 No matter how much mankind and its inventions have progressed there’s something about hurling yourself off the rim of a canyon that will always remain fundamentally irresponsible. Modern man might have made incredible mental and technological advances but in some deep, dark corner of your mind a little voice keeps nagging, reminding you that throwing yourself off cliffs is not in the least ‘big or clever.’
The cave-dwelling ape-men who were our forefathers would have been smart enough to listen. Perhaps, because they were preoccupied with the day-to-day business of hunting woolly mammoths and wrestling sabre-toothed tigers, they felt free to ignore that other little voice that says: “Go on. I dare you…chicken!”
But there is something about modern life that drives many of us to greater extremes to test ourselves in new ways. In my case leaping off a cliff seemed to be the lesser of two evils: I decided that I would rather plummet to my death than face the prospect of listening to accusations of chicken-heartedness from that whining harpy of an inner-voice for the rest of my life.
As I lurched out over a hundred metres of hot Arabian air I was aware – over the sound of my screams – of the whirring of the two little wheels, upon which my life was suspended, as they shot me along a wire across Snake Canyon. I caught sight of the glimmer of a shrinking dry-season waterhole at the bottom of the abyss and realised that there would be little chance of a soft landing in what passes as a ‘river’ in Oman’s Hajar Mountains. Halfway across the canyon I slid to a halt and hung there, swinging gently. About twenty metres away – seemingly wired to the sheer wall of the canyon – was Rob Gardner, the man who has acquired a reputation in the international press as ‘Oman’s Mad Englishman.’
 The sane side of my alter-ego said: “Don’t be silly! Even if you do by some fluke survive do you really want to be there…shackled to a rock-face ten storeys above the stream with a mad Englishman?”
That other character whispered just one word – “chicken!” – and, after a moment’s consideration, I started hauling myself hand-over-hand towards Rob’s wire safety loop.
Rob has spent more than a decade exploring the Omani wilderness and it was his influence and enthusiasm for the Middle East’s newest and greatest extreme playground that had brought me into this reckless situation in the first place. He has climbed the country’s most challenging rock-faces, kayaked and dived much of its off-shore waters, driven countless miles of blistering rock, explored the soaring dunes and mapped some of the most impressive cave complexes in the world.
Oman is home to the world’s second biggest subterranean cavern (after Borneo’s Sarawak Chamber). To put it into context, Majilis al Jinn – the mysteriously named ‘reception room of the Jinn (spirit)’ – is half the height of the Empire State Building and is big enough to accommodate the Great Pyramid of Giza. In what must be a unique commercial tourism idea and a heart-stopping once-in-a-lifetime trip Rob leads groups of tourists into the cavern…by rappelling into the darkness down 186 metres of free-hanging rope! Four training sessions are needed to prepare for this trip (at around 140 metres off the cave floor the climbers have to switch equipment across from one rope to another) and the climb back up using ascending gear might take as long as an hour of hard, sweaty labour.
Experiences like this are rapidly earning Oman an almost unparalleled reputation among climbers and adrenalin-junkies the world over. But those with a slightly more chilled out attitude to the wilderness are also realising that this diverse country offers fantastic potential for less extreme camping and trekking holidays.
Just ten years ago Oman was all but unknown to travellers. The former sultan had used the oil revenue to effectively isolate the country and had preserved it as one of the sleepiest and most undeveloped in the Gulf. He personally vetted applications for the few tourist visas that were allowed in during his long reign and kept knowledge of the outside world (and hence its ‘ungodly influences’) to an absolute minimum. There were few people in the rural areas who had had any schooling whatsoever, and books, sunglasses and other such trappings of decadent western life were banned. Oman remained staunchly traditional and fundamentally (though never fanatically) Islamic.
Even today – in far more progressive times – most Omanis of both sexes choose to wear traditional clothes and the old-country Bedouin traditions of hospitality and friendliness to strangers have remained wonderfully undiluted. Crime is almost unknown and tourists from such ‘civilised’ cities as London, New York and Sydney find it inconceivable that many Muscat residents (locals and expats alike) habitually leave their front doors unlocked when they go out.
When, in 1970, the sultan was deposed by his son Sultan Qaboos bin Said Al Said – eager for the progress that he saw as the birthright of his people – there were just 5 miles of tarmac in the entire country. Oman’s oil will not last forever and, ironically, it begins to look like the unspoilt wilderness that the old sultan tried to hide from the world might turn out to be the great natural resource of the future. Oman is already earning a reputation as one of the world’s great unsung wilderness destinations.
The country has more than 1,000 miles of coastline, boasting white beaches and turquoise reefs and there are thousands of square miles of classic sand desert. In the 1950s the great explorer Wilfred Thesiger travelled through the ‘Empty Quarter’ and evaded feudal lords in the Omani mountains.
Thesiger had a talent for seeking out some of the most inhospitable locations in the world and a near-masochistic yearning to live as spartanly as possible. These days Oman is rather more accessible, much less dangerous and infinitely friendlier. It is hard to travel on a budget (apart from the grand business-class hotels there are few backpacker possibilities in Muscat) but camping is invariably safe and trouble-free and. At a time when the Middle East in general is so often portrayed as a land of religious fanatics and suicide bombers it is reassuring to see that visitors to Oman invariably return home with nothing but praise for what they describe as some of the friendliest and most cheerful people in the world.
