53rd day (The Real Deal)

If we were to compare shvil yisrael to astronomy, then it resembles one of the star constellations - a series of straight lines joining up in a pattern. Our shvil yisrael, however, would resemble the big bang, a random collection of parts being thrown apart. Since we've hit the Negev, there have barely been 3 segments that we've walked in sequence. The principle reason for the higgledy-piggledy manner in our progress towards Eilat has been the difficult logistics. If you tried to pencil our journey on a map, you would end up with a lot of scribble on your page.

And so day 2 had us starting 60 km north of where we finished the previous day, 40 shvil kilometres north of where we were 2 years ago and exactly where we got washed out 12 months ago. Just a reminder. We're walking in a southerly direction.

It would be somewhat of an understatement to say that Yoni and I were facing the day with some trepidation. Garry is fitter today than he was when we were at school, regular running 10 km "fun" runs. Mark spends hours on the treadmill in between reading the morning papers and Irwin's dog takes him for long daily walks. Yoni walks occasionally around his home territory and I unsuccessfully try to convince myself that walking 500 metres to pick up the mail constitutes exercise. Yesterday was a nice stroll that we got through quite easily. Today was the real deal. Starting with Mt Yahav.  I have to give Yoni credit for thinking ahead.  As we stopped for coffee en route yesterday, he pocketed a handful of salt sachets, in anticipation of the inevitable cramps we would endure on this hard day.

The weather forecast predicted sand storms developing in the area and Itzik, our desert 4*4 desert taxi driver, was a little concerned for our wellbeing. So were we. He drove us the few km past Gev Holit to the base of mount Yahav and made us promise to ring him if and when we got out.

Mt. Yahav may not be the Matterhorn, but from where we stood at its base, it looked pretty damned scary. Sometimes, once you start climbing, it turns out to be not quite as bad as you expected. Well here's the point. This wasn't one of those times. From the base I gulped in fear as I saw what we were about to climb. And then I gulped for air as I climbed, one slow foot after the other. As we reached the top, and looked over the view both beneath us and in the distance, it almost made the climb worthwhile. Seriously, there is no doubt at all that the views were worth the climb. As much as I might complain about the exertion, if I had to choose between the easy day and the "nice" views or the hard day with amazing views, it's a no brainer.

 

 To use another cliché, what goes up must come down. And so it is with the shvil. After panting our way to the top of Mt. Yahav, we had a few hundred metres of breathtaking (literally) walking along a ridge with stunning views, each direction, different. The descent down the mountain continued with beautiful views ahead of us.

We were walking now in Nachal Tzvira. This creek must get relatively, for desert, a lot of rain, since there were many acacia trees. Sometimes we'd pass a large single tree in the middle of the wadi. Alternately there were bunches of trees in a compact area. Not quite a forest, but here in the desert you have to be thankful for whatever shade you can get. Besides the large quantity of trees, we saw large white chafe marks along the ground and running over a ledge. These swathes of scraping are caused by flash floods dragging rocks and other debris along the river bed. Every area we walk through seems to have slightly different water markings.

As so often on these shvil days, the walking was pleasant, the company good and if not for all the talk about the upcoming elections, we could have almost forgotten that there was a whole world outside these few kilometres of dry valleys. We grew up as good, young socialists in the youth movement in Melbourne and have stayed, more or less, on the general left wing side of the political map, though perhaps today with a little less of the socialist fervor than in our youth.  Except for one of us, who Garry feared had been overcome by Stockholm Syndrome, taking the views of his superiors. Go figure.

 We knew we had one more good climb for the day and not long after passing the Nachal Tzvira camp ground, the path departed the wide valley and climbed up a narrow crack in the side of the mountain. This may not have been as steep or as long as our little Mt Yahav jaunt, but my legs were 10 km older. Yoni was also starting to feel his legs and cramps threatened to make his walking even more difficult. He took two sachets of the salt that he'd filched the previous day from his pocket, poured them down his throat, drank some water to take the taste out of his mouth and voila, no cramps. He whizzed up this un-named mountain like a true athlete. Well, not quite. The whizzing up the mountain was left to Garry, Mark and Irwin.

