Niger Meteorite Recon

www.niger-meteorite-recon.de
Rub' al-Khali Expedition 2008
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Text: Svend Buhl, Photos: Svend Buhl and Thomas Kurtz

Meteorite uncovered through wind erosion

Nevertheless we indulged ourselves in an extended noon break which we spent lying under the vehicle on our thermo mats. Slightly sandblasted we got up in the early afternoon to beat the dust off our wear. I had almost recovered my full vision and demonstrated this immediately by finding a chestnut sized meteorite not far from the car on returning from a little promenade.

But until dusk we should yet make another, larger find. Oftentimes we had learned from other meteorite hunters that they would usually avoid areas with abundant car tracks. On the contrary we in fact had made the experience that there is no such thing as a correlation between find density and the abundance of tire tracks.

This in mind we were caring little, when we ran into the fringes of a dirt trail several hundred meters wide, with bundles of tracks fanning out over the large plain as far as the eye could see. We decided to follow the general direction of the trail for a while because from experience we knew that there was a potpourri of useful things to be found along these dirt tracks. Same there. Old wooden measuring rods and subtense bars that once served the Saudi Aramco exploration and drilling parties as landmarks, as well as the casual bone dry plank from a vintage orange crate provided a welcomed replenishment of our firewood provisions.

When one hundred meters ahead amidst half erased tire tracks two black patches appeared we initially assumed we were dealing with another couple of sardine cans. Because a definite negative identification by binoculars was not possible and out of professional curiosity we changed our course towards the target. We coasted to a halt diagonal to the tracks. The two black objects lay only a few paces from the driver's side. 'What is it?' Thomas requested, who had no clear view on the stones.

Instead of an answer I lean back and slowly open the driver's door. Alongside rests a quite impressive rock shaped like a flat loaf of bread, the texture and color that of rough black leather, many times more or less ridden over by speeding desert traffic, forced into the compressed soil. Inside the tracks we recognize more large fragments of the same mass.

Thomas Kurtz checks the magnetism of 'Rub' al-Khali 014'. Note the particular find situation on the dirt trail

In the bright midday light we began documenting the find. Altogether we recover eight single masses from the track, the largest weighing 1.2kg. The freshest tracks on the trail are months more likely years old. Judged by the caliche traces coating parts of single fragments the meteorite has been run over for the first time many years ago.

What a twist of fate I think. Given that such a rock survives the disastrous collision of two bodies in space, drifted a million odd years in the icy depths of interplanetary space, crosses the orbit of our planet due to ludicrous coincidences, endures the fiery passage through our atmosphere and despite that it chose to land in one of the most desolated regions of our planet becomes the victim of a trivial road accident is simply bizarre.

Main mass of 'Rhub' al-Khali 014' in situ. The scale cube has 1 cm each side

In parallel loops we continue to search the area and succeed in finding two further masses, similar in weathering grade and magnetism and presumably paired with the find on the trail.

At nightfall we camped at a gentle slope from where we enjoyed a breathtaking moonrise. The wind had died earlier and the complete calm brought back the memory how quiet and forgiving the sands could be. With Thomas telescope we aimed at Saturn, the ringed gas giant and for the first time I was able to see Titan, its nitrogen shrouded icy companion, far beyond the outer fringes of the rings.

The author with a just found Martston Mat

The next morning emerged with surreal half-light and for the first time the new day brought with it a dense fog. A phenomenon that is known as 'khareef' further south in Dhaufar province of Oman. It refers to the Southeast monsoon that is trapped by the Dhofar Mountains and which condensates in a low cloud cover that stretches deep into the desert. In our case with increasing altitude of the sun wind came up and tore the clouds apart. At first only single sun rays penetrated the thick blanket and immersed dune crests and patches of bright gravel in brilliant light. The clearances expanded rapidly and soon only few wafts of mist were left that dissolved quickly.

After two hours the strange occurrence had disappeared without a trace. It was hard to believe that this very morning droplets of water pearled off our vehicle, tents and cloths.

We are three hours on our way when I suddenly spot a group of black dots in the crystal clear sky just above the horizon. They rapidly grow bigger. Already in the previous night we had seen a pair of fighter jets igniting their afterburners high above us. After half a minute a dull sonic boom had thundered across the night. We stop and get out. A slight correction of course towards us shows that we are spotted.

They approach us in sub sonic low altitude flight, merely sixty meters above the ground. It is a formation of four grey mottled GR4 Tornados, pilots clearly visible. The cockpit hood of the leading jet casts reflexes in the sunlight. I salute as the first jet overflies us. Thereupon the pilot of the tailing jet turns his plane on its side and returns my salute by wagging his wings.

The appearance of the war birds in the deserted surrounding left a feeling of unreality. It reminded me on Sinbad the sailor's encounter with the Rukh, the giant bird of prey already mentioned by Ibn Battuta. In its strangeness the encounter fitted well into the barren landscape we traversed. The impression it made on us was even more intense, as it was the only occurrence of civilization during the whole tour. Generally it surprised us that we succeeded to elicit a response from the flying machines.

