, rocks rained down on them. They covered their heads. The horses snorted and danced backwards.
Paul shielded his eyes and looked up. It wasn’t bandits, but a mountain goat jumping on a cliff above them.
Ahmed glanced back at Georgy and Paul with a smile.
The trail finally opened onto a ledge, several thousand feet up. Ahmed stepped beside Paul and pointed, tracing his finger along the ridges. "Goat trail," he said, "we follow."
They mounted the horses and found a narrow path heading up. In places it was ten to fifteen feet wide, and in others less than eight.
The goat trail came to an end at a giant ledge with plenty of room for them to dismount. As Paul looked down between two canyon walls he could see the plains 7,000 feet below. And above them, more cliffs.
"Camp for tonight," Ahmed said. Then untied wood from a horse as Paul helped him build a fire.
An uneasiness came over Paul as he watched Georgy climbing on a boulder, probably to get a better view.
Paul ran and grabbed Georgy’s shirt before he went down the other side.
Georgy shouted in Arabic.
Ahmed hurried to them and looked down into the space on the other side of the rock. All their eyes adjusted to the shadows as they realized they were above a den of desert vipers. Dozens of snakes. The heat of the boulders having warmed them up for the evening hunt.
Ahmed stared at the grip Paul had on Georgy. Then climbed back down, muttering in Arabic.
Paul looked at Georgy as if he would interpret. "Uncle says you are malakai. This means protector. Angel."
* * *
The next morning Ahmed was up before the sun smothering the fire. Georgy made sure the horses were secured along a thirty-foot rope, giving them room to move about.
Ahmed, Georgy and Paul set the packs on their backs and began free climbing the rocks to a point a thousand feet above them. On top they found another goat trail scattered with spots of melting snow, which they followed for a couple kilometers.
Then moved cautiously along a ledge with what looked like a bottomless drop off the side. Eventually they reached a towering rock formation, several hundred feet tall, with no visible way to go around.
It’s the "Doomsday Rock," Paul thought. The name given to a legendary rock formation by early ark hunters. Its location had always been a mystery to the outside world. Paul got as close as he could to the edge and looked into the valley on the other side. It was shaped like a funnel with steep sides, on the east face there had been a tremendous avalanche.
Ahmed searched the base of the Doomsday Rock and pulled out a rope from one of the cracks. The rope was water and sun damaged to the point of falling apart. The only thing keeping it together was it thickness, nearly two inches in diameter, with climbing knots tied in every couple feet.
Ahmed spoke to Georgy in Arabic and a moment later the boy was pulling himself up the rope. Thirty feet up he knelt on a ledge and waved for the other two. Paul went next, his boots kicking the cliff face for traction. The wind rushed across his eyes, filling them with tears.
When Paul got on the ledge beside Georgy the first thing he did was check to see how the rope was tied off. Whoever had done it knew exactly what he was doing, it was connected to an iron spike driven into the rock.
When Ahmed joined them he pulled up the rope and rolled it to one side as if he didn’t want anyone following them. Then he took the lead climbing up and around the side of the Doomsday Rock on a ledge that thankfully got wider as they went around. On the other side of the formation Ahmed got down on his belly and craned his head over the edge as much as he could. Paul and Georgy followed his lead.
Paul saw nothing but black volcanic ground dotted with patches of snow at first. Then he followed Ahmed’s stare. Five hundred feet below and to the left of them, resting on a ledge, was a manmade structure. At first it looked like a monastery or a temple. But then Paul realized the size of it, it had to be at least a football field and a half long and a good fifty feet tall.
Georgy yanked his uncle’s sleeve. "Be sorao!"
"Entabe, Georgy. Moush kedah."
Paul sensed that Georgy wanted to hurry down, but Ahmed wouldn’t have it. Carefully, they made their way down the ledge until they were able to descend the smaller rocks onto the somewhat level ground.
A hundred feet away Paul could see a catwalk with window slots along the enclosed top. The squared off, rectangular shape gave the ark more the appearance of an enclosed barge than a ship. Paul remembered that it wasn’t meant to go anywhere, but to simply float.
Ahmed stopped and the three of them knelt as he said a prayer.
Paul walked to the side of the ship, his heart pounding as he looked up at the fifty-foot-tall sides. He pressed a hand against the structure, the black wood so petrified it felt like concrete. "Thank you for this, God."