Other than his desire to torture us once again, Mr Shvil painter led us up this path in order to take us to the Tzvira heights geological formations. These took the form of a series of deep slits in the ground, sort of like dried and cracked mud, but over the area the size of a football field with cracks that go metres deep. We were quite high up and this phenomenon occurred close to the edge of a cliff, so I can only imagine that its cause has something to do with water running over the cliff. There was a piece of flat rock, about a metre wide, that jutted out of the cliff. The view from this protrusion was stunning and I wanted to see if I could walk along it to experience this amazing view. I guess I'm glad to say that the innate human trait of fear as an aid to self-preservation kicked in. Other than spiders, I don't have any fears. Not claustrophobia, not fear of flying, not strangers and generally not fear of heights. As I neared the start of this outcrop and saw the 300 metres sheer drop in front of me, my stomach knotted, my heart pounded and I felt physically ill. I had no intention of reaching the end of the 20 metres long stone plank above the abyss anyway, but  my subconscious survival mechanism obviously had kicked in, telling my body to give my tiny conscious brain a warning. I have never in my life felt such pure fear and I hadn't even started to put myself in harm's way. Once I'd gotten my breath back I viewed the panorama in front of me from a safe couple metres from the edge.

I was the only one even vaguely interested in this geological site and its rocky outcrop. The others continued on, discussing the merits of Kahlon's housing policy and whether Boozzy Herzog has what it takes to be PM. We also started to discuss the end of the shvil. Having completed this leg and the shorter leg on the previous day, we have about 80 km to go. Nothing. We found ourselves planning the next projects; Shvil Hamayanot in the Beit She'an valley and Shvil Golan, through the Golan Heights. But first, we have to get to Eilat and that is proving to be taking a very long time.

By the time I caught up with them we'd started the long steep descent down the other side of the Tzvira plateau and into Nachal Ashbourne which in turn leads to Nachal Karkeset. The walking inside these dry creek beds was not difficult but quite varied. Sometimes the valley was broad with high cliffs abound and at other times we would find ourselves traversing a narrower channel with less grand but equally as interesting views. We also sighted an exceptionally rare animal, thought extinct. The through shviller. This was our first sighting for a long long time. They were an American couple, looking young, fit and enthusiastic for the journey ahead. They started in Eilat, 150 shvil kms to the south, so they have a long way to go. We wished them godspeed.

As we descended from the Tzvira heights plateau and the geological cracks, the weather started to change. What had started as pleasantly warm and sunny with some cloud coming and going, turned hazy and windy. The haze was caused by sand being whipped up and carried by the wind. By the time we had crossed Nachal Ashbourne into Nachal Karkeset, there was a lot of sand flying around. The forecast sand storm was blowing in. And it wasn't pleasant. Mostly the wind was behind us, which made the walking easier and the sand less obtrusive. Occasionally the path or the wind would change direction and we were stung by sand from the side or head on. It got into every hole in our body. Luckily, we'd done 5 hours of walking in perfect conditions and only during the last 45 minutes did we have to face these conditions. If it had started earlier, thus forcing us to walk through the sand storm for a longer period, I wouldn't have described the day in such a positive way. Instead, I can put it down to one of those experiences that you have on the shvil, amongst the thousands of others. In fact, given that we didn't have to deal with it for too long, I'd venture to say that I'm sort of glad we had it.

We arrived back to the car at Sapir just in time. As we drove north the conditions quite quickly worsened, with more haze and stronger winds. For once, God had smiled on us. I'm not sure the young couple we'd met a few hours earlier were smiling back at God.

Reflecting back, today's walk had everything the desert could offer. Wide valleys and narrow valleys, spectacular views in all directions, rock climbing, steep drops, acacia forests, and a sand storm to finish it off. It was the real deal.

52nd day (Soft Landing)

36 hours away, 9 hours driving, 10 hours walking,

 840 km driving, 30 km walking

Sounds insane? To me too. The things we have to do to finish the shvil.

Initially we had wanted to hike for 4 or 5 days in order to get the majority of what remains for us to do on Shvil Yisrael out of the way. However, as we've seen so much over these past few years, life gets in the way of shvil (And the distance we need to travel to get to the shvil doesn't help much, either.) So in the end, it was a quick dash down to almost Eilat, walk a bit and dash back home. It's better than nothing.

So there I was, 4.30 in the morning, waiting for Garry and Irwin in Carmiel. Irwin is a recently retired prison officer who, besides being an old friend, came along to make sure we didn't get out of line. I hope he was more successful this time than what he was 40 years ago, when he was our madrich (group leader) in the youth movement back in Melbourne. Conversely, I hope we gave him less of a hard time now than we did 40 years ago. It's probably taken him these past 40 years to forgive us for the mayhem we caused back then. Who, us?

The plan was to drive four and a half hours this morning so we could walk 3 hours to Shacharut, which is about 45km north of Eilat. After that we planned to backtrack to Sapir and complete the leg that got washed out on new year's eve 2014. Despite Yoni's general lack of satisfaction in the overall planning of the trip, describing it derisively as laissez fare, much to his surprise, for once, almost everything went to plan.

