Camel Down

Craig and I had explored the first five stages of the route the previous December, after our riding training in Tabuk. I vividly remember standing at the chosen location for Camp 5, staring at the ridge above a dry riverbed, and saying, "Hopefully we can find a way through there." So, as we rode up onto the ridge with a Defender leading the way, I knew it could be a very long day. However, as we reached the crest of the ridge and the terrain leveled out, we came across a large step—a mixture of rock and sand—that the camels could easily trot over.

As on most mornings, the copious amounts of coffee that Tommo and James drank flowed through their bodies at breakneck speed – undoubtedly accelerated by their energetic trot. Tommo quickly developed a "pee amnesty," whereby each rider could make a brief stop to relieve themselves up to 90 minutes before the finish line without incurring the wrath of the rest of us.

To be honest, it was all just a joke – we all desperately needed to pee shortly after the start of our day trip and were incredibly relieved when someone finally gave in and announced a "pee break." By 10 a.m., the sun was already high in the sky, and we could take off our traditional vests. Sweating had become a real enemy, because if a breeze picked up, damp clothes could quickly turn a pleasant ride into a cold and clammy one.

By 11 a.m. we had already driven for three hours over really good terrain, but it was striking how empty this stretch of the route felt; nothing but flat plains, bordered by rolling countryside. No proper track, no sign of Bedouins. I wondered when anyone had last crossed this area—because who besides us would have any reason to be out here? My thoughts were interrupted by Henry over the radio: “Ready for a coffee?” The unanimous agreement was a resounding “Yes,” and Henry told us they were about ten minutes ahead, so they were going to get some coffee. Soon we spotted two Defenders in the distance and drove towards them.

When we reached the Defenders, Henry and Oliver had already made coffee, and Rebecca had prepared some energy snacks. We chatted about the terrain and how glad I was that it was turning out to be a good leg of the journey. I said we'd drive for a few more hours before stopping for lunch, an event that had already evolved into yogurt, fruit, coffee, and a Mars bar.

We trotted on for about another 30 minutes, then Craig said to me, "Wait a minute, Tommo's camel has sat down." After some coaxing, Tommo helped it back to its feet while we waited until they rejoined the group. For reasons known only to Tommo, he had named his camels "Keith" and "Chegwin," after a BBC children's presenter who had had a lasting influence on him. It was Keith who caused the mischief.

I reflected on Lawrence's own issues with camels. In "The Seven Pillars," he had written of his fondness for camels because, unlike males, they wouldn't give up when they tired. Camels, despite being able to carry considerably more weight, would do exactly what Keith had just done. Unlike us, Lawrence was only 5 feet 2 inches tall and thus clearly light enough not to need the strength of a camel. I didn't say anything to Tommo at the time, but I wondered if this camel might make our day much longer than necessary.

We had about half an hour until lunch when Keith sat down again. I looked ahead and spotted a huge, solitary rock in the distance, standing out against the desert plain. Wind and sand had eroded its base, so it looked as if it were resting on a small foundation. I called Rebecca and said we were going to stop there for lunch. Tommo and I agreed he should transfer to Cheggers.

Lunch at the rock, which was quickly renamed the Hard Rock Cafe, remained unforgettable. Not least because it offered the only shady spot in the midday sun. I thought that Lawrence and his group would undoubtedly have stopped there for a rest. While we ate and the camels rested in the shade, Tommo changed mounts, and we could only hope that Keith would recover from whatever was ailing him—be it a lack of energy or sheer laziness.

As we approached the camp, Rory asked if I would mind if they delayed it a little longer, since we had already accomplished so much. I agreed, and around 4 p.m. we saw Rory's flashing lights as he approached to lead us into the camp.

We crossed an area of soft sand and light scrub, with no visible signs of water, before reaching a breathtaking desert plain. With the sun behind us, we could just make out a speck in the distance: the camp. We trotted briskly into it, arriving about two hours before the end of the day. This made cleaning and tidying up the tents considerably easier.

Simon had set up our shower tent, which wasn't really a proper shower tent, but at least that evening we had time to lather ourselves up with a spray bottle and wash off the grime of the past six days, even though we didn't have enough water to actually wash. While the desert treated us to a beautiful sunset, the camels roamed freely, staying close to the camp and occasionally sniffing out blades of grass that only their sensitive noses could detect. The Saudi man in the truck was still with us, so I asked Dawser (our interpreter) to find out who he was. It turned out he was with the Saudi Federal Police and was providing security after the TV interviews. Little did we know that he would be redundant starting tomorrow.

