Author: Ben Hoffler

August 29, 2014

The legend of Jebel Banat

The Sinai has two Jebel Banats; one of them’s near St Katherine; the other, near Wadi Feiran. Jebel Banat means Mountain of the Girls and they’re both beautiful peaks with epic views. The Jebel Banat in Wadi Feiran has an added attraction though: a story. And if anything pulls me to a peak as much as the beauty, views and adventure, it’s a story. And this isn’t just any story; it’s one of the Sinai’s most famous. One the Bedouin were telling centuries ago. And one which is still being told today; I’ve heard everyone from Bedouin guides to taxi drivers and ibex hunters tell it. Like all good stories, it has a message. One they say helped improve the rights of local Bedouin women. One that’s maybe still relevant. It’s about two Bedouin sisters, from Wadi Feiran…

The father of these sisters wanted them to marry two men he’d chosen for them; but the sisters didn’t like them. So they said no. But he insisted. After that, they ran away and hid in the mountains. Someone spotted them though. Then told their father where they were. He went to get them but the girls saw him coming and climbed the mountain. Up on the high cliffs, they tied their hair together, then jumped. They died in front of their father.

Death was better than an unhappy marriage.

You might hear the story told in slightly different ways – the richness of the spoken word – but that’s the gist of it. People say it’s true; I’m not sure when it’s supposed to have happened; but it’s definitely OLD. The first recorded version I’m aware of was published back in 1816.

Jebel Banat, from Jebel Salla, Go tell it on the mountain_result

Anyway, Jebel Banat is a peak that hikers virtually never visit; but it’s beautiful and well worth a climb. Start in Wadi Feiran. Public buses pass through on the way from Cairo or St Katherine so getting here isn’t too tricky (11am from Turgoman, Cairo). Find a guide in Wadi Feiran, asking in local Bedouin gardens. To get to the mountain itself you’ll begin in Wadi Nefuz. This soon becomes a dramatic gorge – a beautiful walk – but you can avoid the gorge with a shortcut too. Both ways meet later then go up to a flat area called Farsh Tibeina. From here, it’s an easy scramble to the top. I looked around the top for any cairns, graffiti or memorials for the sisters but didn’t find any. Maybe the greatest memoria of all though is that – whoever the sisters were – their story is STILL being told. They died but, in a way, they’re still alive…

August 24, 2014

The Sinai: five beautiful wadis

This blog is mostly about mountains. But wadis are a big part of the Sinai too. Whenever you do a mountain, the chances are a wadi will be part of it. Overall, walking in the Sinai, I’ve probably spent more time in wadis than on mountains. They’re the main routes between mountains. Most of the time you get water in them. You find gardens, food and shelter in them. There are beautiful wadis all over the Sinai but my favourites are on the west side of the peninsula. They have more water. Some even have streams and waterfalls. They’re a bit greener. They have more history too. Crumbling old paths and ancient hermit cells where you can sleep; plus chapels and ancient graffiti. If I have the time, I walk in them between towns, rather than take the bus. Anyway, here are my five all-time favourite wadis of the Sinai:

1. WADI ISLEH An old travelling passage between St Katherine and El Tur; I love to walk out of the mountains and down to the sea this way. Or go the other way, heading to the mountains from the coast. This wadi has dramatic narrow sections, including a spectacular gorge near its mouth; one of the Sinai’s great natural wonders. During flash floods, the Bedouin say this gorge fills to the brim with water. Long after the floods have gone, creeks and waterfalls still trickle. A spectacular pinnacle towers over the wadi half way along. There are lots of pretty little oases too; with palms and reeds. Look closely and you’ll see ancient paths and ruins. This is one of the few wadis in this list – and I’d argue the BEST – in which you can ride a camel almost all the way. I haven’t done it yet, but it’s on my to-do list. Further up, Wadi Isleh runs into Wadi Rimhan; which you can follow up to climb Jebel Umm Shomer: the Sinai’s second-highest peak.

2. WADI SIG One of the most little-known wadis of the Sinai, I didn’t do this until 2014, when I spotted it from the nearby peak of Jebel el Reeh; it looked beautiful, winding through the mountains. Sig means a sort of canyon in Arabic; so whenever you see a wadi’s called Wadi Sig, it’s a pretty safe bet it’s going to be good. Anyway, this begins at the foot of the Jebel Katherina highlands; then it becomes a narrow, winding canyon. Everywhere is dramatic. It doesn’t ever ease off. It has towering sides and overgrown stands of bamboo where it feels like you’ve walked into the jungle. There are ancient dwellings where you can sleep too. It’s NOT an easy walking route. But it IS an adventure. Wadi Zeraigiyeh connects it to Wadi Rimhan and Wadi Isleh too.

