Oman's own Grand Canyon: Jebel Shams
It was hot, and our red 1980s Toyota Land Cruiser lumbered along the desert highway.
I was cradled in the front seat, next to my friend Michael, the proud owner of this beautiful red beast. This beast was a 1980s Toyota, and it stood stoically. Michael was fixing it up and today was one of the first longer expeditions it would embark on. And what a journey!
We set off at 06:00 am from the city of Muscat into Oman’s desert interior to see Jebel Shams – the country’s highest mountain. It is a 235km streak from the city to the mountain top and a three-hour journey by car. But we weren’t in just any car. We were in the beast.
I felt right at home in this old tin can. Having grown up in a house whose family car is a 1996 Land Rover Defender, the roar of the engine was right as rain.
This Land Cruiser had a few more kinks though, and the engine was one of them. This meant that we couldn’t drive faster than 80km an hour. It turned a six-hour journey into a ten-hour road trip, with no radio.
The route cut south-west, taking us past the villages of Fanja, Izki and Nizwa, before redirecting us north to wind past Bahla and through Al Hamra – places I will touch on in another story. We kept the Al Hajar mountains to our right, and the open desert plateau fanned to our left. It gave me plenty of time to observe the surroundings.
A lone watchtower on the drive to the interior.
The Sultan and the Imam
The change between the bursting city of Muscat and the interior is not subtle. Muscat was developed with modern infrastructure, tourism, industry and start-ups. The interior was quieter and slower, with many parts seemingly paused in a time before ravenous technology.
These two regions had long been in contrast with each other, dating back 1 400 years. Historically, the city was under the rule of the sultan, and the interior desert belonged to the religious leader, the imam.
Since 657 AD, there has been this split in leadership. It was catalysed by the civil war that followed the death of Muhammad, which saw a rift between the Sunni and the Shia Muslims. After some time, the coastal areas embraced sultanic rule, maritime trade and international exchange. Conversely, the desert interior was a stronghold for the Ibadhi Islamic tradition, which placed its leadership and trust in the Imam.
Until the recently deceased Sultan Qaboos, these two regions were always feuding. This sultan, who forcefully succeeded his father Said bin Taimur, worked hard to unite these two. During his rule, he brought the wealth derived from trade and exchange into the interior, developing it. Schools, electricity, running water and employment was some of the many things that prospered under Sultan’s Qaboos’ reign. Many villas grace the landscapes with their gold leaf pillars and their giant walls. They look out of place like they’ve been dropped there.
Seasonal Bedouins: the Nomads of Oman
I have wandered through cliff-side villages irrigated with mountain water, which not only brought water to families through the houses but also acted as a cooling method against the desert heat. Moving away from Muscat’s glamour, the interior is a daily negotiation against the elements for survival.
In the summer months of June to August, the temperatures in Oman rage at around 48°Celcius. Traditionally, the coastal dwellers would take to the desert mountains which sheltered them from the extreme heat and offered more temperate living conditions. They would return to the sea when autumn came to cool the land.
Winter in the mountains offered little warmth. The temperature of the Hajar mountains in the north could drop to below zero at night. During the months of November to April, many Omanis took to the sea, fishing for sustenance and enjoying the more moderate coastal climate. This nomadic lifestyle is not new to the Bedouins of Arabia.
Ships beached along the eastern coast of Oman.
The formation of the Al Hajar Mountains
Our trip today would take us to the peak of the northern Al Hajar mountain range: Jebel Shams. Jebel Shams means ‘Mountain of Sun’. It’s Oman’s tallest mountain, the crowning glory, rising above the landscape at 3,009 m high.
I always liked to look at the mountains and admire their history. The mountains in Oman are naked, stripped of any vegetation, revealing their entire genealogy in an exposed thumbprint.
Every layer of rock, every colour change, every fold tells a story of how they came to be. The Al Hajar mountains had an interesting story to tell.
The Al Hajar mountain range, also the ‘Rocky Mountains’ or the ‘Stone Mountains’, is the highest mountain range in eastern Arabia. They extend over 700km from Oman into the United Arab Emirates. It could be a result of the collision of two tectonic plates: the Arabian and Eurasian. The Arabian Plate is moving north relative to the Eurasian Plate and pushing beneath the plate boundary somewhere in the Persian Gulf, causing a subduction zone under the sea.
Many geologists relate the formation of the Al Hajar to this Zagros collision, but some evidence would indicate that the mountains are even older than this colossal pile-up.
The stratigraphy of the mountains also tells a story. In this case, the sedimentary layers say that once all this dry earth lay beneath the water. Over millennia, soil and rock deposits, as well as organic particles on the ocean floor, collected and solidified. Sometime in the late Cretaceous era, between 145 to 66 million years ago, this ocean bed was thrust upwards, exposing the storied layers beholden to the Al Hajar mountains we see today.
Such a violent beginning for a landscape so ancient.
The Jebel Shams Canyon
We had been driving for several hours before we slowly began to climb the Al Hajar, winding along the mountain road in our Land Cruiser.
Our hour-and-a-half ascent along death-defying mountain tracks took us to the peak of adrenaline. We crawled up the mountain in our 4×4 to approximately 2 500m. Jebel Shams stands at a staggering 3 000 m and even receives a light dusting of snow once in a while in winter.
We stop here, dismount from the car and wander to the edge of the cliff.
The crevice dips one kilometre deep into the heart of the mountain. Standing at the end of the dolomite precipice, you can peer over the edge at the sharp drop that slices through the layers of rock, exposing the stratigraphy.
There is a little village just off the tourist gathering at Jebel Shams. This is the beginning of a hike that hugs the cliff of the canyon. I have missed my opportunity on two occasions to hike to an abandoned village, but I hope the third time is the charm.
Upon arrival, a troop of young children descended our vehicle like a swarm of flies assembling at a food point. Unable to understand any English, they entered the 4x4 and ransacked for food, grabbing whatever they could stick their fingers into. I tried desperately to get them out with my broken Arabic, but their deadpan expression revealed their incomprehension. Their excitement at the red vehicle was only shadowed by the shrill voices of their parents, ordering them out of the car.
Funnily enough, atop Jebel Shams in this scant village is the only spot I have been able to buy Coca-Cola in the whole of Oman, which has Pepsi pumping through its veins.
Oman’s interior finds a rugged spot in your heart. There is something charming about the desolation and simplicity in the lives of those staying in the interior that charms you. It is a drastic change to the electrifying city life in Muscat, offering a peaceful meditation in a serene environment.
Soninke Combrinck
I write about connecting with nature as I chase my own adventures around the world.
