The First Three Days: Camels, Chaos, and the Question on Everyone’s Mind
It’s difficult to convey just how much preparation went into simply stepping off from Al Wajh on the morning of 14 January 2025. The physical, financial, and bureaucratic moving parts were vast - but above all, the safety and wellbeing of both the riders and camels sat at the heart of every decision.
Our rider team was five strong: Craig, Tommo, James, Mike, and me. Before Christmas, we’d all met in Tabuk, where I led the best camel safety training I could - given the time we had. By the end, they were as ready as anyone can ever be to ride a camel 1,100 kilometres through the desert.
Meanwhile, the support team had their own prep: desert driver training delivered by Jaguar Land Rover. We had ten camels for the Saudi leg - two per rider, rotated daily to prevent exhaustion. They’d been fattened since early December to build energy reserves. The downside? Minimal exercise meant they were overfed and full of beans. When the time came, they were like powder kegs on legs.
On Day 1, we tried walking the camels out before mounting up - hoping to take the edge off. It didn’t help. We’d ridden them the day before to help them adjust to the new environment, but even then, Mike and I were both unseated during mount-up.
About ten minutes in, we paused in a narrow laneway to try again where it would be harder for the camels to bolt. It didn’t go well. Craig took a hard fall that winded him. Still, with him somewhat recovered, we set off across the Wajh plain, camels bunched in tight formation.
Barely fifteen minutes later, Craig’s camel bit mine – Shagra - on the backside. Shagra, a monstrous and clearly unimpressed beast, bolted, with the rest in hot pursuit. I managed to regain control, but not before my shedad tilted forward, causing a rubbing injury that would haunt me for the next ten days.
The camels eventually settled, but Mike was clearly struggling after his earlier fall. We trotted to keep pace, passing through stunning wadi landscapes, joined briefly by rangers from the Prince Mohammed bin Salman Royal Reserve before stopping at the Well of Dathna, where Lawrence once watered his own camels.
We’d planned to stop after 50km, but a misguided “shortcut” through hilly terrain added about 5km. Then we learned the camp had been moved an extra 3km from its original location. Day 1 ended closer to 60km. By the time we arrived, we were sore, tired, and a bit frayed around the edges. Sleep was elusive, and my blistered rear end had its first encounter with Ged, our paramedic, who patched me up as best he could.
Day 2 began before 0600, as would every day to come. Two hours of prep felt tight, but we were still learning the rhythm of getting camels, gear, and humans moving in sync. By 0800, we were ready to go - but I noticed Mike didn’t look good. He was clearly in pain.
Once mounted, we made good pace for a couple of hours and reached an oasis around 1030, by which point it was already 37°C. The heat was intense. Mike spoke with Ged, and it was agreed he’d cool off in one of the vehicles to avoid heat exhaustion. The rest of us pushed on to the lunch point, 25km into the stage.
After a short break, we entered the scenic wadis of the Reserve and saw our first golden eagles. One of Tommo’s camels had issues due to equipment failure, and we had to switch it out. The support vehicles had ranged ahead, so we aimed for a point on the horizon towards Camp 2. Unfortunately, we had drifted about ten degrees too far south, which placed us on the wrong side of a feature and added another 5km to an already long, hot day.
When we reached Camp 2, it was already set up, and a sense of routine was starting to form. Sleep, however, was still scarce - local dogs roamed the area through the night, scuffling for scraps and occasionally with each other.
Day 3 was “cross the Hejaz” day. We’d previously recce’d the route: 2.5km uphill at a brutal 14–18% gradient. Our aim was to reach the base by 10 a.m. and we weren’t far off. The riders dismounted and removed the shedads from their camels, then started the climb.
I stayed behind to liaise with the local police, who were closing the road during our ascent. I set off a few hundred metres behind, hauling my two camels up the hill. Thankfully, Peter W and Mike were in one of the Defenders behind me, and one of them hopped out to give the camels a helpful nudge when motivation waned.
At the top, we regrouped and pushed on for another 15km to Camp 3, near an oasis and a mosque with running water. The heat remained in the 30s, and by this point, everyone was soaked in sweat, but we made solid progress along a rolling, undulating track.
About halfway through, Mike again asked to stop - he was clearly in serious discomfort. We put him in the vehicle, and he went forward with Ged to rest and see if anything could be done.
Back at Camp, we’d had a few camel equipment failures, so I went into the local village and found a young Saudi who helped source replacement shedad straps. Sure enough, by 0600 the next morning, he was back with everything I’d asked for.
But just after that, around 0630, Ged asked if we could talk. He was worried about Mike. He suspected a rib injury and said Mike needed medical assessment - it wasn’t safe for him to continue.
I spoke to Mike. He was clearly upset, but he understood. One of the Defenders would take him back to Tabuk to get checked or to fly home. It was a blow. Everyone felt it. We were only three days in, but it had already been physically and mentally gruelling.
And now we were one rider down, with 22 days and 1,000 kilometres still to go across what many still call the "uncrossable" desert.
A single thought was probably on everyone’s mind: “Would we make it”?
