Hello Jordan – “Other Men Might Join” … With Super-camels

When planning the border crossing from Saudi Arabia into Jordan, I'd had to assume the worst in terms of the time that it would take. I'd therefore given us plenty of time to break the last camp in Saudi, because this was the one occasion on the whole Trek when Simon, his camp team, all five Defenders, and trailer would leave camp at the same time. On all other days, the camels and riders departed at 0800. Simon's team would then pack up what remained of the camp and ensure we'd left no permanent trace.

Once we reached the Jordanian side of the border, we'd have to rendezvous with our new camels, and I'd shortened the first leg in Jordan to just 30kms, which basically equated to a half-day's ride. The plan actually turned out to be pretty good, but not for reasons I'd anticipated.

Having passed under the Jordanian-flagged portal and crossing into the first layer, I was warmly greeted by Captain G. He took all our passports and then walked with me alongside the Defenders to a barrier where he handed them to an official. If we had been any other group, we'd have had to wait there until the entry stamps were completed, but it turned out that we weren't any other group!

We were waved through, and on the other side, there was a crowd of smiling officials, police, border guards, and familiar faces from the Club. These included Adam Shelley, who was taking Peter W’s place and who we’d missed since his departure a few days earlier; Paul Beaver, who had volunteered to be our Aqaba arrivals lead; Colonel “A”, who was coordinating with Royal Hashemite Court; the Special Branch team and Jordanian hosts bearing trays of tea, sweets, and cakes to welcome us to their country.

From a leader's perspective, I could feel a weight lifted from my shoulders. The active support of the Jordanians in ensuring our success in Aqaba had begun, but I didn't fully grasp the significance of our actions to the Jordanians at the time. This understanding would evolve and increase daily as we drew closer to Aqaba.

We eventually emerged from the hospitality of the Omari Border crossing about an hour and a half after we'd entered it. Not for any reason of bureaucracy, but purely for reasons of their hospitality.

On the other side of the border, there was a small strip mall. Here, we would stop for Simon to restock with water and supplies that would last us three days, until we got close to another road. Morale was high, and the entire team was refreshed and invigorated by Jordan's welcome.

Additionally, we were joined by another two Defenders from JLR Amman. One was the brand new 75th Anniversary edition, complete with two technicians and full diagnostic equipment; the other was the old version of the Defender, which would be ideal for photographs. Both of these vehicles had been dispatched to support the trek by Mr. Basem Malhas, the owner of JLR Amman, and one of the best brand ambassadors I have ever met. His support, alongside that of JLR Jeddah, was invaluable in the planning and execution - just brilliant!

The entire team and convoy, which had grown considerably, then mounted the Defenders and we drove three kilometres away from the border to rendezvous with our Bedouin Police Camels, which had been gifted, on loan, by His Majesty King Abdullah.

In no time, we turned onto a track that took us away from the road, and ahead, we saw another set of vehicles and a group of camels. The words of Lawrence as portrayed in the 1968 film echoed out of my ears when he told Sherif Ali Nasir, "If 50 men came out of the Nefud, they would be 50 that other men might join". We were only four riders and eight in support, but these numbers were already to be more than doubled by "other men who joined"; and this was just the beginning of the “joining”.

I was greeted on the volcanic plain of the Nefud, which was to be our home until we re-entered Wadi Bayr in three days' ride by the Bedouin Police commander and his own support team. They had brought a selection of truly magnificent camels, and three of their own riders, Mishal, Hayal and Falah, three men who turned out to be brilliant company, but who were also as hard as nails and true masters of camel riding.

During the route recce in December, I'd requested two camels for each of the riders and that we would bring our own shedads, which by now we'd perfected to our own rear-end comfort. What I hadn't realised at that time was the calibre of the Bedouin Police Camels. They were huge, strong, fast and had tremendous stamina. Each was trained to a high standard and generally keen to please. The camel assigned to me was Shahan, who turned out to be the best camel I had ever ridden, despite my thousands of kilometres of camel riding experience.

We set off at a pace towards our first camp in Jordan, and the stride of these camels was astounding. In Saudi Arabia, we'd worked on achieving 8kph walking and 13kph trotting. It soon became apparent that the Jordanian police camels were cracking out 11kph and 18kph; we were eating ground.

However, the first day's ride was not without echoes of leaving Al Wajh; the camels were jumpy and clearly were not happy at having spare camels run with them. Squabbling between them ensued, which made for a wrestling match as a rider. Additionally, when we stopped for a quick break, the camel tied to Shahan tried to mount him when I was still on him!  Doubtless a show of dominance, but that Shahan was jovially considered part of the LGBT community from then on — not that there's anything wrong with that.

We reached the camp by about 4:30 pm, which gave us plenty of time to unpack and redistribute all the kit throughout the vehicles after the border crossing, when they'd been full of the additional riders. The Bedouin also warned us that although the shallow sand wadis were a comfortable place to camp, we needed to be alert for any rain activity because these wadis would flood. This was a briefing point for the O-group that night. The following day, we were back into the Trek routine, and the now seven riders headed out across the Nefud on a south-westerly heading, which for the first full day pointed us directly to Aqaba.

The plain itself is almost as Sherif Ali described it in the film, "the worst place God created".  It is an undulating volcanic plain, characterised by a sharp, flintlike surface, the absence of edible plant life, and no water. Except for an occasional passing bird, we saw no other life, apart from that of our escort, which had again grown in the shape of three 50-calibre, armed technical pickup trucks manned by the Gendarmerie, who were there just to ensure nothing untoward happened to our ever-growing party.

That day across the Nefud was largely uneventful, except for the speed of the camels and the bonding that happened between the Bedouin Police rider and our group. When we stopped for lunch or a break, they would peel off and quickly make a fire to warm their coffee. We'd flash-up a gas stove for the same. They'd eat dates and bread; we'd eat fruit and yoghurt.

Camp that evening was one of the most idyllic, a soft sand flat plain with picturesque hills close by. Had I realised at the time that this would be our last camp alone as a group, I think I'd have made more of it. However, we'd arrived in daylight, which allowed for a wash and some kit admin. It also gave us time to relax and appreciate just how good our Jordanian super camels really were.

Tomorrow, we'd discover the three peaks of the Nefud and descend back into Wadi Bayr to regain Lawrence's original track. We'd then spend the night at Bayr Fort, where a further surprise awaited the entire team.