Bayr Fort – Lawrence Slept, We Danced
From the outset of the Trek, I'd looked forward to our overnight stay at Bayr Fort for several reasons. The first was that during the recce, I'd visited this historic and hallowed place, and frankly, its situation, history and current use begged for a revisit.
The only way I can describe Bayr Fort is to think of a life-size Lego Fort that has been built by a 10-year-old. Two square fortress-like towers, an inner sanctum that would be a last line of defence, and then a larger walled area where equipment and livestock could be safeguarded.
The Fort sits on the peak of the highest ground in the area and views the gradual slope coming up from the expanse of the Nefud plain to its north and west. It then completely dominates the steep terrain into Wadi Bayr and to the south, where the very reason for its existence lies: a freshwater spring.
In Wadi Bayr itself, the remnants of a stream flourish with greenery, but this water is undrinkable to humans and barely palatable to camels due to the heavy sediments that give it a rotten egg taste. Regardless, the dominance of the Fort is demonstrated by the stunning views all around it, making an undetected approach in Lawrence's time impossible.
That said, the Turks of that time would have had to be on a suicide mission to even think about attacking the Fort, not least because this is Howeitat country, which was, and still is, entirely controlled by this tribe, who are legendary for their fighting ability and basically being rock-hard.
Then, on top of all this, Bayr Fort was the place on which Auda Abu Tayi, an all-out hero of the original Lawrence Path to Aqaba, had made as one of his objectives. Not only would he ask his fellow tribesmen to join his and Lawrence's group of the 44 men who had survived the Trek so far, but also, he would go to honour the close-by grave of his son, who had been killed in a stupid adolescent duel. It was at Bayr Fort that Lawrence's 50 became the 300 who would cut through the Turks at the battle of Ma'an and enter Aqaba to take the city.
The ride that day to the Fort would be one of two distinct halves. The first 20-plus kilometres would be across the vast expanse of the volcanic flint-strewn Nefud; it was flat and easy-going for the camels and riders. The sky that day was gin-clear, and although there was a bit of a chill in the air, there was no need for our Farwa Arab Coats, so we made do with our traditional waistcoats. In the distance, there were three prominent hills, or were they small mountains? The Bedouin Police explained that these were the "Thalathat Jebel", which literally meant "three mountains".
I mused to myself that whoever had named them must have had more concerns at his moment of sighting than an imaginative name, because to cross this desert without support or communications would be to take your life in your own hands. It would have taken just one calamity to set in motion a chain of events that would ultimately lead to death. There were no paths that might be seen by passersby; there was no water, just the occasional mirage of its appearance. The sun was unrelenting during the day, and at over 1,500 metres above sea level, this place would freeze at night. The loss of water or mobility would only bring one result: certain death.
I must admit, if I hadn't spent a year of my life in Baluchistan, I would have agreed with Sherif Ali's description that the Nefud was the worst place God created. However, it wasn't even a close second simply because, unlike Baluchistan, there were no militant and angry people in the Nefud to ruin it.
As the swaying rhythm of our striding camels achieved about 11kph, it wasn't long before we couldn't help but question if the Thalathat Jebel was getting any closer. They didn't appear to be doing so. Of course, this was another curse of the desert because with no features on which to judge distance, the visual change in size of the distant mountains was too small to discern.
Our route kept us nicely to the left of the high ground, and I knew from the recce that this plateau would suddenly end. This it did when we came to a small ridge that dropped into a large sand wadi, with a base of greenery and sandstone-like features that looked like carelessly scattered giant piles of cement. However, in reality, they were surviving hard sand pillars formed by flash floods down the Wadi. In the distance, we could see grazing goats and sheep and a Bedouin camp. We had entered Wadi Bayr and, after our 125-kilometre diversion caused by modern geo-political borders, we rejoined the original route along which Auda had guided Lawrence as they closed in on Aqaba.
The Bedouin Police Camels managed the steep descent into the Wadi without hesitation. These animals really were the 4x4 equivalents of the camel world. We then had a choice of whether to "straight-line" it across the vast bed of the wadi or descend to its very base, which meandered across the bed but was shrouded in vegetation. I chose the latter, which, because it was covered from view, would have been precisely the track that the original heroes would have taken. We could ride in comfort, sight unseen from anyone in the broader wadi or on the high ground.
