Chef Simon, the Canyon, and Big-Boob Mountain

Four Riders Push On.

Departure from Camp 3 was one of mixed feelings. Saying goodbye to Mike had been brief, by design. We both knew the physical and mental toll he’d been under, and it wouldn’t have done either of us any good to get emotional. Still, as I climbed onto my camel, I felt my own sense of failure that I'd lost one of the riders to injury.

I knew it was the right call - his condition wasn’t going to improve, and we were heading into areas where the nearest medical help was more than two hours’ fast drive away. There was relief in knowing he was safe. But also, a knot of guilt that we were now one man down, and the journey ahead wasn’t going to get any easier.

With four riders remaining, the dynamic shifted. The camels seemed to sense it too - ten animals, four riders. A calmer atmosphere settled over the morning as we set out along a short stretch of metalled road and then back onto desert terrain.

I knew the day ahead would bring some of the most stunning scenery the Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve (PMBSRR) had to offer. Lawrence had written about the oasis just north of Abu Rakah, describing it vividly - lush greenery in contrast to the beautiful red sandstone geological pillars and rock faces. The oasis itself sat in a deep wadi of soft sand that contained wells where his group had watered their camels.

It was clear the team was subdued. I suspect we were all thinking the same thing: If it could happen to Mike… it could happen to me. There was some comfort when I told them we’d be staying at a sedate walking pace through the oasis, giving everyone time to enjoy this special place. And the scenery did not disappoint.

About a quarter of the way into the wadi, which stretched for several kilometres, we came across a well. We watered the camels, and they drank their fill. We pressed on through winding riverbed trails lined with lush vegetation, reflecting that we were looking at rock features that matched Lawrence’s descriptions.

Eventually, the ground started to climb, and the vegetation vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. We crested a ridge that took us past a few camel pens before heading out over truly untouched desert. As the high ground flattened, we spotted two donkeys - one of which seemed to be tangled in wire and hobbling badly. We radioed the support team to take a look.

It turned out the donkey wasn’t tangled in wire as we’d thought, instead, someone had intentionally hobbled it using wire instead of rope.  Every step the poor animal attempted was pulling against its skin. Richard B transmitted to say that there was no way he could leave the animal in that state, so he had managed to unhobble the wire, for which the grateful donkey was fully cooperative in letting him help.

Meanwhile, the rider team pressed on across a pristine desert plain peppered with stone pillars, which seemed more similar to an Arizona postcard than Saudi Arabia. Navigation here was crucial. Our route reconnaissance had identified a single canyon that would allow passage through the rock ridge and formations. If we lined up our route with a twin-pillared landmark, we should find it.

As the terrain grew rockier, Rory and Ged ranged ahead in a Defender, scouting the way. Then we heard Simon - aka Chef Simon - over the radio from the Chuckwagon (Defender + trailer). He and his team had packed up the camp after we had departed (as they did every day) and were now ranging forward to Camp 4, but using a "long way round" desert sand road to loop around the terrain that we had to tackle.

Eventually, we found the canyon. It was narrower than I’d expected, but it got us through. On the other side was a hard-packed desert track - the only sensible route around the hill features, which were strewn with large volcanic rocks. Once we hit the track, we could pick up a trotting pace and start covering ground.  By now, the heat was hovering in the 30s, and everyone, camels included, was working hard.

Roughly 10 km later, we reached a second well. Fortunately, Simon and the food crew had happened to stop there, which lifted spirits and allowed us a quick snack.  The camels somehow sensed this might be the last big water source for some time, so they drank accordingly - and they were right to do so.

The day continued along the desert track, which opened up into wide, breathtaking views. We passed a couple of small desert settlements and climbed across was slabs of rock towards a dormant twin-peaked volcano, which we promptly nicknamed Big-Boob Mountain. 

Camp 4 was made nearby in a small sand re-entrant, slightly protected from the wind. However, as the sun dropped, so did the temperature - plummeting to sub-zero. The wind cut through everything and the wind-chill factor was brutal, and a taste of nigh temperatures to come.

The following morning was a morale test. Preparing camels and kit while trying to keep cold fingers functioning to tie vital knots made the preparation process a few minutes longer than hoped, but we knew we’d be riding at pace that day and the temperatures would only get warmer as the sun made its way high into the clear blue sky.  The mindset was simple: when the going’s good, we would trot - banking time in case things slowed us down later.

That day we made good ground, and had another, close encounter, golden eagle sighting, amongst the shifting beauty of the black volcanic rock on red sand.  As we left PMBSRR behind, I found myself reflecting on the Reserve’s striking and constantly changing landscapes.

Around the 60% mark for the day’s distance, we stopped for lunch - and received a surprise message: a representative from the Ministry of Sport was en route to Camp 5, and they were bringing a local TV crew. None of us knew it then, but those interviews would completely shift our profile in Saudi Arabia.

Camp that evening was in a natural bowl feature, which offered some much-needed shelter. The wind eased, and the weather warmed by a few degrees.

But as I settled into my sleeping bag, another thought hit me: this was the last section of the route we’d been able to recce in advance. From here on out, there was no more contour information on the maps. We'd be navigating through any high ground based on Lawrence’s century-old sketches and descriptions.

Five days down. Twenty to go;  I knew the hardest terrain was still ahead.