By 10.30 we had met up with Mark, driven a good way past the most southern point we had walked to till now and turned off route 12 to route 3390876, or some such back road, which is also the road to the Ovdat military airport. At least if we got lost today, they wouldn't have far to get the search and rescue going. The shvil markers that would tell us that we hadn't driven all this way for nothing were meant to be somewhere opposite the airport. Soon enough, we found the shvil marker that would take us into the Casui sand dunes national park. These are the only sand dunes on shvil yisrael and thought it might be fun to roll down the dunes like little kids. The sign at the top of the path, however, said we were about to enter the Sacharut Cliffs national park? Not good. Now I am the first to admit and my friends readily agree that I am dysmaptic. I cannot read a map. It's a spatial recognition thing that my brain refuses to process the information properly. Perhaps it's just my feminine side being stronger…you know…it's a known fact that women can't read maps and can't throw balls. Neither can I.

 Dysmaptic, feminine or whatever, my reading of the map was that we had over shot the day's starting point. We backtracked a bit and found a sign that pointed us to the Casui Dunes. I still wasn't satisfied. I insisted that this was the exit, not the entrance. Over the course of these past 5 years on shvil, 10 years of walking together or 40 years of friendship, my companions have justifiably learnt that when I say north, go south. And yet, they listened to me. And I was right. So 20 minutes after we arrived to the general area of Ovdat Military Airport, Shacharut Cliffs and Casui Dunes, we parked both cars (Mark lives in a different part of the country to us and comes in his own car) at the top of the shvil yisrael marked path that would lead us to the dunes. Logic would dictate that once we had found the correct starting point, we park a car at the end so we can easily get back to the car at the start. This, however, would entail jumping back and forward now with both cars and it was getting late in the morning. We had been in the cars since 4.30 and I just wanted to start walking. My skew logic said that the settlement of Shacharut, which is our finishing point, is so out of the way, that anyone going past will stop for us. On Tuval, where I live, you stand at the entrance and everyone going past stops to give you a lift. Here too, I had so much faith in human nature that no driver would zoom past you if you were trying to hitch a ride in the middle of the desert. My friends had less faith in human nature and even less belief that a car would come along the most remote road in Israel. Yet somehow, my friends bowed to my warped logic and we parked both cars together, at the beginning. They made me promise that if we didn't succeed in hitching a ride, I would walk the 15km back along the road to pick a car up. You're going to have to wait till the end to see who was right.

The walking turned out to be quite nice. Not "wow" "amazing" "stunning". You generally have to work really hard, climbing up mountains, to get the "wow" views. That would come tomorrow. Meanwhile, we had "nice". The trail started along an undistinguished route, sand and pebbles under foot, hills and dry creek beds around. There obviously had been some rain this season, because the creek beds were lined with very pretty, little desert flowers, blooming after some winter precipitation. Nice. Yoni, being grumpier than usual at the easy going, it'll-be-alright, laissez fare approach, was convinced something wasn't right, since we were heading east rather than south. He should know by now that Mr Shvil Painter often takes us west, east or even north, when he wants us to head south. Sure enough, after 20 minutes of walking, the path took a sharp right hand turn, up an equally as sharp a hill and in the general southerly direction that we were meant to be walking.  The short uphill we had walked brought us to the sand dunes. Once again, they were nice enough, but not any more amazing than what I remember of Woolamai on Phillip Island as a kid. Certainly not so amazing that I would drive 5 hours from Tuval to see it, but if it's on shvil yisrael, shoyn, we walk it. After walking another 30 minutes or so on a sort of plateau above the dunes, the path dropped down a bit, twisted a bit, and took us back to the road, where we had thought that this was the starting, rather than middle, point.

We were about to do something we hadn't done since the very first day on shvil and swore we wouldn't do again. For the next 3 kilometres, we were going to walk along the road. Gevult. We had no choice. This was an unavoidable section between two off road sections. And it wasn't really too bad. I guess 3 km out of the 800 or so we've walked thus far is sufferable. Depending on who you ask of the three of us, we've dodged or driven about 100 km of road walking. If we don't agree upon how exactly how many shvil kilometres we've skipped along roads, or whether we should add in to the count all the extra kilometres that we've walked as a result of getting lost, backtracking or not finding a marker, we do agree that we're not in the least apologetic or upset about not walking on roads. We made a rule at the beginning that we would avoid walking along roads at all cost and have pretty much stuck to it. This 3 km was a pretty innocuous exception to the rule.

