The longest day

Tuesday, 5th April: Sleep last night was fleeting. Thankfully I got to sleep at 9pm, but I was woken two hours later by a howling gale. The tent listed from side to side, dust found its way in, leaving a fine layer of sand over everything. The noise was intense. The sides of the tent billowed in and out like it was breathing. Some of us were in two-man tents, but many of us in singles. I was one of those and it was terrifying not knowing what was going on outside, how everyone else was coping. There was no way of communicating with my fellow trekkers. No phone signal. The wind noise deafening. It slowed down, just the odd puff and I drifted back into fitful sleep only to be awoken again. It felt as if the wind had gathered itself, sucked in all the air it could and then blew hard, trying to shake us free.

Fear, darkness and lack of sleep played tricks on my mind. Was I the only one this was happening to? Was I being punished for not finishing yesterday's walk? I'd let Tim down. I'd let everyone down. The elements were angry with me. Once again, I'd failed.

At 3am I realised some of the outer tent was flapping free. I decided to get dressed. Surely we would evacuate. Surely we wouldn't be walking tomorrow. I drifted into sleep again. And then deeply as the wind subsided, to be woken at sunrise by Theo calling for us all to get up.

In the hazy morning light we learned that we'd lost two tents. Two people had decided to sleep under the stars but the wind had taken the tents before they could get to them to take shelter. I don't know where they had slept. A friend's tent had turned almost upside down with her in it. She'd lost her glasses and hung on to the doorway, disorientated and afraid.

As usual, though, the group's spirits were high. We had a walk to do. A full day ahead: eight hours of walking to our next camp, Um Ellada. We were told the walk would keep us on higher ground and we'd be following donkey trails. It didn't sound too bad. Today, the trucks wouldn't be able to meet us as we would be far from tracks large enough for cars, so we were given a packed lunch to carry.

The morning air was cool and I started out wearing my fleece. After an hour, that soon came off as the temperature rose and we made good progress. The hills weren't so bad to start with. I had a plan today, too. As well as my water bladder, I had a second bottle filled with Dioralyte to replace salts lost through dehydration (a tip from a fellow trekker).

The sun beat down, the temperature rose. There was no shade. Soon, some of us were struggling. I began lowering my step goals: seventy-five steps with a break to take in twenty deep breaths, then fifty steps. Twenty-five. On a particularly steep hill, those who had made it to the top were cheering us on. I was only about a hundred steps away and thought I couldn't go on but a trekker came down and took my rucksack, encouraged me on. The cheers when I reached the top made me laugh. I perched on a rock, trying to rest. There was no shade.

We stopped for lunch in a sort of gully filled
with leafless juniper trees. Apparently they can lay dormant for years and will suddenly become filled with life. These trees looked like there was no coming back: bare, brittle, twiggy branches offered no protection from the sun. People draped head scarves over them for shelter. I just had my fleece. I draped it over some branches and crouched under it, leaning my back against the dry earth. I was at a 45 degree angle so dug my heels in to the path, tried to relax. I dropped off to sleep for a few minutes. I couldn't eat lunch. I tried but my mouth was too dry. I drank the juice in the pack. It was warm. I tried some salted peanuts. They clagged in my mouth and I couldn't swallow them. It was now 37C and Theo gave us an extra half-an-hour to gather our strength.

It was then that we learned we'd nearly run out of water.

As well as carrying two-litres of water in our rucksacks, the donkeys carried water, too. Added to that, the trucks would bring water at lunch. So refilling had never been a problem. I knew when my water bladder was nearing the end because the temperature of the water turned from warm to slightly cool. I took a sip. It was cool. And I wasn't alone in that; many people were running low. A donkey was sent ahead to the next camp to bring back more water. What water was left was shared out. I was given another litre.

We set off, we had no choice but to go forwards. Theo warned us that we had to move at a quicker pace. We had to get to camp before dark. We tried. But some people were really struggling. A couple had to have rides on the donkeys - which, to me, was terrifying. The donkeys lurched over the rocks, and at times were were perilously close to steep drops. There were no stirrups and how those ladies stayed on, I do not know. The group strung out again. We regrouped. Theo said we'd have to split into two groups. I chose the second as I didn't want to risk holding back the faster group. In ours there were three walkers, two on donkeys, two medics, Theo and two Bedouin guides. Hannah, the leader from Dream Challenges, would lead the first group.