3. WADI SIGILLIA 19th century explorers were the first to mention this; and they made it sound magical. I first did it a few years ago, when I was exploring new parts of Jebel Serbal for my book Sinai: The Trekking Guide. It’s a big, gorge-like wadi that cuts along the southern side of Jebel Serbal: and it’s absolutely spectacular. It’s much harder to get to than any the other wadis here. The main way in is a crumbling Byzantine stairway – Abu Silim – that winds down a precipitous ravine. The steps are broken, so you have to go off piste. For something even harder, there’s a ravine called Wadi Baytheran. Or you can walk in from the coast from Wadi Jebaa, which has big, intimidating drops at the start. Anyway, Wadi Sigillia was once of the biggest Christian retreats in the Sinai: specifically because it was so hard to get to. You can still see the ancient ruins today. Plus beautiful creeks, waterfalls, pools and big stands of bamboo.

4. NAQB EL HAWA Naqb el Hawa is one of the first wadis I ever did: it’s still one of my all-time favourite spots. It means ‘Pass of the Wind’ and it’s the last leg of the pilgrim trail that came from Suez to the Monastery of St Katherine. It’s lined by rugged mountains on both sides – including the spectacular pinnacle of Jebel Zibb Rubi – but it’s an easy walk, with a gentle camel trail all the way along. It starts near an outlying village of St Katherine called Abu Seila; then runs down to a place called Sheikh Auwad. You can walk it either way, but going DOWNHILL, from Abu Seila, gives the best perspective on the surrounding scenery. You can even make it into a circuit with Wadi Madaman below. Whenever you do it, aim to get there for sunset, when it’s the most beautiful.

5. WADI MADAMAN A beautiful wadi near St Katherine and the place I escape the town. It has a faraway feel and is way off the main mountain trails. The only folks you’ll see here are the Bedouin. And meeting Bedouin in the wadis – who are always hospitable – only adds to the trip. It’s deeper than most other wadis around St Katherine and has the feel of a gorge, twisting around sharp bends; the gigantic peak of Jebel Naja towering up all the way. You’ll also see the little tomb of Sheikh Ahmed, an old saint of the Jebeleya tribe. Further up, the wadi runs into Wadi Tlah, with lots of Bedouin orchards. To get the best perspective, walk UP the wadi from the bottom. You start near the settlement of Sheikh Auwad and you can can tie it up with Naqb el Hawa – the wadi above too – which is best walked DOWNHILL. So the two work together. Go DOWN Naqb el Hawa, then back UP Wadi Madaman. It’s the best wadi circuit in the area!

August 2, 2014

Jebel Salla: the hidden gem

Jebel Salla is one of the Sinai’s best hidden gems. I first saw it a few years ago, when I was sitting in Wadi Ajela, watching the afternoon shadows creep over the wadi. My guide, a Bedouin guy called Nasser, took out his binoculars, and pointed to a faraway mountain. As I sharpened the focus a beautiful peak came into view; a sugarloaf of white granite, towering up against a brilliant blue sky. It was covered in dark lines that looked man made, like walls or paths or something. Nasser, who’d been up before, said they were old ruins…

I’ve seen a lot of ruins in the Sinai. Mostly in wadis. Or in basins. You do get ruins on summits. But they’re mostly small. Few cover entire peaks. None as dramatic as this, anyway. These were the most impossible set of ruins I’d seen anywhere in the Sinai. They looked amazing.

With a bit of time left before sunset, we went to climb it…

We carried on up Wadi Ajela; a long wadi that runs down from the rugged slopes of Jebel Serbal, dotted with beautiful acacias. You can see it in that picture on the left. Further up, we turned off and began scrambling straight up to the mountain. Near the top we cut across its sheer cliffs on a wide ledge dotted with wild mountain shrubs, then clambered up to the top. The summit was marked by a tall standing stone. Below it, on the edge of a sweeping precipice, was a ruined church. Then, piled up on other parts of the peak, were, big banks of rocks. The dark lines we’d spied from below…

A British Ordnance Survey team climbed Jebel Salla in the 1860s – the first Europeans I know of who did it (and about the only ones since too) – and noted the church. But what about the other stuff? The big banks of rocks? Well, they reckoned Jebel Salla was a fortress peak; a place Christians, who lived in the nearby Wadi Feiran, retreated to in times of danger. The banks of stones were there – they said – to push down as missiles onto any assailants. I’m not an historian and they might well be right: but purely from a mountain point of view, I’m not 100% convinced, for the following reasons:

1. If you you hid here, you’d maroon yourself on a peak with no water. OK, you could take a supply. But it’d be a finite supply. Anybody wanting you off would just have to wait. Chucking rocks wouldn’t deter a proper attack.

