The Bushwackers Adventure Club

Hidden behind a range of barren hills, just off the Jeddah/Mecca highway, is the King Khalid National Guard Hospital. With its long marbled corridors, landscaped gardens that afforded every patient room a view, it seemed more like a Sheikh's palace than a hospital.

Even the staff accommodation was well appointed, with more lamps than you could shake a stick at. It was only when doing my exit clearance that I discovered why there were so many. If the lamp failed the ping test – i.e. there was a crack, historic or otherwise – you were dinged 500 riyals to replace it. A clever little earner for some one. There was also a leather briefcase, full of expensive German made cutlery, enough to hold a banquet with. Every fork knife and spoon had to be accounted for on departure.

Still stuck to the windows, were hospital memos, about observing for bird life, before venturing out, following a scud missile attack. Evidence that the first Gulf War had only just come to an end.

In those days, with no satellite TV, internet, or any alcohol that was safe enough to drink, recreational options were limited. To be selected for a weekend trip with the Bushwackers, became the most sought after activity you could wish for. The National Guard had made their Landcruisers, pick ups, tents and campbeds available, the rest was up to us. With the Bushwackers and an expedition leader, such destinations as Mada’in Saleh, the largest conserved site of the civilization of the Nabataeans, south of Petra, Al Rabigh on the Red Sea, or the Hejaz railway, a relic of the Ottoman empire, where Lawrence of Arabia led his attacks against the Turks, were all there for our exploration.

We would typically set off in convoy from the hospital, with our required travel letters, so we could venture outside our designated region. My first expedition was to the Harithi mountains, just outside of Taif. As we slowly wound our way up the escarpment, the air soon became cooler, a welcome relief from the summer heat and humidity of Jeddah. Gradually, the terrain became more rugged and unforgiving, softened only by the increased vegetation, casting aside the desert cliches of Saudi Arabia.

After several hours of off road driving, we decided on a camp site, not far from a dried up wadi, with steep mountain slopes enclosing us, as though to conceal our presence from possible discovery. This later proved to be unexpectedly ineffectual.

Farms, growing row upon row of fragrant rose bushes, were an unexpected discovery, along with pomegranate trees. This was starting to feel like a different arcadian experience altogether.

Clambering higher up the scree covered mountain side, I began to easily lose my footing. It was then I noticed a troop of baboons, who frequent this region. Attempts to photograph them were soon abandoned, as the screeching troop started to scamper towards me. On observing this imminent danger, my flight mechanism took over, and I tore helter-skelter down the mountain side, frequently slipping over the loose scree, as I struggled to remain upright. With bruised and bleeding hands, I reached the safety of the camp site, at which point, the baboons, some of whom were quite large, with fearsome looking fangs, began to back away. The myth of this arcadian idyll had been suddenly punctured. However, my instinct had served me well, as I later discovered, that baboons are the loudest, most dangerous, most obnoxious, most viciously aggressive and least intelligent of all the primates.

Not long after first light the following morning, we were awoken by shouting, which we very quickly realised was an attack on our campsite by the Mutawa, the dreaded religious police, the Kingdom’s vice squad. There must have been a dozen of them, in an almost frenzied state, distinctively dressed in their short thobes and ghutrahs and agals. They wore handgun holsters and some had their guns drawn. They berated us, for allowing men and women to be together, as this was haram (forbidden), and ordered us to leave immediately.

Our expedition leader managed to de-escalate the situation, despite not being an Arabic speaker, as we hurriedly bundled our tents and camping gear into the pickups. Under escort, we drove to the edge of the escarpment road back to Jeddah, feeling like chastised children. In retrospect, the outcome could have been a lot worse. At least none of us were detained, or worse still, taken away.

The element of surprise had certainly created the adventure, although I am still not sure which of the two encounters was the more menacing. The baboons or the Mutawa.

RAK 11/17