19. Memories  of Christmas Past.

Dearly Beloved,

The Ghosts of Christmas past haunt us all. My favourite ghost is my first Christmas in the mountains of Oman where I was doing wildlife field work. David, a contract officer with the Sultan Of Oman's armed forces, managed the tahr guards or mushrafyn who looked after the Wadi Sarin Nature reserve and its wild animals. That Christmas Eve David had some leave due, so we decided to travel about 75 km north and walk up Jabal Kawr, a lone block of rock standing proud above the surrounding plain, rising to the second highest peak in Oman at just under 3,000 meters.

David recruited a guide from a village at the base of the mountain and we set off with six mushrafyn on a relatively easy walk. At evening we had reached 2000 m. altitude and our guide led us to a cave, the overhang of a cliff, with a cage of sticks at one end. There we spent the night. We lit a large fire to keep warm. David had brought with him a three pound Christmas pudding of a very untraditional, cylindrical shape, which fitted comfortably in his back pack. He steamed this over the fire in a large pot supporting the pudding above the water on a pile of twigs so that it did not get wet and he covered the pot with a flat stone for more efficient heating. After this feast and rounds of dates and cups of coffee, the Mushrafyn sang bedu songs and for accompaniment drummed on the saucepan in which the pudding had been cooked. In our turn David and I sang carols, concluding with In Dulci Jubilo, after which we lay down in our sheet sleeping bags on the floor of the cave to sleep. Our guide retreated into the cage of sticks.

On Christmas day we walked up to a hayl, a type of valley with a wide, flat bottom of clay typical of arid plateaus, large enough to land an airliner on. There were two peaks at either end. The area was covered in clumps of pale, very dry grass and well dispersed but quite large, and clearly very ancient, juniper trees, flame shaped, most of which exceeded ten metres in height with thick trunks. These were impressively large trees for such a dry place, but sadly there were no young trees. There was no water and no human habitation.

The temperature in the middle of the day was a mere 4.5c the coolest I ever experienced in ten years of working in Oman, and there was a stiff breeze. Immediately the mushrafyn became cold and started to show signs of exposure. David and I climbed the highest peak revelling in the strong cool wind whilst the mushrafyn stayed below in the shelter of the hayl to keep warm.

Seven months later, in the heat of Summer, everything was reversed. I was scrambling up a steep rock face. The temperature was close to blood heat and there was ferocious radiation from the sun drenched rocks. Quite suddenly I suffered heat exhaustion. I stopped sweating and instead, every movement I made was followed by convulsive panting, as a dog pants. My body had pulled numerous emergency physiological levers to prevent my blood becoming any thicker so that a heart attack would be avoided. My dry skin glistened with salt crystals. Seeing my state, the two mushrafyn climbing with me, Hamid Hamood, and the youngest Said, sprinted off up the cliff to the waterhole where we were based, returning within thirty minutes with salt and water. I drank the water and, within less than a minute, sweat reappeared on my skin. My two companions, with whom I had shared that first Christmas, had saved my life, for had I been alone, I would never have managed to climb up to the waterhole.

Peace,

Paul.

Completed 15 December 2021


The Mystic Nativity,  Sandro Botticelli  (1445 to 1510) 
The National Gallery, NG1034 


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