2. More than that, if anybody DID have to run from danger, and if they WERE able to climb a tricky peak like this, there are much better places they could’ve gone; ones with water, escape routes etc. Early Christians knew these mountains…

Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know. But the fortress theory just doesn’t add up to me.

Maybe those big banks of rocks were sitting platforms, or walkways; or just random rocks put down in shows of faith, pennance etc. Maybe they’re not supposed to be ANYTHING. When the Sinai gets better studied, historians will visit and settle the puzzle once and for all though…

Anyway, whatever it was – ancient fortress peak or not – this is one of my favourite mountains in the Sinai; the best surviving testament to how well the early Christian communities of the Sinai got to know these desert highlands. Jebel Salla shows how curious early people here were about the mountains and how hard they worked to develop them. Today, Jebel Salla remains virtually off the map. Most visitors who come to Wadi Feiran go to Jebel Serbal, the great jewel in Feiran’s crown. Take it from me though, a trip to Jebel Salla is never time wasted (you can even do it at the end of Jebel Serbal). You won’t just climb a brilliant peak. You’ll discover the relics of a lost world…

June 2, 2014

Wadi Zelega Camel Race

Every year, sometime in early January, Wadi Zelega is transformed from an ordinary desert wadi into a rugged race track for the annual Muzeina vs Tarabin Camel Race: the biggest event in the Bedouin sporting calendar. The Muzeina and Tarabin are two of the Sinai’s biggest tribes and this race goes back a long way. I don’t know exactly how long, or the full story behind it, but a Bedouin man told me it started when a boy of the Tarabin wanted to marry a girl of the Muzeina. Apparently, neither tribe wanted the marriage and it was thus agreed it’d proceed ONLY if the Tarabin boy won a camel race against the best riders of the Muzeina. Against all expectations, he did win. And ever since then, the race has been an annual fixture.

For local Bedouin, camels are a HUGE source of pride and derbies are fiercely contested. As a spectator, they’re the most authentic events you can see. There’s nothing staged about them. They’re REAL; by locals, for locals.

This year – after missing it every other one – I HAD to see the race. I woke at dawn and got a jeep to Wadi Zelega with a few Bedouin friends from St Katherine: all long-time camel enthusiasts who’d make the perfect racing company. Bedouin camps were scattered all over the wadi when we arrived; traditional goat hair tents were rigged up near Toyota pick-up trucks and small groups of men huddled around fires making tea.

I’d never seen so many Bedouin in one wadi. It’s how the old times might’ve looked, when tribes migrated together, in bigger groups.

Anyway, over where the camels stood, there was a big hullaballoo.

A debate was raging about whether to hold the race or not. It had rained in the night and the sand was heavy and stodgy in places. Further along, pools stretched across the wadi. It all meant danger for the camels who – running at top speed – could easily stumble and break a leg or worse. More than that, it was dangerous for the jockeys; invariably small Bedouin boys, as young as seven or eight. Being thrown off the top of a sprinting camel could be nasty.

Anyway, it was eventually decided the race WOULD be run.

And that – inshallah – everything would be OK.

The camels were led to the start line as the jockeys were lifted up onto the saddles. They whispered last words to their camels as their fathers spoke to them and a long-winded Sheikh roared orders out over everybody through a megaphone. There was a bit of jostling on the start line before an AK47 was fired in the air. Then – with a sudden thudder of hooves – the camels were away, galloping off towards the horizon.

We legged it back to our jeep, pushing our way through the crowds and piling in the back as our driver simultaneously floored the pedal, throwing us all back in a heap against a half-open door. I staggered back up – feeling slightly dazed – and looked out of the window, only to see a Toyota pick up truck drive head first into a ditch. Another one missed a big retem bush with a last-minute swerve, sending three other jeeps into swerves too.

We were in Wadi Zelega, but it felt like we were in Days of Thunder; dodging ruts and boulders whilst overtaking jeeps, then cutting them up; whatever worked best. Looking out at the camels I began to wonder where the real race was. There – or here. From what I could see of the camel race, it was clear stuff was already changing.

