Hasik Beach in days of yore

Hasik's limestone cliffs at Natif

Seas surge noisily up the bolder-strewn shore

Towards the quiet fishing village.

Behind the low houses, long and tall

Limestone cliffs tower over them.

Drawn up on the beach 70 houris lie idly by,

Another score bob at anchor in the choppy bay,

While three or four furlongs out to sea

A sambuq or two are hove to.

A houri from Hadbeen arrives

Laden with colourful hawari

For a wedding

And celebration in the town.

Three weathered fisherman stripped to the waist

Wade out to their houris

To untangle the long lines

Which tether them to the shore.

Waiting for the steamer! In the days before the road went through.

They clean their fish in the shallows

While greedy seabirds finish off the fishy remains.

The sailors sit and chat in a little shade

And mend their nets on the bouldery beach – at Hasik.

P. R. Hayden, Salalah © 2001

The “7 minute” boat trip

It had been a long day. The four of us had walked, clambered, scaled and trudged over, around, through and over rocks, rivers, seas and sand! And now we were at the end of our tether. Mohammed had started out at a run and was now trailing behind with Salim who had developed a limp. Suhail’s lack of fitness had got the better of him and he was looking forward to the journey’s end!

….

How did we come to venture on this expedition in the first place? We decided to walk the 20 km or so from Hadbeen to Hasik before the road went through and the old ways forever forgotten. The team of friends who had gone with me on my previous expedition unfortunately at the last moment were not free to join me on this new one.

I decided to press on alone, hoping to find some new soul mates to accompany me. I dropped in on another friend, Suhail Said Al-Amri of Jufa, 8 km inland from the old frankincense export port of Sadh. Strangely, Jufa is just a few kilometres away from Sawb which was the terminus of my last, almost abortive, trip along the top of Jebel Samhan, down the cliff following the old camel trails, ending up in the village of Sawb, where Suhail taught geography in the local primary school.

This time I was determined to make it a successful trip in every way so I made a point of walking long distances around Salalah whenever I could. I didn’t want to be left behind by being unfit. And that part of my preparation did pay off!

Salim, Suhail, Mohammed, Ross

Suhail enthusiastically decided to join the team, even though at short notice. We continued on to Hadbeen where we met up with one of his friends, Salem Al-Araimi, a fisherman. Word soon got around, and before long a fourth person volunteered to come, Mohammad Zu’amri Al-Mahri, a former student of mine at the College of Education (now the College of Applied Sciences) in Salalah.

Late in the day we started to gather together the supplies we would need for an early start the following day. We hoped that we would be able to complete the route from Hadbeen to Hasik with just one night’s stop somewhere along the way. But things didn’t work out that way!

….

Earlier in the day I had tried to negotiate with my fellow-travellers to camp out somewhere along the way. Unfortunately some were adamant that we not camp out. One reason given was that (at that time) ‘dangerous’ Somali fugitives were known to be using the coast as a road north to Dubai and ultimate freedom. So as the day was coming to an end we tried, unsuccessfully, to flag down numbers of passing motorboats. We were getting exhausted by this time. To cap things off the sun was almost set. What to do?

Nearing Ras Hasik

Clambering around a couple more rocky bays, we suddenly came across a couple of motorboats tied to some rocks. Signs of civilisation at last!

A few more steps and we spotted numbers of camels browsing in the next bay. We had arrived at Wadi Samhan! It was 6.15 p.m. and the sun had just set. What a relief it was!

It was Mohammed’s uncle with their camels! We were ushered into a tent made from tree branches covered with plastic sheeting. There in the light of a kerosene lantern, we slaked our thirst on cool water, warm camel’s milk and hot sweet tea, in that order.

I thought we were going to stay the night there but I was outnumbered – Salim and the others wanted to press on to Hasik! For a moment I had forgotten that Salem was a fisherman, and that there was a motorboat in the next bay!

“How long will it take?” I asked.

“Seven minutes!” answered Salim.

Salim as a fisherman had done that trip many times before so his estimate should have been accurate. However, other factors came into play.

We headed out into the unknown with a 20 to 30 knot head wind, a 1 to 2 metre swell. It was pitch dark with only a sliver of a moon; and we were 50 metres from a very rocky coastline. I was feeling rather scared, to put it mildly!

We were making heavy work of the journey, travelling through a big swell with the wind whipping up white caps, when all of a sudden the motor stopped. The boat swung broadside to the waves. They started to break into the boat. There we were with no life jackets, no spare outboard motor, and not even one oar. We were certainly at the mercy of God and the elements.

Coastal road near Natif, Hasik, Dhofar, Oman

I fumbled for my torch. Shining it over the stern we saw a very large plastic bag entangling the prop. Within two minutes we were on our way again. Phew!

How wonderful it was then when we finally saw the welcoming lights of Hasik looming through the gloom. It would be half an hour more before we reached it. But still it was reassuring to see those lights! And so the 7 minute journey became 85!

The Nail

The Nail

Recently, while exploring a remote part of the Dhofari coast with a couple of friends, I climbed a hill to admire the view. I was surprised as I walked around on top of this hill to stumble across an old iron nail lying on the stony ground. It had obviously been lying there for a long time – how long is hard to know because the area is very dry and very rarely rains. The friend I was with is from a family of fishermen, and from a region which is very well-known for its traditional style of shipbuilding – he’s from Sur where dhows are still occasionally built. Immediately he recognised it as a ship’s nail.

We examined the nail. It was about 11 cm long, and square in cross-section. It was in surprisingly good condition with only a little rusty scale. As we handled the nail we wondered how it had got there. We looked around but the only signs of life were the blackened remains of what may have been an old fire. We came to the conclusion that maybe a long time ago somebody had burnt the timbers of a wrecked ship, and this old nail was now all that remained.

Today as I think about that nail, and that hill far away, I think of another hill even further away, and other handmade iron nails, used not for constructive purposes, but destructive — to cause pain and worse. I think of the one who suffered there on that hill, and I am thankful, very thankful for what he did for me, for you.

At this time of the year let us think how we can give of ourselves, and use our talents for constructive purposes, to build up not to destroy, to bring joy not pain, to give and not expect anything in return.

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” (Jim Elliott)