protection of the cave and safety of the explorers, but for the detailed laser-guided mapping of the chamber architecture.
Coutard was a statuesque, almost courtly woman who curled her long white hair into a practical bun. She back-packed several pieces of her most delicate electronic gear and Luc lugged the rest.
Desnoyers had an infrared light strapped to his forehead, night-vision goggles and when he walked, he rattled with assorted traps dangling from his belt.
They were clad in hooded white Tyvek coveralls, rubber gloves, miners’ hats and disposable respirators to protect against toxic gases and shield the cave from their germs. After the entry team posed for an archival photograph of them stretched out on the ladder like Everest climbers Luc unlocked the heavy gate and swung it open.
The expedition had officially begun.
The early-morning light softly illuminated the first few metres of the vault. Luc took immense pleasure watching Coutard’s reaction to the frescoes and when he switched on a series of tripod lamps, vividly illuminating the entire first chamber, she stopped dead in her tracks, like the biblical pillar of salt and said nothing, absolutely nothing. She simply breathed in and out through her mask, transfixed by the beauty of the galloping horses, the power of the bison herd, the majesty of the great bull.
Moran behaved more like a surgeon, glancing about quickly to get his bearings then setting to work on his patient, carefully laying the first ground mats. Desnoyers scuttled onto one of them. He trained his night scope on the ceiling. ‘ Pipistrellus pipistrellus ,’ he said, waving his arm matter-of-factly at a few darting shapes overhead, but then he got excited and piped up, ‘ Rhinolophus ferrumequinum !’ and started to step off the mat to follow a larger flapping form into the darkness. Moran sharply admonished him and insisted he wait for the placement of more mats.
‘I take it he’s found something delightful,’ Luc remarked to Coutard.
She replied with a beautiful, heavy sigh, overcome with emotion, seemingly surprised at the effect it was having on her. Luc patted her shoulder and said, ‘I know, I know.’ The touch brought her back to the here and now. She collected herself and got to work deploying an array of environmental and micro-climate monitors: temperature, moisture, alkalinity, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and the all-important culture media for bacteria and fungi. Baseline readings had to be taken before the others could begin their work.
Drawing on lessons from the past, a protocol had already been established. The fieldwork would be limited to two fifteen-day campaigns per year. Only twelve people at a time would be allowed inside the cave and they would work in shifts on an alternating schedule. Those who weren’t inside the cave would have analytical tasks back at the base camp.
Much of that first shift was devoted to laying protective mats along the entire length of the cave and installing Coutard’s analytical gear at various points.
Moran used his LaserRace 300 to measure the linear length of all ten chambers of the cave at 170 metres, a tad shorter than Lascaux or Chauvet.
Packs of mats were lowered from the cliff top in a continuous line of student manpower, akin to sandbaggers at a levee. Luc was obliged to wait for each section of mats to be laid before he could revisit deeper chambers. In a way, he already missed the blissful freedom of his first day of discovery, when he could roam freely and let each wave of adrenalin carry him along. Today he was a more scientist than explorer. Everything had to be done according to protocol.
His head was swimming with a million technical and logistical issues – this was a monumental project, larger in scope than anything for which he’d previously been responsible. But seeing the paintings again, the elaborate bestiary and the bird man, all so fresh and richly coloured, so magnificently rendered, made thoughts
Coutard was a statuesque, almost courtly woman who curled her long white hair into a practical bun. She back-packed several pieces of her most delicate electronic gear and Luc lugged the rest.
Desnoyers had an infrared light strapped to his forehead, night-vision goggles and when he walked, he rattled with assorted traps dangling from his belt.
They were clad in hooded white Tyvek coveralls, rubber gloves, miners’ hats and disposable respirators to protect against toxic gases and shield the cave from their germs. After the entry team posed for an archival photograph of them stretched out on the ladder like Everest climbers Luc unlocked the heavy gate and swung it open.
The expedition had officially begun.
The early-morning light softly illuminated the first few metres of the vault. Luc took immense pleasure watching Coutard’s reaction to the frescoes and when he switched on a series of tripod lamps, vividly illuminating the entire first chamber, she stopped dead in her tracks, like the biblical pillar of salt and said nothing, absolutely nothing. She simply breathed in and out through her mask, transfixed by the beauty of the galloping horses, the power of the bison herd, the majesty of the great bull.
Moran behaved more like a surgeon, glancing about quickly to get his bearings then setting to work on his patient, carefully laying the first ground mats. Desnoyers scuttled onto one of them. He trained his night scope on the ceiling. ‘ Pipistrellus pipistrellus ,’ he said, waving his arm matter-of-factly at a few darting shapes overhead, but then he got excited and piped up, ‘ Rhinolophus ferrumequinum !’ and started to step off the mat to follow a larger flapping form into the darkness. Moran sharply admonished him and insisted he wait for the placement of more mats.
‘I take it he’s found something delightful,’ Luc remarked to Coutard.
She replied with a beautiful, heavy sigh, overcome with emotion, seemingly surprised at the effect it was having on her. Luc patted her shoulder and said, ‘I know, I know.’ The touch brought her back to the here and now. She collected herself and got to work deploying an array of environmental and micro-climate monitors: temperature, moisture, alkalinity, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and the all-important culture media for bacteria and fungi. Baseline readings had to be taken before the others could begin their work.
Drawing on lessons from the past, a protocol had already been established. The fieldwork would be limited to two fifteen-day campaigns per year. Only twelve people at a time would be allowed inside the cave and they would work in shifts on an alternating schedule. Those who weren’t inside the cave would have analytical tasks back at the base camp.
Much of that first shift was devoted to laying protective mats along the entire length of the cave and installing Coutard’s analytical gear at various points.
Moran used his LaserRace 300 to measure the linear length of all ten chambers of the cave at 170 metres, a tad shorter than Lascaux or Chauvet.
Packs of mats were lowered from the cliff top in a continuous line of student manpower, akin to sandbaggers at a levee. Luc was obliged to wait for each section of mats to be laid before he could revisit deeper chambers. In a way, he already missed the blissful freedom of his first day of discovery, when he could roam freely and let each wave of adrenalin carry him along. Today he was a more scientist than explorer. Everything had to be done according to protocol.
His head was swimming with a million technical and logistical issues – this was a monumental project, larger in scope than anything for which he’d previously been responsible. But seeing the paintings again, the elaborate bestiary and the bird man, all so fresh and richly coloured, so magnificently rendered, made thoughts
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