The next morning, we faced what was possibly the toughest leg of the Saudi portion of the trek. We left our idyllic campsite and crossed the King Salman bin Abdulaziz Royal Wildlife Reserve (KSRNR), which was so vast it would encompass our entire route for the next nine days. But even before we reached the reserve, Keith had a few more surprises in store. We were barely five minutes from camp and had just started trotting along at a breakneck pace when riderless Keith sat down. In doing so, he damaged Tommo's saddle, to which he was tethered, forcing us to stop immediately for some repairs. Five minutes later?? Keith sat down again!

I radioed Rebecca and asked her to get out the Bedouin owners who had come along to help with the camels. They were undoubtedly still sitting around the campfire, eating the remains of the goat they had killed the previous evening.

Within minutes, their Toyota Hilux came roaring across the desert plain, tires screeching. They helped Keith to his feet, and we drove on. But after only a minute, he sat down again, this time breaking away from Cheggers and Tommo. Then he began to limp in a way we had never seen before, and to this day I believe he was faking it. I went to Sami, the Bedouin leader, and said, "That camel is finished. We'll leave him with you." He agreed, and that was the last time we saw Keith. None of us, except Rebecca, felt sorry for him. He had turned out to be the laziest of all the camels, and I suspect he paid a heavy price for it.

We had been on the road for a week and had lost a rider and a camel, but the four and nine carried on, and at 10 a.m. we crossed Highway 15 and were greeted by a team of KSRNR Special Forces rangers and their captain. They spoke good English and explained to me that they would be accompanying us for the remainder of our stay in Saudi Arabia. He also said that the television interview had revealed that many locals wanted to see us arrive and were asking, "Where are the British camels?" I knew that, although we had only experienced a truly warm welcome everywhere we went in Saudi Arabia, these guys had been assigned to ensure that it stayed that way. It was very reassuring to have them around, and their local knowledge would be very useful to us in the coming days.

The rangers stopped traffic on Highway 15 as we crossed, giving me a clear view of the next ridge we needed to traverse. Lawrence had written about the challenges of this area, and nothing had changed since 1917 except the roads. Rory and Oliver (our two former paratroopers) had gone ahead to check the route and the alternate one I'd marked on the map. Meanwhile, we skirted the hills, staying in the lowlands and searching for a fork that would take us up and across. Thanks to Keith, we'd lost about 45 minutes, and now the ground beneath our feet was mostly sharp rocks, so we could only make the camels trot if we came across a goat track leading in the right direction.

In the distance, I could see the rangers keeping their distance, and I knew we were driving about three kilometers west, parallel to the road. I reflected that these roads had once been camel trails, later secondary roads, and were now four-lane highways. The route Lawrence took, led by Sherif Nasir and Auda Abu Tayi, likely followed this path. It proved to be the only way through the hills that made this part of the desert one of the most inaccessible places to travel in the world.

Rory and Oliver reported back. The two paratroopers couldn't find a way through. Every gap was a dead end, impassable for camels and certainly for vehicles. We had to turn north-northwest, stop just before a large wadi at the top of a ridge, set up camp, and then head into the desert before turning northeast towards the Al Fajr wells, where Lawrence and his team had rested and drunk for a few days.

As we continued, it became clear that it would be a long day. We had to skirt the hills as closely as possible, but the camels had made slow progress on the rocky terrain. At times, we had to go around obstacles that were too steep for either camels or people, and when there was only about an hour of daylight left, we reached a steep ridge that we had to descend, leading the camels on foot.

As we crossed the road, the light faded, and we reached a vast, black plain of stones that stretched for miles. It formed a large L, which we had to follow to the next camp. As we rounded the bend, we saw something in the distance that looked like headlights. They were flashing, and we knew it must be the camp. By then, however, all the light had disappeared, and we were trotting in the dark, which wasn't a problem for the camels, as they have excellent night vision. But for the riders, who had been in a shedad for eleven hours, it mattered whether the lights were two or five kilometers away. They were five.

We arrived at the camp in pitch darkness, but the aid team had already set up our tents and placed our duffel bags next to them. Simon had cups of tea ready. Once I was in the tent, I took off my riding breeches and cycling shorts. I carefully felt the blister on my right buttock. Honestly, I couldn't tell what was skin and what was plaster. I had to put on my camp clothes (which UF Pro had donated) and go to Ged, the medic, so he could cut away what was still attached.

I was thinking about how a great day was followed by the toughest stage so far. We could lose another camel, and it would be okay, but if it was one of the stronger ones, it could be problematic. As far as I knew, I was the only rider in pain, but I knew that wouldn't stop me. What I didn't know was that the other riders were in pain too.

The next day we would set off for morning prayers to collect sand, which we would then place back together with Lawrence's grave upon our return to England.

Hopefully tomorrow will be an easier day.

Credit: SFCBF.org