Farewell Saudi – Its Bedouin, Rangers, Camels and Royal Kindness

On any other trek day, each rider had developed his own routine for preparing his camel. My own was to pack all my kit, have breakfast, take my “constitutional”, and catch up on trek gossip between 6 and 7 am. 

At around 0700, as the sun broke the horizon, there’d be enough light to walk to the camels, greet them quietly, and then saddle—or shedad—the camel I would ride that day. Once sorted, I’d return to camp, apply grease, put my traditional Arab clothes over my T-shirt and jodhpurs, and zip up my kit bag for loading onto the trailer. I’d then coordinate comms with Rich and quickly run through any points with Rory or the day’s escort vehicle crews.

I had largely left Tommo, Craig, and James to form their own routines and had noticed that, while Craig favoured preparing his camel early, Tommo and James preferred to finish all their kit and admin first, only then going to the camels so they didn’t need to return to camp. Frankly, it didn’t matter which approach they chose, so long as everyone was fully ready to move by 0755. I can recall only one day when this didn’t happen, and that was more the fault of the Bedouin being “overhelpful” than anything else.

However, the day after our rest day was different. At the end of the Wadi Sorhan ride, we had been forced to leave the camels short of camp due to farm fences. This was no one’s fault — Simon had set up camp exactly as briefed, approaching it from the road, and we’d had no prior knowledge of the fences scattered across our route, making it impossible to straight-line or follow contours to reach camp before nightfall.

Thus, on this the 14th morning we awoke feeling clean and refreshed, ate breakfast, greased, “dumped”, dressed, and the riders piled into the escort Defenders. 

Simon and his team remained at camp as our two Defenders backtracked via the road around the fences to reach the camels, who were just a couple of kilometres away as the crow flies, but nearly 12 km by vehicle. We found the camels rested and well fed, and I reflected that they must have benefitted from the rest day every bit as much as we had. Little did they know this would be their last day with us.

I saddled Shagra, who had been my favourite from the outset: a giant of a beast, unusually grey with naturally short hair. As I tied Sorpan to him, I spoke gently to him as I always did. This camel had truly endeared himself to me. Initially, the Bedouin had insisted on muzzling him because they said he was a biter, but he had become anything but. He was the antithesis of a glory-seeker, quiet and dependable, more akin to SF than to Shagra’s “door-kicking” bravado. Sorpan got the job done, whatever was asked of him, with no need for fanfare. If he had been human, he’d have been SRR for sure.

When we arrived, we greeted the Bedouin, who had clearly enjoyed their own day of rest — made even better by the arrival of the final 50% payment for the camel contract. This adventure had been completely unexpected for them but life-changing — for their families and for the camels, who were now worth considerably more thanks to their proven and televised stamina.

We set off along the carved track that would take us to Highway 65. Rory had tried to recce both sides of the road the during the rest-day and reported farm fences blocked our path to the east of the road, and increased border defences with no-go zones to the west negated that route. We would have to ride alongside the road all day.

Although this wasn’t quite the ending I had imagined for our last day in Saudi, I reflected that the modern road followed the very desert track that Lawrence and his men would have used on their way to Damascus.

As we joined the roadside and headed northwest, multiple Saudis stopped to photograph the “four crazy white guys with nine ‘British’ camels” trotting along. Morale was high, and both James and Henry asked if we could stop at a petrol station at some point for a photo opportunity. I informed the KSRNR Special Forces Rangers and spent several minutes explaining that it was a bit of a joke.

Whenever possible, we took slip roads through small villages, but after the trials of previous days, today’s ride was a breeze for riders and camels alike. Spirits were high.

At lunchtime we stopped at an underpass for shade. We had been making excellent time. This was no ordinary underpass, however: it marked the start of Wadi Bayer — the very spot where Lawrence, Nesib El Bekri, Auda Abu Tayi, Sherif Nasir, and their remaining 38 men (three had died in Wadi Sorhan) had turned southwest to make a direct line for Aqaba.

Pausing there and looking down the Wadi was an emotional moment. We would have preferred to follow the original route, but modern geopolitics, tank berms, minefields, and razor wire made that impossible. Instead, we would have to divert 150 km and three days northwest before rejoining the original track within the Wadi in Jordan.

In the afternoon James and Henry got their photo op at the petrol station, much to the bewilderment of the locals. We pushed on, skirting the urban sprawl of Al Qurayyat to the south and by now, Prince Musaid had joined us with his local VIPs and guided us to the recommended campsite, adjacent to the border’s no-go zone.

It was now time to say goodbye to our Saudi camels. As we removed their shedads for the last time, we were acutely aware that there was no way we could fully express our gratitude for what they had helped us achieve. By the time we parted, both men and camels were very different from the ones who had set off from Al Wajh. The camels had been magnificent and were now to be trucked back to Tabuk for well-earned rest, food, and breeding. We bade farewell to the Bedouin too, who had brought smiles to us daily, whether they meant to or not.

We also said a sad goodbye to the KSRNR Special Forces Rangers. These men had proved themselves not only as guardians of the environment but as outstanding companions and protectors of us. Their desert fieldcraft and local knowledge were second to none. I once said to their leader, Captain Sa’ad, that they were “one of us”. He replied, “No, we are not like you guys”. However, to me, they were. I will always respect what they do, and I am grateful we had so much time with them.

Prince Musaid explained that he had informed the Saudi border guards to expect us at 0900 the following morning. He distributed gifts to the riders, and we thanked him profusely. There is no doubt in my mind that a major contributing factor to the success of the trek was Prince Musaid al Naif Sudairy; we owe a great debt of thanks to this magnificent and kind man.

The following morning, all our kit was packed into the Defenders, which rendezvoused about a kilometre from the border after fuelling up. (We knew there would be no resupply for three days after we crossed into Jordan.)

At the border, a smiling Saudi official in a kandura waved us into the first of three checkpoints. We were treated with kindness throughout the process of out-stamps and customs, which was courteous and trouble-free. In the final zone, our documents were checked one last time before we entered the no-man’s-land and passed beneath a portal bearing the Jordanian flag.

We were waved through and crept forward to the next barrier, which opened. The convoy stopped, and there by the roadside stood a familiar face — Captain G of the Jordanian Special Branch. He had been my minder on the Jordan route reconnaissance several weeks earlier. I jumped out of the Defender, and the others must have been astonished to see us greet each other with the hug of old friends. 

In that single gesture, Captain G epitomised the welcome that awaited us in Jordan. Ahead lay nine days of riding across the Nefud, the Hejaz, and Wadi Rum to reach Aqaba — and the upside challenge of surviving Jordanian hospitality.