Along the dried-up streambed, we saw small birds and the odd grazing goat. At one point, we surprised two Bedouin children, a girl of about 12, who quickly covered her face, grabbed her little brother, and hid behind some brush. Only curiosity drove her to re-emerge and take another look. The Bedouin Police shouted greetings and reassurance, then said that this was likely the first time the girl had ever seen a white man, let alone four of them on camels!
We then heard on the radio that our support Defenders had also stopped at Bedouin Camp just ahead and had been invited into the tents for tea. They asked if we wanted to join, but I was mindful of time and distance, so we waved as we passed and pushed on.
It was about another half an hour before we saw one of the Defenders had made it into the streambed and made a brew of coffee by the shade of some trees. Here we stopped for a short lunch, again reflecting that the last time any European had done this was when Lawrence himself had.
In a weird way, I could almost feel the presence of Lawrence, Auda, Nesib and Sherif in the Wadi that day. After all, nothing had changed there since the days that they must have rested in the same, obvious shaded spot.
After the short break, we pushed on and, sheltered from the wind in the base of the wadi, we were probably as warm as we'd been for days. The Bedouin Police then told us they wanted to deviate across the wadi floor and pointed to the high ground in the distance. By now, I was straining my eyes looking for the man-made structure that was Bayr Fort, but it remained distant and hidden from view. After about another hour, we climbed up onto higher ground and saw a cluster of vehicles at the end of a spur of high ground. This was obviously our rendezvous, but we knew not what for.
When we arrived, the group of Bedouin police had already broken out the Arabic coffee, so we sipped on that until four of their number emerged with large falcons perched on their leather-gloved arms. This was the purpose of our stop.
In turn, a falcon was transferred to each rider and, in the distance, we could see two Bedouin with a lure, making a "hoop!" noise. My bird's handler showed me how to remove the bird's cap, which covered its eyes, and as I did, I held the bird high. It viewed its surroundings for a few seconds, then, using its eyesight that is said to be 23 times better than a human's, it spotted the distant lure. It spread its wings, went into a slight crouch, then sprang into flight, making a beeline for the lure, travelling at what I'd guess was over 50 mph at just a metre above the ground. Upon reaching the lure, it climbed hard, executed the equivalent of a stall turn, and plummeted onto its target.
Each rider, in turn, then launched their falcon in the same style.
It was a brilliant experience, and I reflected that the wildlife that we'd seen most on our journey were that of transiting birds, so it was logical that Arabs of the desert had adapted birds of prey to catch this only source of meat.
When the flying display was over, from this high ground, we could see the block shapes of the two fort towers on the far ridge. So, we mounted up and descended back into and across the valley to make the long but steady climb, as the outline of the Fort, and then its details, took shape.
I hadn't mentioned to the team that the Bedouin police had planned a traditional welcome for us, and our tents were set up in the sanctum of the Fort. We'd also have a proper toilet that we could use.
As the sun dropped, the Bedouin built a large fire by the Majlis in the Fort's grounds, and coffee, dates, and then copious amounts of traditional food were served. Meanwhile, high-ranking officers had arrived, and it was time to exchange gifts. I presented a Special Forces Club Plaque and challenge coins. They presented the riders with Bedouin Police belts and bandoliers. They then instructed us on how to fit them. The Commander explained that if we made it to Aqaba, we would be given the traditional daggers carried by all Bedouin Policemen.
No sooner had the presentations ended than the traditional music began, and every member of the Trek was coaxed into joining the conventional Arabic line dance. It was a great and refreshing evening, which will be remembered for its laughter, song and our bonding with the Royal Bedouin Police of Jordan, a truly proven force of men. That night, we retired to our tents within the security of the Fort, knowing that Lawrence, Auda Abu Tayi, Nesib el Bekri and Sherif Nasir had slept in this very place before they rode towards Ma'an to fight their first major battle to recapture Aqaba, I was becoming convinced that their sprit was somehow with us, pushing us on. However, Ma’an was a three-day ride away, and we'd start the route tomorrow, not realising that the next day would be our very last lone camp before groups of well-wishers would descend on us.