Our progress was slow. We had frequent stops to help the ladies off the donkeys in the trickiest parts. We were scrambling over rocks, slipping, sliding. Suddenly the sun seemed to be losing its heat and finally there was shade. Back on a donkey track, the donkeys set off at a clip, doctors at the front, the three of us with heads down and poles tapping marching to keep pace. Theo was surprised by our speed. Woo-hoo! We could do this when it wasn't so hot. On we went. But it wasn't shade we were finding. It was darkness.

Once again we were scrambling over rocks. The ladies had to dismount and the guides led the donkeys. Stupidly I'd left my headtorch in my duffel bag as it was one less thing to carry - we'd always walked in daylight. Now, between us, we had three headtorches and five mobile phones. I needed both my walking poles for stability but I also needed my phone to see. We shared the light between us. Once scrambled over a rock, we'd shine it for others.

The group became twitchy. I watched our guides; they were nervous. I remembered that Theo had told us there were big cats in Jordan. I remembered the threat of bandits. A lady became frightened. I put her in the middle and brought up the rear. She had a young child, I didn't. It made sense that if anyone was taken, it should be me. I'm not a hero and I'm not very brave. But sometimes in life you just do what you need to. We were a group and for the first time in a long time I was thinking as a member of a team, thinking collectively. Living alone does strange things to you - you don't have to consider anyone else at all in your normal day to day life. Here I belonged. And if I could help someone through this, I damn well would.

On we went. No-one laughing and joking. A lady turned her ankle. We waited, hoped, prayed it was just a sprain. The darkness was thick. The silence oppressive. After a few minutes we went on. And then, down the hill I saw lights flashing. I was too scared to ask at first. Too scared of the answer but finally I asked Theo if it was the camp.

'No,' he said. 'It's not the camp. But it's our people.'

I hung on to that. Kept repeating it as I slid down rocks, shone my light behind. I didn't know what it meant. I didn't want to know. 'Our people' was enough. Just like having my head down and counting steps, I hung on to this. I couldn't see the bigger picture. I didn't want to see it. The fact they were 'our people' was enough for me.

Finally we reached a road. And 'our people' turned out to be the first group. We'd made good time. Almost caught them up. The flashing lights were from trucks. The Bedouin had brought them from camp to meet us. It was surreal. All the excited talking, the flashing lights, out in the dark, now with nothing to fear. How quickly fear can take hold; how swiftly you can let it go.

The camp was 1k away but there were spaces for some of us to have rides. Theo was kind and told me to take one of the trucks. I tried to lift my leg to get in but they'd gone all weak and I sort of scrambled in, so grateful. Mousa was our driver and he was so kind. Every time I thanked him, he smiled and said: 'You're welcome every time'.

The camp team had been amazing. They'd cooked dinner for us as usual and when we didn't appear at the arranged time, they'd kept it warm. Then they'd sent trucks out to meet us. I'm tearing up now, as I write. This was a tricky day in so many ways. And yet the kindness and love was immense. That day will stay with me for a long time - it affected me profoundly. I am so grateful to everyone that day. We'd set out with a plan to walk for eight hours. We were back twelve hours later. We got through it with team spirit and positivity. 

Dinner around the campfire, a quick briefing from Theo, and then bed. I don't think I've ever been happier to sleep on a thin foam mattress on pebbly ground.


Jane Lomas is fundraising for The Brain Tumour Charity (justgiving.com)


Comments

  1. Despite hearing about this at the time , seeing you all roll into camp and in some cases, break down in tears and unable to even walk to the table for food, reading it on the page in black and white is quite shocking . I'm relieved I made the decision to not work that day but really feel the leader was remiss in not altering the days walk to take into account the lack of sleep and extreme temperature . Thank goodness noone was hurt but I'm sure mentally/ emotionally it will stay with you for a long time ....I love you for your strength 💪 ❤️

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah, Carole. I'll never forget seeing your lovely smile when I walked into camp and you handed me a bottle of water. It was the best drink ever! xx

      Delete
  2. Goodness - that must have scary. I remember when I was in the Himalayas, first day of the trek, we set off later than planned and had to walk the last bit in the dark with almost no light - I was very frightened. But other people got me there.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's scary in the dark isn't it? And, Oh, the Himalayas! x

      Delete

Post a Comment