Climbing With Camels - Roger Daley - December 2005
By Roger Daley
I recently returned from a month's expedition in Egypt and thought is was worth putting pen to paper to record my exploits. Eleven of us from the UK signed up for the trip, organised by Dave Lucas and Mel, his girlfriend. Dave did the logistics and had the contacts in the region, but all members were responsible for sharing the cooking, setting up camp, camel loading and generally helping out. What was climbed and with whom it was achieved was more down to good luck rather than judgement!
In the beginning: Disillusioned with my career, hair loss and a persistent and undetectable leak in my car I decided to quit my job and travel to Egypt to seek adventure!
Just to put you in the picture let me take you back in time.... In November 2004 I found myself at the Kendal Film festival, which should have come as no surprise as I had travelled up the previous evening. I stumbled into a talk on `New routing in the Sinai and Patagonia' being conducted by David Lucas, a clean lean climbing machine; it was as if I were looking into a mirror. Part entertainment and part sales pitch he was trying to entice the audience to sign up for his next trip to the Sinai. Dave bounced around at the front weaving tales of new routing, E-numbers, camels, scorpions, snakes and opium gardens. Beer induced euphoria kept me awake throughout and I vowed that this was my kind of holiday.
November 2005, 16.10 and we land at Sharm el-Sheikh, the oven door opens and a trail of pale English faces stagger into a very different world.
My destination, Dahab, is one hour's drive away. The taxi climbs steadily out of Sharm and onto the desert plain. In no time we our motoring through a barren beautiful landscape surrounded by large jagged outcrops. A camel train comes into view, the rider's white robes flutter in the warm evening breeze, the sun is setting, shadows darken and a kaleidoscope of pink lights dance across the desert.
We appear to be racing another taxi, then for no apparent reason both vehicles pull over. Mo gets out; "you stay in car"... This is where I am beaten up and left for dead by the side of the road. Mo comes back ... "It's end of Ramadan we stop to pray". Ten minutes later we continue our journey Mo now munching hungrily on sticky dates.
Question: Which side of the road do Egyptians drive on? Answer: Neither... it's the middle. A bus is batting along towards us, and a game of chicken appears to be developing, lights flash, horns sound, before colliding both vehicles veer to the right. I am to learn that this normal practice in this land.
Arriving at Dahab, I am greeted by the organiser, Dave, his girl friend Mel, and a rum and coke. The end of Ramadan has brought a definite party atmosphere to the place and we drift off into town to enjoy it.
Having travelled out a few days in advance of the main group I hoped to relax and enjoy the sun. However, Dave has other ideas and over next three days a small group of us go walking, snorkelling and have a pretty cool time.
On one day we pay a visit to the Blue Hole to watch the World Free Diving Championships. For the uninitiated this is where competitors dive to a depth of up to 80m equipped with only flippers, a wet suit and a lobotomy. I snorkelled out to the dive platform in time to see one guy being assisted to safety after blacking out 20m below the surface! Give him his due the way he kept falling in and out of consciousness whilst coughing up blood was most impressive!
Saturday night and the rest of the climbers are due. We sit in a sunken open aired bar balanced on cushions the size of cows awaiting their arrival. At around 11pm they turn up, a wiry guy with a haunted look sits down next to me. "How was your journey" banal is a good opener I find. He stared at me "You know you could get anyone around this table killed for £1,000". I stared back through the smoke ... now I am nonsmoker and perhaps the apple and cinnamon was a touch strong for my first hubbly bubbly pipe. He continued "and they would throw in the torture for free". I decided not press him on who "they" were, whilst making two resolutions; next time to go for strawberry, and at all costs avoid climbing with Matt.
Two days later Matt grinned up at me as I led off on the first pitch of a new route on a remote crag five hours walk from St. Katherine village. Over the next few days I was to learn that Matt had little climbing experience having only booked the holiday on a whim during a bored lunchtime. In fairness he had taken himself off to an outdoor centre to learn the basics; however it was obviously a course where they teach you to set-up joke belays ... something we thankfully improved upon over the days to come.
