Nature’s Mountain Corridors

Amman, my home for the last seven months is a place to enjoy in bites. When the time comes I will tackle that angular concrete behemoth that drapes over this ancient land, but for now it’s enough to say that life in Amman can grate on you more profoundly than many cities of the world. So, escape is needed. You know what they say, “It’s better to run away from your problems than stand and face them.”

Luckily, Jordan has a wealth of places to bury your head in the sand (both metaphorically and physcially) and one of my favourite ways to forget about city life is to explore the wadis. A wadi is a river valley and in Jordan you’re spoilt for choice. Jordan’s eastern half is dominated by the rocky desert seen in my last post but in the west this desert plateau changes. The expansive horizons break and the flat desert cascades as gnarled mountain ridges and narrow canyons towards the eastern border, and lowest point on the Earth’s surface, the Dead Sea. Within this contiguous mountainous barrier, water appears in hidden canyons, often the only sign of its presence is the abundant green contrasting against the reds and oranges of the towering rock. Unable to visit these wadis in winter because of the very serious danger of dying in a flash flood (doesn’t appeal to me), the rainless summer months are the only time to explore them. To see what the almost impenetrable mountains have hiding in their deepest reaches. 

Wadi Bin Hammad

This wadi marked the start of an almost two week road trip along the King’s Highway which runs from Amman to Aqaba on the Red Sea. We had been leading up to a big trip for a while with some hiking, wild camping and day trips, but with the truck packed to the brim we began this more serious undertaking at Wadi Bin Hammad (just north of Kerak). After struggling to organise the rabble, we left later than anticipated. So, as we turned off the highway, the light of late afternoon greeted us for our descent into the wadi. The road swept around precipitous drops and glided over ridges all the while weaving between local farming communities. As the sun dipped ever closer to the monumental walls of the canyon, deeply wounded by water’s persistent descent, the sun imbued them with the full richness of its light. We decided halfway into the canyon that it was time to find somewhere to camp before the snaking road became too dangerous to tackle in the hazy twilight. So, we took the truck off-road, squeezing down a narrow gravel track until we found a flat spot to park and camp. After shipping the essentials from the car to the camping spot, we set up on the vertiginous edge of the wadi. That night we teetered on our chairs, craning our necks to admire the celestial light show that the desert so often provides, all the while our pasta cooked on a small, stubbornly inadequate stove. 

The next morning we packed up, thanked the wadi gods for dissuading the noisy sheepdogs from mauling us in our sleep and drove down to the bottom of the valley. We parked up and paid our 3JD entrance. The guys there said that there was one waterfall that would be impassable without a ladder (which they provided for 20JD). However, that was a lot of money to part with before having a look, so we decided to just do the few kilometres to the waterfall and see what was what. We started in a narrow valley with bushes and reeds flanking the gently running water, but soon it became a vertical-sided canyon with overhanging palms and plants erupting from wherever water dripped from the porous rock. Eventually, after running, jumping and sliding down the river, completely soaked by a few of the more enticing plunge pools, we reached the large waterfall. 

Enclosed in a past-vertical canyon that gave the impression of a cave, the waterfall was around 4m high but completely unclimbable. But putting our heads together and having a good rummage around for solutions, I spotted a rope hidden on top of one of the ledges of the vertical walls. With a boost and a long palm frond I hooked it down and Firas, the resident master of knots (thanks to working on ships for years) set about tying us a line to climb down. Once it was set, no one was keen to go over the edge first due to the overhang and the water stopping any sort of preplanning. I was confident I wouldn’t die for no reason other than blind arrogance, so I decided I’d give it a go. Once over the lip it was a matter of holding on for dear life and feeling around for footholds. Once all but David had come down, we ran off into the most beautiful area of the wadi. The cave-like appearance continued, the ceiling (provided by enormous boulders lodged between the vertical walls) extended upwards and from it water fell as a natural shower from the springy ferns and verdant moss that adorned the black rock. From there, we ran along the winding canyon that suddenly opened up into a much more expansive valley. After having a nose around, we clambered back along the wadi, through the plunge pools and back to the car. 