 The death threats that were part of Thesiger’s travels might only remain as a part of exploratory folklore but excitement and adrenalin are in more plentiful supply than ever.
Arriving finally at the far side of Snake Canyon, I scrabbled my toes into what little security the tiny ledge could give me and clamped my sweaty palms around the safety wire.
“Well,” smiled Rob, “you made it. How’d you feel?”
I answered with a sickly grin and tried to calm the shaking in my knees – climbers call it ‘sewing machine leg’ – while I wriggled my camera into position to squeeze off a couple of blurry shots.
Rob was already signalling across to the next in our little aerial pioneer- column. In the last few years Rob has talked more than a few reluctant adventurers into throwing themselves off some of the most dramatic canyons in the Hajar Mountains. His powers of persuasion had met their match in a recent group from the Royal Air Force, however: several would-be pilots had categorically backed out of the Snake Canyon via ferrata trip with vertigo!
Via ferrata (literally ‘steel pathway’ in Italian) were first constructed to allow troops to move around the rock-faces and canyons of the Italian Dolomites and Austrian Tyrol during the First World War. After the war, mountain guides maintained and extended them until they became a mountain activity in their own right. There are now via ferratas in many parts of the world but the one which Rob’s team has erected over and across Snake Canyon has become known as one of the most dramatic.
You lean back on the wall and work your way across the cliff-face along a steel spiders-web of cables that takes roughly three hours to traverse. Several times you cross the canyon from wall to wall sliding on pulley wheels along a ‘flying fox’ wire and at one point there is a ‘monkey wire,’ consisting of a tightrope, which you walk across while holding, white-knuckled, onto an overhead cable. The route is not technical and can be completed without any previous climbing experience, but it is strenuous and requires a reasonable level of strength and stamina.
By the time I climbed out of the canyon to make my way – still on slightly shaky legs – back to the waiting 4x4s, the sun was beginning to sink into the desert haze of the west.
It was still about an hour’s drive, along winding cliff-edge dirt-tracks and past occasional patches of greenery where palm groves had been won from rocky wadi-beds by the labour of generations. Life in these remote mountain villages has always been tough but community spirit is still alive and well. In one tiny hamlet the only available piece of flat terrain had been turned into the local soccer pitch. Every young man for miles around had come for the Friday afternoon game and we had to wait for a convenient corner before, with big smiles, they waved our little convoy onward along the ‘main road’ that ran lengthways down the middle of their pitch. Despite the massive improvements on roads, much of the country is still inaccessible to anything but a sturdy 4x4 and off-road driving (known here as ‘wadi-bashing’) is guaranteed to be a part of any Omani adventure.
We set up camp on a plateau that offered a wonderful view across the mountains towards the 3,000-metre peaks of Jabal Akhdhar (Green Mountain) and Jabal Shams (Mountain of the Sun). While there is little doubt that Jabal Shams would see more than its share of sun, there seemed to be a certain amount of Middle Eastern optimism involved in calling Jabal Akhdhar’s great soaring wedge of brown rock ‘Green Mountain.’
 In fact Jabal Akhdhar is surprisingly lush and is famous in Oman for its wonderful crops. In the winding wadis with their intricate falaj irrigation systems the mountain communities harvest walnuts, figs, almonds, olives, peaches, apricots, mulberries, grapes, nectarines and some of the best pomegranates in the world. A new highway now runs into the highlands, and for the first time the people of Jabal Akhdhar have a way to get their produce to the market down on the plains in Nizwa. Also tourists are finally managing to find their way to what was, only fifty years ago, one of the most isolated and mysterious regions in the country.
Winters in these highlands can be distinctly chilly but summertime temperatures are near perfect and Jabal Akhdhar is now becoming known as the most refreshing hill-station escape in the Gulf. It is a prime spot for trekking, climbing and camping.
We boosted the fire with juniper branches, ate a hearty plate of chicken curry and fuelled some campfire yarns with a slab of imported beer (unlike other less easy-going Gulf-states, alcohol is easily available for resident non-Muslims). We talked of cliff-hanging and caving and rumours of a testosterone-driven group of desperadoes who were planning a base-jump off the rim of Oman’s kilometre-deep Wadi Nakhr ‘Grand Canyon.’
My fingertips had not yet stopped bleeding from a day spent clawing along the walls of Snake Canyon but before I knew it I was already getting psyched-up and primed for the next day’s expedition. Rob suggested that a nice way to pass the morning might be to spend a few hours ‘wadi-bashing’ over to Green Mountain and then abseil off a cliff.
It seems that there is something about the Omani wilderness that ‘drives people to extremes.’
But what can I say?
Bigger boys made me do it!
ONTACT: Muscat Diving and Adventure Centre (www.holiday-in-oman.com / tel: +968 24485663) operate tours throughout almost any part of the country and can arrange logistics for independent trekking, caving, climbing groups. |
"He who dies with the most experiences wins"
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