A pack of leaders had pulled away. Some camels had slowed to a canter. Others had run into a no man’s land at the sides of the wadi. And some had stopped completely, with loose saddles, sores or other problems.

Just after the half way mark, our driver began a new manoeuvre, zig-zagging through lines of racing camels and jeeps from one side of Wadi Zelega to the other, then racing up a high promontory. Here, we got out and gazed out over the whole wadi. It looked beautiful: a wide desert wadi, with faraway skylines lit by the soft rays of the morning sun. Soon the wave of Bedouin jeeps surged through; the sound of beeping, shouting and the distant hum of engines all drifting up to us. From the ground, we could hardly see the camel race at all: here, we looked down from the sky, feeling like masters of it all.

We let the wave pass, then tore back to surf on its danger again.

The effects of the race were starting to show now. Some camels were foaming at the mouth; others had big, bleeding sores on their rumps from being whipped. They were going fast; not as fast as they had been. But still fast. At this stage it was all about endurance: this was the critical stage; the one where it’d all be won or lost. And, if ever there was a landscape for a moment of destiny – for a battle where every bit of power would be summoned for a last shot at glory – it was here, in the rugged wilds of Wadi Zelega.

On one side were the foreboding plateaulands of Jebel Gunna. On the other, Hadabat el Tih; a highland that stretches over the Sinai from one side to the other; the Bible’s epic Wilderness of the Wanderings.

The jockeys shouted at their camels, grinding out every bit of strength.

They all surged forward but it was a Muzeina camel that took the critical advantage; holding a straighter line and edging ahead until his rivals couldn’t catch him and he had a clear run to the finish. This camel crossed about a minute before the rest, finishing a 20km track in about 45 minutes. The Muzeina celebrated, waving their shemaghs in the air and firing their battered old AK47s into the sky. I just crossed my fingers and hoped no bullets came down on my head. Over the next 15 minutes, the rest of the camels came in too: all of them caught and deservedly congratulated for finishing the Sinai’s toughest race.

I’m still not sure whether the Wadi Zelega Camel Race is a proper camel race or just the pretext upon which the Bedouin get together for a MASSIVE annual off road rally and dust up. It’s sometimes fast, almost always dangerous; but whatever it is, it’s AMAZING FUN and a highlight of any year. No other event pulls the Bedouin together like this today: this is the only one where you’ll see so many in their traditional tents; the only one where they meet so many old friends and just do something – with each other – that’s as BEDOUIN as anything will ever be. It doesn’t have the money or glitz of camel races in the Gulf states: but it feels more real. It’s run with real Sinai camels, trained and run by local Bedouin etc. I’ll definitely be going in 2015. But perhaps with a crash helmet…

May 24, 2014

Jebel Rubsha: the little peak

Of all the summits in the High Mountain Region, Jebel Rubsha was the last I did. It was on the doorstep all the time; but I just never got round to it. Mostly because it felt so close to town. I like to get as far away from towns and people as I can in the mountains. But as much as anything, because it didn’t look like much of an adventure. I could see everything from the bottom. I felt like I knew the mountain and everything about it before I’d even gone. But it was there; and, because of that, I still needed to do it.

I went half way up on Friday 13th December 2013, when huge blizzards hit the Sinai. Not to climb it. Just to photograph the town in the snow.

If you DO want to see the town – eg. to photograph it – Jebel Rubsha beats ANY peak. You can see it in that pic on the left. That’s not the WHOLE of the town either BTW; it’s just the main, central part (called El Milga). That big mountain behind – the one in the middle – is Jebel Rabba, a brilliant one to climb. This pic was taken about half way up Jebel Rubsha’s south face; which I’d say is about the best height for photographs; go higher and the perspective on everything changes so it doesn’t look quite as good.

The next time – about a month later – I went under blue skies. On a normal route.

Jebel Rubsha is actually a twin-peaked mountain. Three-peaked if you count another little point I took this picture from. You can see the two main summits in the picture on the right. An easy wadi leads up here from town, then you just scramble up the gully between the two peaks. From the top of the gully climb the peak on the RIGHT. That’s the higher of the two peaks and it’s an easy scramble up the skyline. You can do the other too but it’s a bit trickier, with some awkward moves heading up from the gully side.

Honestly, I didn’t go expecting much from this summit.

But it was one of the most memorable I’ve done in the Sinai. I thought the town would detract from it; but actually, it added something.