As we sat in the truck, climbing back up the sides of the main valley that we had slept in the night before, the sun grew higher in the sky and the waterless upper reaches of the valley looked ever more scorched by the heat of the day. Amongst that scorched earth, I remember seeing a solitary shepherd, hunched in the threadbare shade of a skeletal tree. On that rocky plateau, the mass of his red and white keffiyeh provided a denser shade than the sparse foliage could, shielding the deeply lined face that stared intensely out into the world. In that instant I wondered about his life. The changes he had seen and the constants he had come to love or loathe. But my knowledge of his life was, and will always be, just a snapshot. 

Wadi Ghuweir

After a 27km hike the day before through the Dana Valley and out into the desert, where we wild camped surrounded by nothing but the stark beauty of Jordan’s wilderness, we had to walk back towards civilisation. The plan was to hike back along a wadi where a swim might be on the cards. The 38°C heat the previous day meant that our water was running low and rationing was an uncomfortable reality. That meant the first hour and a half of the hike was a parched conversationless trek, as we searched abandoned and unfinished buildings for running water. From a rocky ridge nearby some young bedouin children watched us closely. They led a donkey which was no taller than them and joked playfully with each other in the relative coolness of the morning. They called out “Macorona” to us as we dropped onto the dry riverbed and from that day on, Covid-19 (aka Coronavirus) has been referred to as this pasta among our group, which somewhat lightens the gloomy global pandemic mood.

As the valley walls began to grow and enclose us in their desert microcosm we started following black rubber pipes carrying fresh water from the valley. Not long after, we discovered one such pipe had a small hole which was firing a small jet of water. We filled up our empty bottles with it making sure it was clear, tasteless and odourless. This back up water revitalised our spirits and meant that as we started our steady 15km climb up the wadi, we didn’t have to worry quite as much about a much more imminent demise than any of us wanted. 

For the first four or five kilometres of the wadi, we followed an algae choked stream that turned out to be the source of the freshwater we had been drinking. These kilometres went slowly as the valley remained a V-shaped black rock enclosure with a small stream and abundant bushes of pink flowers. We refused the goat herders’ offers to drink tea with them and kept going and made our own tea in some precious shade. Soon the river beaches petered out and the churned mountain surfaces, jagged from the earth’s omnipotent perpetual motion, started to be smoothed. The soft edges of orange rippling rock, sculpted by years of careful work by water’s gentle hand, narrowed around us and palm trees sprung from the surfaces metres above our head. After some climbing and traversing deep pools, we made it to a waterfall where we cooled off and took a much-needed natural shower after a sweaty desert night. Continuing to climb, the valley narrowed to such an extent that the walls bent and oscillated, threatening to touch each other but then curving away with a graceful sweep. The walls of the wadi continued to rise and we felt like we were entering the mountain itself through an almost mystical passageway. This sense of mysticism was accentuated by the light that found its way into this narrow corridor of rock. It glanced off some surfaces and seemed to settle in the curved recesses of others but, at its stony base, where the stream had abandoned its surface path, the sun didn’t reach. We walked for kilometres in shade, caressed by the breeze that was funnelled through to us and filled our bottles with spring water that dripped straight from the rock to our side. 

Eventually we emerged. We had completed a successful traverse through the heart of the mountain barrier, we began to climb up the final obstacle but part the way to the top we got picked up, saving us the majority of the horribly steep climb to the main road.

Wadi Assal

After the last two wadis that we visited on the roadtrip, Wadi Assal was just a city escape day trip. It was a final wild hurrah with the soon departing master of lockdown games, the low budget Indiana jones, the Belgian running machine that is Sebastiaan. So, with Tam Tam the Aussie man in tow, we hired a car and set off for the Dead Sea and the start of our short hike. After parking the car and scarpering at the sound of often aggressive dogs, we plunged our feet straight in the river, assuaging any fears of getting wet feet that might slow our progress. In the first few 100m we made our way past a young American family who were chilling in the meandering river then set about hopping between boulders and splashing in the almost unsatisfyingly warm water. Tam, on his first hike in Jordan was unfamiliar with the sheer RPM that our legs are capable of so he lagged behind the pack. However, without a sunset to beat or a lack of water to worry about, we stopped regularly to eat trail mix and enjoy the surroundings.

This wadi didn’t have the sheer walls of Wadi Ghuweir or the natural waterpark style of Wadi Bin Hammad, but the gentle braided stream and the constantly intriguing rock formations making up the valley walls made for beautiful hike nonetheless. After 6km of walking we had cooled off in two waterfalls and decided to head back. On the return leg, the sun sank in behind us, warming our backs and stirring the river to a sparkling fervour.

