Khazali is in my heart
Climbing and trekking in Wadi Rum, Jordan
Originally published in Outdoor Enthusiast magazine, December 2007. Reproduced exactly as written (and as published), but I’ve added explanatory footnotes for a few technical climbing terms.
‘Khazali is in my heart,’ says Mohammed.
When your local guide tells you he’s taking you on his favourite mountain, you either think he’s spinning, or that you’re on the way to something special. I thought I could trust Mohammed, and after Khazali I knew I could. It was special, all right.
Of course all of Wadi Rum is special. Stories cluster around it. There’s the self-promulgated legend of Lawrence of Arabia, now better known through David Lean’s 1962 film. A new set of tales began to filter out perhaps twenty years ago, as the international rock-climbing jet-set began to discover the area, thanks largely to Britain’s Tony Howard. They may have focused on the huge vertical walls that line many of Rum’s canyons, but tales also emerged of long, tortuous scrambles, mostly pioneered by the local Zalabea Bedouin long ago.
The ascent of Jebel Khazali is a classic Bedouin route. Bruise-purple walls glower down on the approach, but then there’s a sprawl of easier slabs; brick-red rock, rough as gritstone1 but warmer, friendlier. We scamper up bulbous ribs and cracked runnels with playful ease, the tracked sand sinking steadily below us. Here there’s no track, just occasional scuffed edges of rock, the odd scratched arrow. Without Mohammed we’d struggle to find the way but he knows it like the back of his hand. He knows the best spots for photos too and several times hands me his digital camera; he wants new photos for his website.
The route we’re following was used for generations to reach grazing grounds on the broad top of Khazali. It’s not too hard to imagine goats scrabbling their way up the early stages, but it gets harder as we climb on up a narrow ribbon of slab. We can wedge hands and feet in a crack, but I can’t see much purchase for hooves. And the grazing looks pretty thin when you get there, dry yellow scrub and sparse dusty herbs even in the most sheltered pockets of soil. Even the ‘level’ top is mostly bare rock, domes packed like eggs in a basket.
A fault slices across the broad ridge, dropping off into shadowy canyons both sides. We step down into the seam and a near-vertical wall blocks the way ahead. Mohammed trails a rope up this, unbelayed in trainers. Following, I almost overlook the little side-step that unlocks the puzzle, but even then it feels precarious, a good gritstone V.Diff2.
Now it’s more horizontal than vertical as we wind to the summit, past wind-worn cantilevered ledges. At the top Mohammed unearths an ancient black kettle and soon has a brew going. Tea on a mountain-top; what could be more civilised? It’s cool up here and the view is muted by the haze, but on every side the desert spreads off into the distance and peaks sprout abruptly from it. To the north, pitted vertical walls flank the broad avenues of Wadi Rum itself—which Lawrence called a ‘processional way greater than imagination’—and Wadi um Ishrin.
If the ascent route was for grazing animals, the descent is a different proposition; steeper and more direct, it was originally used for ibex-hunting. It’s exposed in places; we have rope-protection for a couple of pitches, abseil3 a couple more, but traditionally the Bedouin would have had no such aids, and long heavy rifles on their backs. When the contemporary climbing world arrived, they had little to teach the Bedouin in terms of skill on rock, only ropework and protection.
We had tea on top of Khazali, but if you’re enjoying this piece and you’d like to show appreciation without becoming a paid subscriber, you could always…
The ascent of Khazali was the undoubted highlight of our two-part trip to Wadi Rum. The first phase was a five-day desert trek. We walked out from the village of Disseh into open sands, but soon the peaks began to crowd in as if multiplying. In the evening we slept at a campsite secreted in a cool cleft and presided over by a carved face of Lawrence. On down Siq Burrah next day, then out into the wide desert. On the third day we scrambled a well-worn route up Jebel Burdah to its famous natural arch. There was an awkward pitch below the bridge, the sandstone worn and slippery, but you could stroll across the bridge itself with hands in pockets.
The fourth day took us to another rock bridge at Um Frouth and then on round Jebel Khazali to the Siq incised into its northern end, where pre-Roman inscriptions are perfectly preserved under sheltering overhangs and the sky is just a distant sliver. The final day took us past a monstrous red dune and then out under the great walls of Wadi um Ishrin, before returning to Disseh.
Then there was a brief diversion to do the tourist thing at Petra, where Indiana Jones replaces Lawrence of Arabia in the legends. Over-hyped it may be, but it’s hard to remain unmoved by its temples, hewn from the living rock before the Romans arrived.
Still, we were glad to come back to Wadi Rum. A night in the village, in a tent straight from It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum; at dawn the muezzin’s call echoes off the 500-metre walls. A day on Khazali, thank you Mohammed, and then we were handed on to Saleem for the last few days. From a desert camp—a traditional Bedouin tent, but guyed to the rock with modern climbing ropes—Salem took us out into the southern desert, where the sands are white and empty.
We scaled Jebel Khasch; the route was easier than Khazali but even more intricate. Further south again, we traced ragged ridges to 1830 m Jebel Um Adaami, Jordan’s highest peak. From the summit, we gazed to the south, into Saudi Arabia: ridge upon ridge, fading to papery translucency.
And for the last act, Saleem took us through the Rakabat Canyon, linking Wadi um Ishrin and Wadi Rum, a knife-slash through the peaks. Saleem—in sandals—nonchalantly bridged up dry waterfalls and strolled along gritty, sloping shelves that rolled off into big drops. It was never really difficult, just not as easy as he made it look. The canyon closed in, clamping us in its shade. As we began to descend again, the route took an awkward crouching traverse between overhangs, then spat us out onto bald, sandy slabs, where only pride kept me from slithering down on my backside.
And then we were weaving down easy, widening ledges and out onto the desert floor, hot sun, the walls of Ishrin towering in vast simplicity behind and the walls of Jebel Rum, greater but more complex, ahead. Our last steps in Wadi Rum, down Lawrence’s ‘processional way,’ feet dragging with reluctance.
It’s hard to leave. Khazali is in my heart too.
Guidebook: Treks & Climbs in Wadi Rum Jordan by Tony Howard. I suspect this is now out of print but copies can be found online.
General information: https://visitjordan.com
Find Mohammed Hammad at www.wadirumbedouincamp.com
The first, trekking, phase of our trip was thanks to Exodus Expeditions.
Gritstone; aka Millstone Grit. A coarse sandstone found across much of Northern England, especially in the Peak District and Pennines, where it’s very popular for climbing. The rock is known for good frcition but often a ack of positive holds.
V.Diff: Short for Very Difficult, but this is a legacy from the very early days of rock-climbing and paradoxically now denotes one of the easiest recognised grades.
Abseil: this is a German word, equivalent to the French ‘rappel’, denoting a technique for controlled descent by sliding down a rope.