Muscat: The Hike

My third day in Muscat really didn’t go to plan. After a leisurely morning, I planned to go on an easy trek from Muttrah to Riyam. It promised some excellent views over a 2 hour walk.

I took a taxi to the start point. Not an obvious start point, but after some consultation with the map I had, I located an overgrown cemetery which marked the start.

I passed another couple of walkers on the way, exchanged pleasantries and proceeded to follow the markers.

After about two hours (the supposed duration of the trek) the route seemed to be getting harder and harder. I considered doing a u-turn but the thought of two hours back wasn’t appealing especially as I couldn’t be far from the end, could I?

There were at least three issues to contend with: firstly, it would get dark in about one and a half hours; secondly, I didn’t know where I was because there was no internet signaI (foolishly I had only downloaded the map on my drone, not on my phone); thirdly, I really didn’t have the right shoes for a trek of this unexpected difficulty.

I decided I had to press on. There were some stretches where I literally thought I would fall to my death. Impossible to get purchase with my feet, I had to use only my hands to hold on. I have no idea to this day how I managed to do it. What I did know is that I didn’t want to go back the same way so to continue was the only option.

I was still following markers so I knew I was on a trail and that it had to end at some point. It started to descend along an old river course which gave me some hope.

Another hour passed and, to my despair, the route indicated a climb once again. Exhausted, I made my way to the top and finally saw a village in the distance (see above photo), but I also saw what was between me and it: several more peaks and a growing realisation that the chances of making it before dark were pretty well nil.

Fear began to set in. Without a torch, limited remaining water and several minor injuries from various falls, I seriously contemplated whether I would end my days here.

But there was a glimmer of hope: at this height, I managed to get a 5G signal and I conceded that It was time to call for help.

I sent a distress message to the trip organisers, Jord and Sophia, and another two messages to friends of mine (Joy and Sandy) who are of the praying sort.

I wasn’t even Jord and Sophia’s responsibility at this point, but they leapt into action and involved a guy called Khalid. Now let me tell you, Khalid is the sort of guy who knows people and gets things done. It seemed like an eternity in the bleak landscape, but on the ground decisions were being made by the civil defence department as to the best method of rescuing me.

Finally as the light began to fade, I saw blue flashing lights in the distant village. Help was on its way. To be honest, I was quite keen on a helicopter rescue at this point: I was working out how much that might cost and where I would get the money from if I had to pay for it. But a decision had been made that, based on my location, the search and rescue team could be with me in around an hour.

As the light extinguished and the cool wind picked up, I was shivering but heartened to see flashlights and shouts in the dark not too far away. I waved my phone torch and shouted back and within a further fifteen minutes or so they reached me.

Of course, this way I had to finish the trek and I was physically and emotionally drained. But the four men helped, carried my rucksack and showed the way with their flashlights. And some six hours after I embarked on a two hour light trek, I arrived in the village battered and bruised but otherwise functional. Oh, and not a little embarrassed.

There seemed to be around a dozen people involved in the whole operation who stood in a circle around me making sure I was ok. To all of you, I give you my eternal thanks.

And also to those who prayed for me: It seems God hasn’t quite finished with me yet.