Three of the four sides of the ark were accessible, the entire left side and the two ends. The right side, where Paul assumed the loading door was, faced the edge of the cliff with absolutely no ledge to walk along. He looked over into the box canyon, 500 feet deep, and imagined how one day the ship would come off the ledge and land there, broken in two pieces. Hidden under the snow from the photo satellites that would be overhead in eighty years.
The most unusual thing about the ark was the staircase built onto the end. An odd fixture, it stopped about six feet above ground and went up at a forty-five-degree angle, but had no handrails.
"Why are the stairs built like this?" Paul asked Ahmed.
"Years ago people bring sick ones here to pray. Stairs make easier."
"Why do they end two meters off the ground?"
"To keep goat off top."
A pile of rocks lay scattered at the base of the stairs. They stacked as many as they could until they had a two-foot-tall perch.
Ahmed boosted Georgy onto the stairs. Paul pulled himself onto the lower step, then reached down. Ahmed nodded "no" and handed him an oil lamp. Paul felt that Ahmed probably wanted to keep watch for them.
At the top of the stairs the wind scattered loose snow across the dark wood like falling stars in a black night. Paul walked to the center of the ship where a raised catwalk, two feet tall and eight feet wide, with what he believed were vent windows underneath, ran the entire length of the vessel.
Meanwhile, Georgy was on his belly looking through a hole that had been chopped in the roof. Paul stepped beside him, lit the oil lamp and lowered it into the hole. They could see the floor twelve feet below.
Paul tied his climbing rope around an exposed beam and dropped the length into the hole. He slid down first and landed on solid floor. Georgy lowered him the oil lamp on another smaller rope, then slid down the climbing rope.
They were in an open area that ran a good fifty feet in each direction and was separated in the middle by an eight-foot-wide void in the floor, directly below the light coming in from the catwalk. The opening appeared to run the ship’s entire length, along with a handrail.
The ship smelled of the earth; a faint, rich odor of soil, not unpleasant.
"This is where Noah and his family kept the birds," Paul told Georgy. "This place would have been full of small cages."
They looked over the handrail and saw the space below was open all the way down to a third deck, and below them was another balcony with a handrail. This was how Noah got light and ventilation throughout the ship, Paul thought.
They turned and walked toward a wall. From the handrail Paul shined his light into the first empty room. "This might have been a bedroom."
Georgy pointed past them to a staircase on the balcony leading down.
They found the second deck divided into stalls, with all the gates removed. It seemed everything that could be taken out from the ship had been. Probably by Noah and his family, and finally by souvenir hunters. The balcony on each side of the void was the only place to walk. Every hundred feet or so there was a narrow bridge that allowed a person to cross to the other side.
Continuing along the balcony toward the middle of the ship they found another set of stairs going down. The third level was similar to the first, with more open area, to hold supplies and waste, Paul presumed.
Some of the planking had been torn away and in one spot a boulder was sticking through the floor, perhaps keeping the ship perched on the ledge.
"Look!" Georgy pointed.
He followed beside Paul as they made their way toward the middle of the ship where the bright outside light was shining through the side.
"That has to be the loading door," Paul said.
Georgy and Paul were at least two hundred feet over from the spot where they came in on the third deck when they saw it; a ramp wide enough for a car and built strong enough to support an elephant began on the bottom deck and made a gradual incline to the second.
The ramp met a level area on the second deck behind a large square opening in the side of the ship. Going up from the level space was another ramp leading to the top floor.
Georgy hurried up the ramp in front of Paul.
"Wait, Georgy!"
The boy knew enough to stay back from the giant opening, but the lack of direct sunshine on the floor had left a layer of black ice.
Georgy’s quick feet and the lean of the floor sent him falling onto his back and sliding toward the opening.
"Saadni!" Georgy screamed for help.
Paul ran up the ramp. Georgy’s arms and legs flailed with nothing to grab on to. His fingernails scratched the floor, but the deck was so hard there was no traction. Georgy kicked, but it did no good as he went out the door facing the 500 foot drop.
Suddenly, Paul grabbed the bottom of Georgy’s pants’ leg.
"Georgy, give me your hand!"
"I’m not reach!"
"You’ve got to try!"
Georgy grabbed at Paul’s hand, but missed. He screamed waving his arms.
"Georgy, stop struggling!"
"In shaalha be sorao!"
Paul recognized Georgy’s prayer to God. Paul pressed against the wall and stretched as much as he could. Past Georgy the ground looked like a blurry gray and white painting.
