It is often stated that you should not drive off-road alone and it is a sensible rule. However, as someone once said to me, when I was very young, ‘rules are for the guidance of the wise and the observance of fools’. It’s a philosophy that has got me into a few scrapes over the years but ever since I did a solo ascent of the Zuqspitz, in Winter, without map or compass when I was 19, I’ve not been too ‘phased’ by going it alone at the edge of my experience and capabilities.
And while I’m in this philosophizing mode, I do think that solo adventures are highly developmental and increase self-belief and self-reliance. So, despite an invitation to several friends to join me on this odyssey but who were unable to make it due to work commitments, I set off for the Oman, alone.
My plan was to explore the myriad of mountain routes in and around Jebel Shams and Wadi Bani Awf, complete a 300km section of one of my guidebook routes through the eastern edge of the Omani Empty Quarter to discover any changes, and, finally to follow a 325km line of a wadi from Qitbit, on the Muscat to Salalah road, all the way to the edge of the Dhofar escarpment looking down onto Mirbat on the coast. Things went almost as well as I’d hoped but there were a few spanners thrown into the plan by vehicle problems, weather and one particularly bad error of judgment on my part. Anyway, the fact that you’re reading this means that I’m not stuck in the dunes, wishing for a satellite phone and running short on sanity and water.
Packing for one of these trips is a bit of a science. You need to take all you think you’ll need but be disciplined enough not to take everything you have. My technique is to think of the car’s needs first and mine second. So, most of the space is taken up with vehicle associated gubbins: a plethora of spare parts, spare fluids, an array of specialist and general tools, two spare tyres, a diagnostic computer, waffles, hi-lift jack, sand shoes and three 20 litre jerry cans of fuel. For me: camping gear, food and water, minimal spare clothes and two indulgences – a Kindle and a new 47 litre ARB fridge/freezer. My aim is to keep all the packed equipment below the level of the car’s windows. If I can do that I know I’ve not over indulged and have, importantly, kept the weight down and maintained all round visibility.
The Jebel Shams/Wadi Bani Awf massif contains some spectacular drives and is an area I’d not been to often. Despite having the Oman Off-Road Explorer book, I left it at home and had done all my route selection from Google Earth. My first objective was to head towards Al Iraki, then take the turning to Wadi Al Sehtan and follow it up into the hills and on to the end of the track at the mountain village of Yasab. This is a spectacular drive and highly recommended. As I was making my way up the final climb I encountered a party of French, who waved me down. They had a flat tyre but didn’t know how to extract the spare from its rather inconvenient position under the rear of their car; a Toyota Land Cruiser. We finally managed to work it out and it was one of those blindingly simple processes but you had to know how. There was a small gap above the rear bumper that allowed you to slide in the jack bar and lower the tyre. Moral: know your car. Having done my bit for them I headed off, only to be waved down again by them as I retraced my steps later and they invited me to have lunch with them; ‘entente cordiale’ preserved. I then headed towards Wadi Bani Awf, intending to camp out on the summit ridge near where the track turns to tarmac. I’d seen an intriguing linking track but was thwarted by a rock fall, which was just too much to shift alone and with only a lightweight shovel.
I retraced my steps and headed onto an alternative but longer way round and was again flagged down by some French – this time a holidaying couple trying to find their way to Al Hamra. Well, being the charitable chap that I am, and heading that way too, I suggested they tag along. We drove the spectacular route up to the top of the ridgeline, via a few deep-ish gravel pools, and found a great campsite, looking North to where we’d come from. The scenery here is breathtaking and camping here is a tremendous treat.
Day two, after a chilly night, was not an auspicious day, if little indicators of bad luck were to be considered portents of worse to come. My right rear tyre was flat, punctured by a nail, from goodness knows where. Even though I had two spares, I considered a nail puncture an ideal candidate for a plug repair rather than changing the wheel. Thus, I extracted the nail, plugged the hole and re-inflated the tyre, all with the wheel still on the car. This repair lasted for the remainder of the trip, which was to be another 3,000km, including some demanding off-road terrain. We headed to Jebel Shams and reached the military check-point. My French companions headed to the rest-house and I ploughed on to a track I hoped would lead to a viewpoint above Yasab. My bad luck was now twofold. My car just conked out as I was driving along the mountain track. Fuel starvation seemed the most likely cause and, to cut a long, and possibly dull, story short, I deduced that the fuel pump had thrown in the towel. This was where knowing your vehicle and having packed well paid off. I had a spare fuel pump with me and had fitted it and was on my way again in less than an hour.