I could not make out any nationality markings. It could have been Saudi or British jets. A green insignia on the tail fin appeared to resemble a bat. This would have assigned the Tornados to the IX. (B) Squadron of the RAF. The formation flew on a bearing of 220° in south westerly direction. On checking our maps we arrived at the conclusion that they were bound towards Thumrait. Although also British forces were stationed at the Royal Omani Air Force Base in Thumrait as far as I knew no Tornados wings were among them.

We hoped that the moving of British bomber squadrons to the Gulf did not mark a crisis escalation that had escaped our knowledge as we were cut off from the global media since a fortnight. This was in so far directly relevant to our mission as the US defense department who is operating the GPS satellites simply and without warning cut off their signals for civil users during previous crises. An unpleasant conception, if one is forced to navigate through a remote wasteland devoid of suitable landmarks solely by satellite.

Without any influence capability to current power politics we devoted again to our dusty trade. In the afternoon we crossed a recent wadi that spread in the shape of several parallel running dry gravel beds over a width of five kilometers. Single boulders the size of a mobile home gave an idea of a mighty stream velocity in case of rains. Along the slopes of the banks deep gorges had filled with wind borne silt that were particularly difficult to overcome. With the afternoon sun low above the horizon long shadows often prevented their early detection. Two or three times we bogged down and could only come free again by repeatedly backing off.

The first time I had run into such a sand filled sink hole the car got stopped with abrupt force. A couple of our belongings darted from the back into the front compartment. 'Backwards, backwards Don Rodrigo' I quoted while pulling back out. Thomas who got hit on the head by a ricocheting tuna can commented with a considerably briefer quote.

In situ photo of 'Rhub' al-Khali 010', a merely equilibrated and oriented chondrite of 400g

Obviously other long range desert parties hat their difficulties crossing the wadi as well. On top of one of the higher alluvial sand banks that stood out like islands from the dry riverbed, I spotted the characteristic hole pattern of a pierced steel plank or 'Marston Mat' as they were dubbed in WW2. 'Exactly what we need', I slammed on the breaks and swung off the vehicle to requisition the valuable piece of equipment.

To my pleasant surprise I dealt not with the common variant fabricated from aluminum which is usually carried by Sunday desert drivers. Solely for decoration purposes as I presume, because the first time it carries the weight of a Land Cruiser it will bend to a useless banana shape. This one was different. It was a plank in heavy steel issue and with a mottled coating of beige and ochre over an aged varnish of olive drab. Not that the color made any difference except for one could still handle it without burning one's bare skin in the midday sun.

'Alhamdullilah!' I exclaimed, in what Thomas absolutely agreed. Actually we had the impression that the desert provided us with all necessary commodities. This way Thomas had acquired an oil filled compass a couple of days ago which we proudly upgraded our dashboard with. Out of the neck of a huge plastic bottle which we had found near the Gates of Patience we had carved a workable funnel to fuel up our vehicle from the jerry cans. And thanks to the warped and parched marker bars of a derelict dirt track we had gathered enough and to spare of firewood for the rest of the tour.

'Rhub' al-Khali 010' was also among the most interesting morphologies found on the meteorite finds of the recent expedition

In other words, we wanted for nothing. Merely our diet started to come out a little monotonous since eggs, fruit and vegetable were used up. To be more precise, we had a dish of dry dates and canned tuna for breakfast, lunch and supper. The latter though we had with great foresight purchased in countless variations.

Around 6.p.m. we came across a plain and that stretched as far as the horizon and that was covered with thin dry tussocks of camel grass. Although the low cover stood by no means thick but with large bare intervals, the landscape looked from a distance like a Mongolian steppe. The day had not yielded a find yet and due to the grass that concealed every potential meteorite further away than thirty paces from the car from our views, it seemed highly improbable that we would yet score before nightfall.

We therefore speeded up to cross the area as quick as possible and to find a slope or ridge that would serve as a windbreak. But every elevation that presented itself mountain like on the horizon revealed itself on approaching as a knee high knoll.

Ahead of one of these bumps I take a sharp turn in order to prevent the Land Cruiser from darting off into the air when riding over the jump. Almost instantly I jammed the brakes and come to a halt exactly aside from a gorgeous meteorite of which I caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye in the same instant.

Studio image of the Brustseite

As the dust cloud around us had settled we didn't believe our eyes. But there was no doubt. Among droughty grass and low thorns rests a regmaglypted and fusion crusted meteorite that looks suspiciously flight oriented. This assumption is later confirmed when I lift the specimen from its gravel bed. Already on inspection of the fusion rind we discover large and densely packed chondrules protruding through the crust in the more weathered places. The merely metamorphous chondrite might as well be a petrologic Type 3.

We bivouacked on the site of the find and seized the opportunity to uncork our second bottle of St. Emilion, which we had saved to celebrate another moment of glory. The droughty tussocks of camel grass casted meter long shadows in the light of the sinking sun. Thereby the steppe plain transformed into a pattern of countless perspective lines that evocated the perplexing impression of rapid movement.

We were filthy and weary but in high spirits. With a cup of splendid Bordeaux we enjoyed the natural spectacle relaxing in our folding chairs as if in a movie theatre, cheeringly commenting on each turn of colors to an imaginative stage director.

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