This is not what happens! Paul thought. He pulled hand over hand each grip making sure it was secure on the boy’s clothing before getting another.
A moment later Georgy’s arms scraped wood, trying to get ahold of something. The next thing they found was a latch around Paul’s neck as he leaned back away from the opening with the boy in his arms.
"Shukran, Mr. Paul!"
It seemed strange to Paul that the boy wasn’t crying, but then he realized that Georgy had probably never even thought about himself; the only thing he would have regretted would have been leaving his family with one less helper.
"Mr. Paul?"
"Yes."
"No tell Uncle. Okay?"
Paul managed to laugh, and it almost broke into tears. "Okay, Georgy."
They avoided the loading ramps on their way back to the third deck. Paul went up the rope onto the roof first, then helped Georgy up and out. Down the stairs, Paul jumped off the bottom step and helped Georgy down as Ahmed came around the corner with his rifle.
"Uncle!" Georgy excitedly told him everything they’d seen inside.
Paul motioned to Ahmed that he was going to the other side of some boulders, then climbed to the top of a rock to get a better look at where the ship had slid down from. After a moment he climbed down to the opposite side of the lava rock and was going to look into the canyon when he suddenly froze in his tracks.
A man stood in front of him. He wore the same style clothing as Ahmed and Georgy, but without as much color as if he didn’t want to be noticed. The round takke hat he wore had a long scarf coming down from one side, crossing over and covering everything below the man’s eyes. The only thing that kept Paul from running was the fact that the stranger wasn’t carrying a rifle.
"Sabah . . . ," Paul stumbled with the greeting, "sabah al khair."
"Good morning to you too," the man said, with no noticeable accent.
"You speak English?"
"Yes. Arabic, Spanish, Chinese. All languages."
"You’ve come to see the ark?"
"Not to see the ark. To see you."
Paul didn’t realize he was stepping backward until he bumped a rock. "You know who I am. Then you can tell me why I’m here?"
"Two days ago you were physically bound to the earth. Now you are not."
"You’re saying I died two days ago."
"Perception depends on point of view. To someone bound to the earth, ‘died’ may seem appropriate. From this point of view, you were just born."
"I’m in Heaven?" Paul asked.
"Yes and no."
"Either it is or it isn’t."
"There are infinite parts to Heaven," the stranger said. "One part is the answers to everything you’ve ever questioned." He gestured toward the ark. "And another part is work."
"What kind of work?"
"Some people would say it was an angel that saved Georgy from those snakes yesterday. Or it was an angel that pulled him back into the ship."
"I’m an angel?"
The stranger bent forward as if he were going to cough, but instead fought to control a laugh.
"Well what did you expect me to think?" Paul shot back.
"I understand." The way the man’s eyes looked at Paul he knew he was smiling. "So how would you describe your last two days in Turkey?"
Paul thought for a moment. "Priceless."
The stranger nodded in agreement.
"But none of this is real," Paul said, "it’s all an illusion. An exact reproduction of how the ark was."
"It is real, Paul. You’re seeing it as it was, and is."
"This can’t be. I know Georgy Hagopian’s story inside out. There was only one person who went to the ark with him, his uncle."
"You’re wrong. There were always three. What you don’t know is about a man who came and gave the village water. And as a gift, Ahmed offered to take him to see the ark. Do you know why you left so early in the morning before anyone was up?"
"To get a good start."
"Many villagers don’t believe in taking Westerners to the ark. Ahmed knew how much you wanted to see it, but didn’t want to openly offend the people, so he took you in such a way that they wouldn’t know."
"This really is 1902. I’m not influencing history, I’m a part of it."
"In this instance, yes. In other instances you can be a part and not influence anything."
"If this is what it’s like to be, you know, gone. Then where’s God?"
"People want to think of God on a throne in Heaven, but the real essence of God is a rhythm that makes up the universe. He’s the heart of a starving mother who gives the last piece of food to her child. He’s the heart of a man who runs into a burning building to save another’s life."
"God is love," Paul said.
"And love is everywhere. It’s the rhythm, a movement throughout the universe whose purpose is to create," the stranger said. "But don’t be disheartened, you will see the face of God."
"Each moment that goes by I feel more and more in touch with what’s around me. I knew those snakes were there. I knew a moment before Georgy slipped. And I feel like I know you?"
The stranger pulled down the scarf from his face.
"Dad!" Paul rushed forward and grabbed him in a hug. Sobbing and smiling at the same time, he forced himself back to look into his dad’s eyes. He appeared the same age as Paul, in his early thirties.