After 40 minutes or so of road working, the shvil signs led away from the road, but not by much. The path continued adjacent to the road, but 50 metres away, I assume in order to take us pass some very ancient archeological sites that predate the Israelites entering the Land of Israel. Wiki says these sites are from the Neolithic (late stone age) era and were used as temples to hunter-gatherers in a time where this area was cooler and wetter. It was past mid-day, we'd been walking for a while and hadn't eaten anything at all. And low and behold, up popped a ruin, in reasonable condition, that gave some shade from the not very hot sun and allowed us to sit comfortably against the walls. Very considerate of Mr Stone-Age to put a structure here in 6000 B.C. so 5 idiots can lean against it 8000 years later. That is definitely the oldest wall I've ever leant against.

Well fed and relaxed, we set off, continuing up a hill, down a hill and across the desert. We walked for a bit along a ridge that on either side had valleys that went off in different directions. Nice. The only intrusion into the desert solace was the regular air force fighter jets, transport planes and helicopters that took off and landed from the nearby airport. A reminder that we are, after all, in Israel. Eventually we saw the settlement of Shacharut in the distance and the road that I had to hitch hike along to go back and get a car. I have to admit, it looked a pretty lonely road.

This was the moment of truth, when I had to justify my convincing of my walking partners to go against logic and security. We figured that anyone who might be travelling on this road and who might consider stopping for a hitch hiker might be more likely to do so for one middle aged lunatic rather than 5. My 4 other companions walked a few hundred metres up the road, hidden from anyone who might drive along. I sat by the side of the road, trying to decide how long I would need to wait before it became obvious that no-one travels on this road. Barely 10 minutes passed when suddenly a bus was seen on the horizon. Rubbing my eyes to make sure that it wasn't a Saharan mirage, I stood up and basically plonked myself in the middle of the road. This bus was going to have to run me over if it was going to get past me. The bus driver himself wasn't too sure if I was a mirage or a lunatic. When I asked him to stop for my other 4 lunatic friends a few hundred metres down the road, he perhaps hoped that we were merely a mirage. Tzvika turned out to be a wealth of local information and provided a very pleasant 10-minute ride back to the beginning. Like we've seen so often, this shvil adventure isn't just about walking from point A at kibbutz Dan to point Z at Eilat, it's about experiencing things that we would otherwise have no opportunity to experience.

We had a 40 minute drive ahead of us, so when we saw the Ne'ot Smadar restaurant and outlet shop along the way, a coffee stop seemed appropriate. It appears that kibbutz Ne'ot Smadar  is a new-age refuge for aging hippies and young politically correct do-gooders. The carefully designed restaurant and shop, made of wood (I hope no forests were chopped down to supply the wood), projected calm, serenity and a deep desire to make money. There was over-priced organic cheese, over-priced organic wine, organic soap, organic olive oil and more. Organic maybe, fair trade certainly not. The only thing that broke the chain of peace, love and show-us-your-money was the girl taking the orders at the coffee counter. She had a healthy dose of attitude, bad temper and grumpiness. Finally, something I can identify with. If I had to work here, I too would be as grumpy as a bear been woken in the middle of his hibernation. Nothing a quick puff on a joint around the back wouldn't cure. Still, the coffee was good and the atmosphere relaxed.

 So far today I'd proven myself right. Yoni remained unhappy with the loose arrangements of the trip, especially when he heard that I'd chosen our accommodation in Sapir based solely on price. Generally, you get what you pay for. The accommodation itself was a compromise, given that the rest of us were perfectly happy to camp out or stay in a Bedouin tent. As it happened, the zimmer in Sapir was far better than we had hoped for and far far better than we paid for.

The only decision we had to make, albeit an important one, was where to eat. In this area of the Arrava, our choices are somewhat limited. The Gamalia, where we ate last time we were here, is excellent, but closed on Mondays. The pizza joint sounded not very convincing, and Deck restaurant, located on the deck of the municipal swimming pool, well…what can I say? Luckily, there was a barbeque at the zimmer and having a cook-out orchestrated by chef Paul and sous chef Irwin was an excellent option. There may have been only 5 of us, but I had to prepare 3 different portions; marinated chicken breasts for the food eaters, Portobello mushrooms in olive oil for Garry the vegetarian and now salmon in fennel, olive oil and fine herbs for Yoni, who worryingly eschews poultry and beef these days (I heard a rumour that he has applied for membership at Ne'ot Smadar).

Sitting outside on the patio, drinking beer and eating a great barbecued dinner, in the pleasant winter desert evening, we couldn't help but be reminded how good it was to be back on the shvil.

** Author's note: I may have written some things that may be adjudged as not exactly politically correct. If so, please take them in proportion and in the humor they were meant. Alternately, take a straw and suck it up.