The first three days: camels, chaos, and the question on everyone's mind

It is difficult to convey the sheer amount of preparation required to leave Al Wajh on the morning of January 14, 2025. The physical, financial, and bureaucratic effort was enormous – but above all, the safety and well-being of the riders and camels were paramount in every decision.

Our riding team consisted of five men: Craig, Tommo, James, Mike, and myself. Before Christmas, we all met in Tabuk, where I conducted the best possible camel safety training – in the time we had available. In the end, they were as well-prepared as anyone could be to ride a camel 1,100 kilometers through the desert.

Meanwhile, the support team prepared in their own way: desert driving training from Jaguar Land Rover. For the leg in Saudi Arabia, we had ten camels – two per driver, rotating daily to prevent exhaustion. They had been fattened up since the beginning of December to build up energy reserves. The downside? Due to the lack of exercise, they were overfed and full of energy. When the time came, they were like powder kegs on legs.

On the first day, we tried leading the camels outside before mounting them, hoping to calm them down. It didn't help. We had ridden them the day before to help them get used to the new surroundings, but even then, Mike and I were both thrown off when we tried to mount.

After about ten minutes, we stopped in a narrow alley to try again, where it would be more difficult for the camels to get through. It didn't go well. Craig fell hard and lost his breath. After he had recovered somewhat, we set off across the Wajh plain, the camels in close formation.

Not fifteen minutes later, Craig's camel bit mine—Shagra—on the rump. Shagra, a monstrous and clearly unfazed animal, bolted, the others hot on his heels. I managed to regain control, but not before my shed tilted forward, causing a chafing injury that would haunt me for the next ten days.

The camels eventually calmed down, but Mike was clearly struggling after his fall. We trotted on to keep up, traversing stunning wadi landscapes and briefly accompanied by rangers from the Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve, before stopping at the Dathna well, where Lawrence once watered his own camels.

We had planned to stop after 50 km, but a misguided "shortcut" through hilly terrain added about 5 km to the journey. Then we learned that the camp had been moved another 3 km from its original location. Day 1 ended just after 60 km. When we arrived, we were sore, tired, and somewhat exhausted. Sleep was out of the question, and my blister-covered backside had its first encounter with Ged, our medic, who patched me up as best he could.

Day two began before 6 a.m., as did all the following days. Two hours of preparation was tight, but we still learned how to keep the camels, equipment, and people in sync. By 8 a.m. we were ready—but I noticed that Mike didn't look well. He was obviously in pain.

After climbing, we made good progress for a few hours and reached an oasis around 10:30 a.m. where it was already 37°C (99°F). The heat was unbearable. Mike spoke with Ged, and we agreed that he would cool off in one of the vehicles to avoid heatstroke. The rest of us continued on to lunch, 25 kilometers (15 miles) from where we started the leg.

After a short break, we entered the picturesque wadis of the reserve and saw our first golden eagles. One of Tommo's camels had problems due to a malfunctioning piece of equipment, and we had to replace it. The support vehicles had gone ahead, so we headed for a point on the horizon in the direction of Camp 2. Unfortunately, we had drifted about ten degrees too far south, which led us to the wrong side of a headland and added another five kilometers to an already long, hot day.

When we reached Camp 2, it was already set up and a certain routine was beginning to set in. However, sleep was still scarce – local dogs roamed the area all night, fighting over scraps of food and occasionally with each other.

Day three was the day of crossing the Hejaz. We had scouted the route beforehand: 2.5 km uphill with a brutal gradient of 14–18%. Our goal was to reach the foot of the mountain by 10 a.m., and we weren't far off. The riders dismounted, removed the saddlebags from their camels, and began the ascent.

I stayed behind to contact the local police, who had closed the road during our ascent. A few hundred meters beyond, I set off, pulling my two camels up the hill. Fortunately, Peter W. and Mike were in one of the Defenders behind me, and one of them jumped out to give the camels a helpful push when their motivation waned.

Once we reached the top, we regrouped and marched another 15 km to Camp 3, near an oasis and a mosque with running water. The temperature remained above -1 degree Celsius, and by now everyone was drenched in sweat, but we made good progress on the hilly path.

About halfway through the journey, Mike asked us to stop again – he was clearly in a lot of pain. We put him in the car, and he continued driving with Ged to rest and see if anything could be done.

Back at camp, we had some problems with the camel equipment. So I went to the village and met a young Saudi man who helped me get replacement Shedad straps. And sure enough, he was back the next morning at 6:00 AM with everything I had asked for.

But shortly after, around 6:30 a.m., Ged asked if we could talk. He was worried about Mike. He suspected a rib injury and said Mike needed to see a doctor – it was too dangerous for him to continue.

I spoke with Mike. He was visibly upset, but he understood. One of the Defenders would take him back to Tabuk for an examination or fly him home. It was a blow. Everyone felt it. We'd only been here three days, but it had already been physically and mentally draining.

And now we had one less driver and still had 22 days and 1,000 kilometers to cover through the desert, which many still describe as an "impassable" desert.

One thought was probably going through everyone's head: "Will we make it?"

Credit: SFCBF.org