"I’ve missed you so much, Dad."
"There will never be anymore pain, Son."
Suddenly, a gunshot blasted from the other side of the rocks.
"It’s okay," Paul said, "Ahmed shot the ship to see how hard it is . . . or was. This is going to take some getting used to."
"You better go back to them now," his dad said, stepping backward.
"I don’t want you to leave."
"We have eternity together."
"When will I see you again?" Paul asked.
His dad paused. "Cairo. The day after tomorrow."
"Egypt?"
"You enjoyed this. Wait till you see the pyramids . . . being built."
About the Above Picture
George Hagopian did supposedly visit Noah’s Ark as a boy around the turn of the century with his uncle. Much later in his life ark researchers interviewed Hagopian, then made arrangements for him to meet with famed artist Elfred Lee. (It was the mid 70s and Hagopian was around 80 years old then.)
After weeks of interviews and preliminary sketches, Hagopian finally agreed that Lee had captured what he saw on Mt. Ararat seventy years prior.
Basically, the ship was a rectangular barge without much angle to the sides. There was a raised catwalk with vent windows along the entire top. The ship was in one piece and resting with its side along a cliff where the supposed "loading door" was, which was not accessible. Hagopian told the researchers that if he were younger, in better health, there was no doubt he could take them back to where he saw it.
The upper left drawing is a copy of one of the finalized works done by Lee during the interviews.
The photograph itself shows a rectangular shape resting on the side of Mt. Ararat at about 14,000 feet. There are several right angles that give the impression of something manmade, and the resemblance to Lee’s drawing is unmistakable. The photo was taken in 1993 by Italian adventurer Angelo Palego while he was being held captive by insurgents on the mountain. Palego has revisited this site, but each time it’s covered with several feet, if not yards, of ice and snow.
The second most believable account of an ark eye witness comes from Mr. Ed Davis. Davis was an engineer working in Turkey during World War II (1943). He befriended a family near Ararat and after mentioning an interest in the ark, they told him they knew of its existence and offered to take him to see it.
After three days of climbing and camping they reached a box canyon above the Ahora Gorge. The fog was heavy that evening, but when it finally cleared, the men Davis was with pointed out two giant pieces of what appeared to be a giant barge inside the canyon. It was broken in two with one piece on either side of the canyon and a stream running down the middle. With the ship broken, Davis said he was able to see inside and make out three decks with an open area right in the middle of each, like a three-story shopping mall.
The men with him said there were stalls and cages built throughout the ark. Some small enough for a bird and others big enough for creatures larger than an elephant.
Davis and his group planned to head down into the canyon by rope the next morning, but during the night a storm moved in and dropped more than a foot of snow and made descending into the valley too dangerous. The group headed back down the mountain.
Theory: I believe the ark rested near the top of Ararat for thousands of years (this because of the accounts of people being able to see it with the naked eye from the Anatolian Plateau below. These "naked-eye accounts" disappear after the seventeenth century). From what George Hagopian describes, I believe the Ark slid down the mountain, probably from one of the prevalent earthquakes, and came to rest on the ledge Hagopian describes.
Then sometime between Hagopian seeing the ship in one piece (1902) and Davis seeing it in the box canyon in two pieces (1943), the ark came off the ledge and broke into two or three pieces. Locals who claim to have visited the ark say it’s in as many as three or more pieces (Davis says he saw two).
Angelo Palego may have photographed a piece that somehow came off the ledge and went down the mountain instead of falling into the box canyon. That means the ship was breaking up on the ledge, not necessary breaking as it went into the canyon.
Note: French adventurer Fernand Navarra make several trips onto Mt. Ararat in the 50s and 60s. He claimed to have brought hand-tooled wood out of an area known as the Parrot Glacier. Palego suggests that when the ark slid down the mountain it tore pieces off the bottom and left a "debris field," which came to rest in the Parrot Glacier. This opinion is bolstered by the fact that his "ark" photo was taken of a location above the Parrot Glacier. So debris that has migrated down the mountain into a glacier is within reason.
What has a ring of truth and what doesn’t? I believe George Hagopian and Ed Davis. Neither had ever heard of, let alone spoken to, the other in all their lives, yet they tell incredibly similar stories as far as the ship’s description and area go. If Angelo Palego is to be believed, then what we’re seeing in his photo isn’t the entire ark, but a piece that has slid down the mountain . . . you decide.