Up here on Jebel Rubsha I could hear all the sounds of the town. Children playing. The hum of engines. The muezzin practising his call to prayer. There was nothing in your face about it. Everything was distant and faraway. It didn’t sound like noise. It just sounded like home. It reminded me of all the years I’d spent in St Katherine since I first started going to the mountains. I’ve been up here a few times since that first time. I still like listening to the town. And being high up here, looking down on the bustle below gives me a sort of perspective. It might not mean the same thing to you but I still reckon it’s worth doing if you’ve got a few hours to kill. Once you’re up here a beautiful long ridge stretches away to the north west too, which you can follow to begin a brilliant – and entirely new – adventure in the mountains…

May 14, 2014

Mt Sinai: dodging the crowds

Mt Sinai is – without a doubt – the most famous peak in Egypt. Personally, I’d go further and argue that, through history, it’s been the most famous peak anywhere in the world. Known to more people, in more places, over a longer time, than any other mountain on earth. More than Everest – which came to global attention relatively recently. More than the likes of Mont Blanc – Europe’s highest – and definitely more than any peak in the Americas (which most of the world didn’t even know about as continents until a few hundred years ago). Stories about Mt Sinai have been told and re-told in three different religions for thousands of years. People read about it in their holy books. They heard about its legends in their congregations in churches or mosques. All of this kept Mount Sinai alive in the imagination. When it came to actually seeing it on the ground though, in all three dimensions, only the very rich or very intrepid had that privilege. The gruelling approach – over a week’s camel ride from Suez – made absolutely sure of that.

Things changed in 1977, when a dirt track was beaten through the desert, crossing huge sandy plains and mountain passes, all the way to the foot of mountain itself. Suddenly, anyone with a 4×4 could visit in just a few hours. Today, that dirt track has become a tarmac road; and Mt Sinai has become a mass tourist attraction that thousands of people visit from coastal resorts every year.

Modern transport has penetrated the wilderness shield that gave the mountain its isolation and now it’s the Sinai’s busiest peak. Nothing else comes close.

All the same, it doesn’t HAVE to be. You CAN dodge the crowds. HERE’S HOW:

1. TIME YOUR CLIMB – mainstream guide books like Lonely Planet bill sunrise on Mt Sinai as one of those must-do, bucket-list type experiences. A sort of rite of passage and definitive hike without which no trip to the Sinai would possibly be complete. Buying into the hype and thinking sunrise was virtually the ONLY time I could do it – I did it like this my first time too. And I still count it as my worst night in the Sinai. The whole thing; from walking up in the dark, to the huge, lumbering crocodiles of people on the paths, to the insufferable singing, clapping and praying through the dawn. It felt like a sort of pennance. It’s time to debunk this over-peddled sunrise myth. SERIOUSLY – avoid it! Go up this mountain at sunset: the soft red hue of the mountains looks even more appealing. And, even more, you’ll just have a handful of other people for company. It feels less like a tourist attraction and more like a mountain should.

2. THE ROUTE – I don’t have stats, but I’d say about 95% of tourists – maybe even a little more – go up the so-called Camel Path, then down the Steps of Repentance. Or vice versa. These are the two main tourist routes on Mt Sinai: the ones in the guidebooks, that get you up and down ASAP, starting and finishing at the Monastery of St Katherine. Avoiding THEM means you avoid the crowds. But it also means you’ll see another half of the mountain: the BETTER half, with ruined chapels, deep springs, beautiful orchards and little-trodden peaks. The best route up Mt Sinai starts in a valley called Wadi el Arbain, near St Katherine. From the end of this, you can walk up the side of Jebel Safsafa and explore. You only join the busy tourist route at the end, just below Mount Sinai’s summit. There are plenty of secret places to discover on the way. Just remember to take a good Bedouin guide. Check them out HERE.

May 9, 2014

Jebel Katherina in the snow

Winter 2013 was one of the most amazing on record in the Middle East. On Friday, 13th December, a huge blizzard hit the region – the biggest since the 50s – whipping it with icy winds and dropping a thick blanket of snow everywhere from Syria to Lebanon, Jordan, Israel and Palestine. Even Cairo, on the balmy banks of the Nile, had its first snow in over a century. Nowhere had more though than the rugged highlands of the Sinai: here, the age old wilderness of red desert peaks was transformed into a rarely-seen realm of glistening white; more like the Alps than Egypt.