Each day brought perfect blue skies and a batch of new routes of grades from V.Diff through to E2/E3. The quality of rock can be friable, but for the most part was good; care was required especially when climbing anything resembling a gully where perched blocks the size of fridges awaited the unaware. The more open the climb the better, although protection could be spaced, but this was new routing and boy was it good. The most useful piece of gear was by far and away cams, previously I had thought a number 5 was the reserve of comic book heroes, but out here it was standard kit.
The nights were clear and cold and I was please I'd brought my three-season bag. Some slept in caves, others in the open around the glowing embers of the campfire, I preferred my tent. Throughout the trip we were untroubled by scorpions, snakes, or camel spiders (don't ask), 25C being way to cold for them, this I can fully appreciate having returned to Manchester in December.
After a week climbing in the desert the group returned to St. Katherine village. On the journey back five of us split from the rest of the group deciding to climb Gebel Katharina, at 2,642 m it's Egypt highest mountain.
A small monastery sits on its summit; the only people up there being a resident Russian Nun and two labourers, putting the finishing touches to a new roof. The Nun waved us into the monastery.... as our eyes grew accustomed to the dark she began to explain in a mixture of Russian and English the significance of the religious artefacts within the catacomb. Only being diverted when Martin, a huge Scotsman, stood on a pile of rocks in the corner; apparently this is where the angels sleep; he was quickly ushered off, probably having already crushed the chest of an invisible entity. Despite, or because of, this she invited us outside for tea and biscuits, generously refusing our attempts to make a contribution to the church roof.
By the time we arrived at the hostel the rest of the group, with not a care in the world, were surrounded by empty beer cans; though I can't help feeling we had made more of the day.
That night over dinner Dave, keen as ever, was looking for volunteers to rise at 2.00am the following morning to climb up Mount Sinai (Gebel Musa) (2,285m). "Absolutely No Chance", I responded, savouring the idea of well-deserved lie in.
At 2.30am Dave, three others and myself set forth into the cold morning air, does four hours sleep constitute a lie in?
It must be said that Mount Sinai is a rather tedious mountain; during the ascent camel drivers constantly pester you for business. However, one cannot fault their strategy, focusing in on fat people, walking along side them until they are wheezing and gasping for breath. "Camel ride? Camel ride?" they would enquire. On the first occasion fatty would of course refuse. This strange game of bluff would continue until either the path turned to steps, or fatty collapsed and indeed realised that the camel had been sent as a message from God.
Following the trail of head torches up the mountain we passed a teahouse every few hundred metres, overtaking others was awkward but fun. In the darkness I trip and hit someone hard with my elbow, turning to apologise, I had actually just punched a resting camel in the head "Sorry" the camel was unimpressed, I quickly moved on. By the way I'll to save you a journey ... watching the sunrise on Mount Sinai is ok, but does not come close to sunrise on Snowdon, not enough cloud you see. (Apologies to Moses). After sunrise we descend the mountain quickly for breakfast back at the hostel.
Later that morning we drove out to the "Blue Rocks".
These are the creation of Belgian artist Jean Berame who "came to Sinai in 1980 and Armed with ten tons of UN-blue paint, made the enormous brown boulders blue (the colour of peace). The result is an extraordinary installation between St. Catherine and Dahab in which the artist has used the landscape of Sinai -- once a battleground in the 1967 war between Egypt and Israel -- as a canvas to honour the realization of peace between the two nations."
The group adopted a blue theme for route names; four new routes were established, Matt and myself putting up a Serve 4b we named "Blue Movie".
The holiday continued with a further three days camping and great climbing on Gebel Banat, South of St. Katherine.
On a darker note are the opium gardens in the area, obviously the gardeners amongst you will know that it is best drying your poppy seeds by hanging them up in a Bedouin hut, that sunken beds need to be dug and its necessary to divert precious water from the desert's limited supply to encourage growth. Regular lubrication of the local justice system is also key in maintaining a healthy crop. The incredible financial rewards make this St. Katherine's biggest export, irony indeed in this holy land.
On the last night were treated to a full moon and amazing display of stars, huddled round the camp fire the conversation fell silent as people reflected on what had been a true adventure.