The next piece of bad luck was that my intended track had been cut off from the main track by recent road works. With a group of us we could have shifted the larger boulders and made a linking route but, alone, this was going to be too much of a fag, so I continued around the Jebel Shams circuit, enjoying the spectacular route and the outstanding views. I was now a little ahead of schedule and decided to head to the Empty Quarter route and see how things played out. It took me about 3 hours to get to the intended turn off point, on the Muscat to Salalah road. I reached the turn-off about an hour before dusk and headed onto the rough desert track, heading almost due west into the dunes. I carried on, through the darkness, passing the oil industry infrastructure’s bright lights, briefly stopping to deflate my tyres, until I was about 150km in. By this stage I was driving off track across the open sabkhah and was not really sure of what was ahead of me. A sense of self-preservation crept in and I decided to stop and camp and wait until the clarity of daylight allowed less fraught progress.
The third morning was serene, though it turned out to be just a little too serene; the car wouldn’t start – same symptoms as the previous day. It couldn’t be the fuel pump, surely? Having crawled under the car and traced the fuel pump electrics, all seemed to be intact and the diagnostic computer had picked up nothing. It’s times like this that you need a little inner resolve and all thoughts of giving up, or even panic, must be suppressed. Anyway, what were the options? I had no phone signal (no satellite phone, though perhaps I should have) and it was a long walk-out to any possible help. The only desirable option was to work out what was wrong and to put it right. Eventually I discovered the fuel pressure sensor was kaput and wouldn’t allow the car to start. By simply disconnecting the sensor cable, the problem was resolved, the car started but I was then faced with a dilemma; do I turn back or do I carry on? What were the odds of something going wrong again, how far did I have left to go? I had another 150km to go and the Empty Quarter dunes are just too enticing to be missed, so, I decided to carry on. I have to admit to certain nervousness and was not going to stop the car until I felt secure in doing so; having regained the Muscat to Salalah road.
It turned out to be a good decision and the drive through the dunes was spectacular. I kept the route choice as simple as possible and when confronted by any dunes I felt to be too technical and offering the prospect of getting stuck, I avoided them as best I could. This wasn’t too difficult as this area consists of expanses of sabkhah that you can use to circumvent the worst of the dune fields. Your route becomes a little tortuous as a result but the break-down fear factor was playing a part in my decision making process by this stage. I reached the main road and was much relieved that there had been no problems and the drive, though a little stressful, had been all I’d hoped it would; achievable, navigable and done.
I was now a full day ahead of schedule and looked forward to the wadi route from Qitbit; a motorway service station with a small gaggle of shops and even a basic rest-house. The car was running faultlessly and I pressed on down the road. This stretch of road is nothing if not remote and barren, normally. I had stopped to help a stranded motorist who needed fuel and had given him 20 litres from one of my jerry cans. I would then fill up at Qitbit and head south along the wadi line. About 2km short of Qitbit I was met by the most extraordinary sight. To my left there appeared to be an inland sea. Water as far as the eye could see to the South. As I neared Qitbit it was evident that there was something of a local disaster. The water was flowing strongly across the road and there were trucks, buses and cars washed off the road and onto their sides. This was an unbelievable sight so deep into the inner desert area. I carried on the final kilometre to Qitbit, slowly driving through the fast flowing water only to be confronted by a submerged Qitbit. My route was now under water and it was impossible to do. What now? I decided to drive to the southern end of my intended route and then reverse the route and head north.
I arrived at the Dhofar escarpment at about 6pm, just before last-light and managed a few dusky photos from this great vantage point. What I had not been prepared for was the disturbing sight of so many dead animals on the sides of the roads in this area. Dead camels, cows, goats and donkeys were all evident. On several occasions I would come across them either walking the dark roads or even lying down in the middle of them. It engendered a much more cautious and alert style of driving. The tarmac ended at the escarpment and the route North began. I was to be disappointed however. I started along the track and was met by an Omani Army patrol, who said that further progress was forbidden. And, discretion being the better part of valour, it’s always best to not argue the toss and accept defeats without rancour and clamour. I camped on the edge of the escarpment and achieved some daylight photos to add to the dusky ones. Solo excursions give you plenty of time to ponder your available choices and decide without the need for consensus; it’s liberating. I decided to try and parallel my intended route and then try and dip into it at points I’d identified as escape routes. I managed this but found that the whole area had been turned into a quagmire after the recent rains. There was evidence all though the area of the massive force of flowing water. It was impressive but also awesome and I was a little disappointed not to have witnessed it, from a safe vantage point. After several attempts to get onto the route but being thwarted by deep mud fields and wadis strewn with newly arranged boulders and washed out tracks, it was obvious that I was not going to complete all, or indeed, any of this route. Without the need for consensus, I decided to head back to the mountains in the North and explore some of the routes I’d missed out several days before.