Jebel Katherina – Egypt’s highest peak – had the most snow of all and towered up as a gigantic white pyramid in the clouds after the snow; the like of which nobody had seen for generations. It had been re-made as a new mountain.

It was something new; and something I HAD to do.

I wasn’t exactly kitted out for a full-on winter mountaineering expedition. The only thing I’d got were a pair of leather boots; and even they had holes in. But I could improvise with other stuff. I’d duck tape plastic bags over the top of my boots as gaiters. I had a bent trekking pole that’d double as an ice axe and an old snorkelling mask I could wear over shades for ski goggles. It wasn’t perfect – but it was enough. And I wasn’t going to stop.

Dawn was breaking as I got to the foot of the mountain; the snow sparkling in beautiful blues and pinks and golds. Icicles hung off the high crags – crashing down as they warmed in the sun – and every mountainside looked brilliantly white against Jebel Katherina’s black rock.

Every step was an effort up here. The snow was deep and untrodden and the path’s interminable zigzags doubled the distance to walk.

Further up, I found a couple of donkeys on the mountainside. They’d beaten out about 5m of snow on the path – the easiest 5m of the whole day – plodding it down with deep hoof marks. I wondered if I could coax them into treading out the next 5m, throwing half a sandwich on the path in front. Buy they just stood there. And I stood there. Minus half a sandwich. Anyway, I wanted to buy all the time I could so I threw it back to them and trudged up the last zigzags to Farsh Umm Silla, a high pass below Jebel Katherina’s north face.

Huge views opened up here: one way, I could look out to Mount Sinai. The other way I could gaze over high, snowy summits to Hadabat el Tih: a high, desolate plateau that stretches across the Sinai, from one side to the other. The fabled Wilderness of the Wanderings, I’ve always loved this plateau. And its high edge looked all the more beautiful and haunting under the white snows of winter. Here, from Farsh Umm Silla, I thought the climb would get tougher. Actually, it got easier; the wind had piled the snow up on the side of the pass I’d come up. Over on the other side – where I was going – it was shallower.

All the way up, I’d had doubts about whether I could make it from here. About the snow; the north face. But they all went now. It could definitely be done.

I carried on from Farsh Umm Silla, heading for the North Face. The path makes more zigzags here so I headed straight up in a beeline for the top, kicking steps. An hour later I was just below the high summit crags of the mountain; the peak was just above.

The first peak you get to on Jebel Katherina has a chapel on top and legend has it this is where angels laid St Katherine to rest 1500 years ago. It had caught all of the full blow of the blizzard and the snow was piled into ruts and hollows in the crags. These were the only way through and the toughest bit of the whole day. Most of the way I had to hack through big drifts with a trekking pole.

About 15m below the top I lay on my back and gazed at the huge blue sky: exhausted and frozen. When the fatigue eased – when the desire to reach the peak outweighed it again – I ditched my bag and clambered to the top.

A vast, snowy wilderness unfolded here. Mountainsides covered in white stretched out on all sides. Icy peaks stood on faraway horizons; jagged and beautiful. One way, I could gaze over the beautiful white skylines to Africa; the other way, to Asia.

Directly south was Jebel Katherina’s second peak, with two radio masts on top. Getting up was this much easier, with the path up the sheltered side.

This second peak is covered in wreckage from the time it was a installation in conflicts. Steel girders, oil drums and corrugated iron are all scattered about. Today though, covered in twinkling cyrstals, they were part of a beautiful ice sculpture.

I’d lugged all my gear up Jebel Katherina to sleep out in the summit hut. But it was full of snow – the last eegit here had left the door wide open – and I had another six hours to hang about until sunset so I headed back down.

I glissaded back down the North Face – using my trekking pole as a rudder – from where I followed my own deep footprints for a blissful walk back down.

Honestly, I’ve never been the biggest fan of Jebel Katherina: I’ve done it from every side, probably more than 15 times; mostly because it’s the biggest one; but also because the summit views are incredible. I prefer the Sinai’s red rock peaks and, even as black peaks go, there are more beautiful ones than Jebel Katherina. Even so, this time; the snow made it a NEW mountain; none would’ve been as snowy or beautiful. It was amazing and if the next big snow is as long coming as this one was I’ll be 82 before I see it again (when I think I’d still be inclined to give it a go). If you’re wondering about visiting the Sinai in winter, DO IT! Most folks say don’t, because it’s too cold: but there’s a beautiful light, there are rains; and, if you’re lucky, you’l see the snow too…