Wadi Al-Hasa

With Sebastiaan gone and my heart broken, the adventures had to continue even without him. Tam and Eliza (who did her lockdown stint with us) were both keen for a night camping somewhere and Wadi Al-Hasa appeared to be the perfect place. One of the more famous wadis in Jordan, Wadi Al-Hasa is just south of the Dead Sea and is known for its beautiful canyon and abundant water. So we rocked up at the start, fuelled by the largest falafel sandwich money can buy and sweating gallons within seconds of setting foot outside of the car; we were ready. The plan of action for the day was to walk as far as we could before sunset and set up camp somewhere on the river’s edge. Because it was the weekend of Eid Al Adha, the first section of the river was full of families barbecuing in the shade of the large trees while children were splashing around in the blue water. We were offered to join one group but declined and continued. The river was much deeper and wider than in the other wadis and, after the family friendly section, the river filled the available canyon making sure that any progress upstream was to made within the river itself. This made for more difficult walking especially for those who are vertically challenged or specifically have not achieved the same freakish leg length as myself. We passed a few other groups but it was by no means busy as we powered upstream. Our progress was slow and the day was hot, but it didn’t matter because we often stopped to admire the subtle hues of the sandstone that varied from yellow to deep red depending on the light. Those walls rose, without the often characteristic overhanging vegetation, to meet the faultless sky above which appeared to us as a scar of blue reflecting the river that flowed around legs. The canyon, in all its meandering complexity mirrored itself from wall to wall. It was as if long ago the ground had been violently torn apart and the water was the cooling ointment, that which soothed the wound, smoothed the edges and brought harmony back to the dynamic scene.

We stopped on a small river beach and went for a dip in a gurgling pool that, if it weren’t for the number of stones that found their way into my underwear, felt identical to a jacuzzi. Not cooled by the water but refreshed nonetheless, we got out and kept going until Tam (who was carrying a bag big enough to fit himself inside) was “ready and waiting” for death to claim him. Paraphrasing there, but not far from his actual words, this city slicker Aussie had dashed my shark punching, crocodile wrestling, “that’s not a knife, THAT’S a knife” notion of all Aussies in one fell swoop. We put up the tents, Tam went rummaging about for firewood and then we all lay almost side by side in the river, away from the swarms of flies and the still crazily hot late afternoon sun. Willing everyone out of the river, I started a fire while Eliza cut vegetables and Tam went back to his rummaging in the undergrowth. Soon, we had a basic tomato sauce and some pasta cooked in river water. We ate sat once again in the river. It must’ve been a sight to behold, three people sat waist deep in a river eating bowls of pasta like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Night came but the heat didn’t wane, we were sweating just sat around doing nothing. I hoped for the slightest of wadi breezes that we had experienced elsewhere but no such luck. I had the worst nights sleep of my life there in that wadi. I was absolutely shattered yet denied sleep by my body’s frantic perspiration and the night temperature still sat solidly over 30°C. The only saving grace was that the flies had gone to bed for the night and only returned at 5:30am which is when I leapt up, full of my signature James morning energy (deep level of sarcasm intended) and got started taking the tents down while dancing a jig to keep the hundreds of flies off me. 

We got going fairly quickly and we all appreciated the early morning that camping often forces upon you. I find that at sunset the light is truly golden and embracing in its warmth but the morning light of sunrise is much softer, it’s a hazy light that breathes a new tender freshness into the world. As we walked back to the car we watched as more and more of the canyon walls were touched by the light, the red fire within the rock steadily rekindled by stellar illumination. 

Final Thoughts

Wadis are a famous yet often overlooked thing to see in Jordan. Wadi Mujib is the main attraction for locals and tourists alike, it has deep swimmable waters and a deeply unfriendly price tag which makes it inaccessible for those of us who are confined to unsociability and frugality due to being what the kids are calling “horribly poor and unemployed”. However, Wadi Mujib can wait. I’ve only scratched the surface with these four wadis and they were all breathtakingly beautiful in their own way. So, if you ever come to Jordan in summer, slap on some Factor 50 and delve into nature’s mountain corridors.