BLACK DESERT
Black Desert
Black Desert
Black Desert
A
photographic memoir from the first Gulf war
Photographs by Robin Mudge
Preface
In August 1990, Iraq invaded Kuwait, triggering the First Gulf War. A U.S.-led coalition launchedOperation Desert Stormin January 1991, combining massive aerial bombardment with a swift ground assault. By late February, Iraqi forces had retreated, and Kuwait was liberated. As they withdrew, Iraqi troops set fire to over 600 oil wells in what became one of the worst environmental disasters of the 20th century. Towering flames, toxic smoke, and rivers of crude oil transformed the desert into a burning wasteland. The effort to extinguish the fires brought together international firefighting teams operating under extreme conditions: heat, poisonous gases, unexploded mines, and the constant threat of re-ignition. After extended negotiations with the Kuwait Oil Company, our BBC Education film crew—researcher Bob, cameraman Robert, sound recordist Martyn, and myself— were granted rare access to the oil fields to document the monumental effort to extinguish hundreds of burning oil wells. We were based in the bombdamaged Holiday Inn in Kuwait
City, which had become a makeshift headquarters for dozens of international firefighting teams. With infrastructure still in chaos, a 24hour buffet provided the only food available. It quickly earned the nickname “Death by Buffet.”
We were theonly film crewpermitted full access to the burning fields. This came with serious risk. Prior to our arrival, a group of journalists had died when their vehicle strayed from a safe path and ignited a lake of oil.
To reduce risk, we moved exclusively in 4x4 vehicles, guided each morning by two briefings: first by the American operations team coordinating the fire suppression effort, and second by the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, who outlined where landmines had been cleared—and where they hadn’t. Their final words of caution was unforgettable: “if you feel something underfoot that sounds like an empty Coke can, don’t move.”
The heat was overwhelming. We wore heavy protective gear and carried gas monitors to detect poisonous emissions. Our first journey into the oil fields felt like driving into a nightmarish science fiction landscape: the
sand blackened with sticky crude, entire tanks and military wreckage abandoned in place, lakes of oil reflecting flames, and everywhere the choking reminder of war and the cost of human life.
Our first rendezvous was with the legendary Texan crewBoots & Coots, veterans of oil blowout control since the days of Red Adair. When we pulled up to one blazing site, we were met by a line of soot-streaked Texans in sunglasses, chewing tobacco and radiating heat and suspicion. In a moment of inspired diplomacy, cameraman Robert stepped forward and in his most clipped English accent asked, “Hello chaps—any chance of a cup of tea?” The silence broke into laughter, and from that moment, we were welcomed. They even suited Robert up in insulated firefighting gear and let him shoot footage just feet from a roaring inferno—though sadly, his camera partially melted in the process. The firefighting methods were rooted in the physics of combustion. Fire requires three elements—fuel, oxygen, and heat—what’s known as theFire Triangle. In most cases, the gushing fuel couldn’t be stopped. Instead, they targeted the other
two legs of the triangle: cooling the heat with millions of gallons of water, or—more dramatically— detonating a 40-gallon drum of dynamite beside the flames. The explosion would momentarily displace the oxygen, snuffing out the fire. Then came the job of cooling the pressurised oil stream to prevent re-ignition.
The fires released massive quantities of carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide, and other toxic gases into the atmosphere. At the time, many feared a climate disaster of global proportions.
While the long-term impact has been debated among scientists, the visual devastation was undeniable.
Although the primary purpose of the trip was to complete the documentary, I also brought my Leica M6, with 35mm and 90mm lenses, and several rolls of Kodak Ektachrome E200. When possible, between filming and briefings, I made photographs. The images that follow are not a comprehensive documentary record. They are, instead, a personal memoir of a surreal, hazardous, and unforgettable assignment—made in a landscape scarred by war and transformed by oil and fire.
Endnote
More than thirty years have passed since these photographs were made, yet the memory of that scorched and surreal landscape remains vivid — a place where nature, war, and industry collided under a sky thick with smoke. What struck me then, and stays with me still, was not just the scale of the destruction, but the strange and often uneasy beauty that emerged through the lens. I didn’t set out to make a photographic project. These images were made instinctively, in the pauses between filming — while waiting for briefings, or equipment, or simply for the wind to shift. Looking back, I realise they reflect something fundamental about my practice: a way of seeing that values quiet attention, even in volatile places. Susan Sontag once wrote,“Photographs are a way of imprisoning reality… one can't possess reality, one can possess images.”As I revisited the transparency sheets decades later, I found a thread — not of spectacle or destruction, but of presence. These images reflect the way I’ve always been drawn to looking: attentively, quietly, and without staging.