As I approached Nizwa the sky was lit with the most amazing ‘son et lumière ‘. A thunderstorm was brewing over the mountains and no doubt much rain was falling. Here I weakened and, having spent too many nights lying in cold wet puddles in my past, I decided to head for the Golden Tulip hotel for the night. I realised it was Eid Al Adha and hotels tend to be full, so I was apprehensive of being turned away but, as luck would have it, I got the last available room (it’s always seems to be the last available room in situations like this) and washed 4 days of grime off my nasally challenged body.
The next day, on a whim, I decided to head up Jebel Al Akhdar and was able to provide a lift for a jebali and his daughter to their house at the village of Shnoot. The route up the jebel is a significant feat of road construction. I was amazed by the landscape and vowed to return to explore some of the more inaccessible points on foot. Having got to the end of the navigable road at A’Roos, I descended the jebel and headed round to the North side of the massif and into Wadi Bani Kharus. This is a spectacular wadi but there’s no stopping progress; the wadi track I was expecting is now a smooth tarmac road. It almost reaches the end of the wadi but the final haul up to the houses at Ad Dar is still an exciting track, but not for long. I retraced my steps back down the wadi and took the turning to Al Hijar, again on tarmac, but I wasn’t to be disappointed by my intent to drive the track over to Wadi Bani Awf. This is a fantastic mountain track and links the two main wadis. There is an aura of darkness to the track as it traverses an area of grey slate and was spookily reminiscent of North Wales, especially as it looked like rain again. I descended and as it was starting to get dark I needed to find a suitable camping spot. Nothing seemed appealing and I headed down towards Wadi Bani Awf.
Having enjoyed the lack of a need for consensus, I was shortly to miss the sensible advice of others. I headed off down the wadi and thought that I would head out towards the main road. The earlier prospect of rain was now realised but not just an inconvenient drizzle that would mean me sleeping in a tent but an absolute deluge, and it was now dark. The track became flooded in parts but as the deluge continued the road turned into a fast flowing stream and my thoughts hovered between turning back to higher ground and, stupidly, pressing on. Why I did what I did next I’m a little too afraid to analyse in the expectation that I would realise I was being ridiculous in my hopes and, ultimately, stupid; I pressed on. The conditions worsened, the track completely disappeared under water and the rain was so intense that the wipers were not at all effective. At times the depth of the rushing water reached over the bonnet and my headlights would go out, making any idea of direction pretty forlorn. Why hadn’t I turned back and stopped much earlier? Then, off to my left I spotted a stranded car in the water, headlights working and what looked like a track out of the torrent up to two small houses and dry land. I turned towards it, expecting to be floating at any point and managed, somehow to make it onto the track and dry land.
Ultimately relieved to be safe and with a working car, I was asked to help the stranded car and with two recovery straps joined together, I managed to pull it out and on to the track. It wasn’t long before the rain eased and the other car driver and I took our torches and went to recce the way ahead down the line of the wadi. It was not good news despite the torrent subsiding. The track was, in parts, thigh deep in water and the going was not easy; water from side wadis had washed debris on to the track line and had cut gullies into it. We backtracked and decided to sit it out for the night and to try our luck the next morning.
After a rather anxious and sleepless night the clarity of daylight and the passage of 12 hours had transformed our prospects. The torrent was now a babbling brook and what was left of the track had reappeared. The car, despite its dunking, started and we headed off down the wadi. We came across evidence of much damage but managed to pick our way through the debris and through the occasional, deep-ish pools and successfully reached the main road with so much apparent ease that there was almost a sense of disappointment.
From here the journey was routine and Dubai was reached by lunchtime. I’d done 3,600km in 6 days, driving for an average of 10 hours a day and averaging 5.7km per litre; though these statistics don’t do justice to the real journey.
