Not long ago, I was sent far away as a consultant on a most interesting project. I would like to relate to you a rather peculiar adventure that took place, but I must warn you that my mission was somewhat secret, obliging me to change the names of the persons and places involved. This, I think, will not detract from the story.
In case you have ever wondered how to find a big black hole on a big black night in the middle of nowhere … read on. I quote from my journal, appropriately censored, of course.
We are in a far-away land traveling down a lonely highway through a rough, barren desert. Sunset is just creeping up on us when the organizer of our expedition announced that he has arranged for a guide (let’s call him Abdullah) to take us to a dramatically beautiful and magnificent place which we’ll call Al Jamil Al Kabeer Canyon. All we know is that it’s out there somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
Abdullah the guide appears right on schedule. I notice his vehicle has four-wheel drive (which ours doesn’t) and I gird myself for what I’m sure is going to be an adventure.
Off the tarmac, we follow Abdullah in our car along a track that winds through huge, bizarrely shaped sandstone formations. Abdullah is driving at breakneck speed, slipping and sliding in the loose sand—which covers many parts of the track—while skillfully dodging rocks and boulders, more and more of which seem to be appearing as darkness falls over the scene.
The driver of our own car, Ali, does a fine job of keeping up and only occasionally does the car bounce so high that our heads hit the ceiling. Despite Ali’s valiant efforts, however, it appears that our vehicle can’t keep up with the 4WD, so, finally, we stop, abandon our car and pile into Abdullah’s big, strong Land Cruiser. Ali generously volunteers to stay with our car in order to guard our gear.
It is now blacker than the blackest night. Abdullah, undaunted, plunges into the darkness at a faster-than-ever speed. “How could he possibly know the way?” I ask myself. Soon I begin to suspect that he doesn’t, because he changes direction again and again.
Suddenly (remember we are in a lonely stretch of a vast desert), the lights of another car appear in the distance. We draw near. By pure chance that car is full of young guys who not only know where the canyon is – they just happen to be going there! Hey, I thought things like this only happen in Mexico!
We now follow our new friends, slip-sliding on the sand, weaving through rocky outcrops. All pretense of a track has totally disappeared. It seems an eternity, but actually it’s only 30 minutes until our headlights reveal a great back chasm straight ahead of us. We slam on the brakes and pile out of the cars. We walk in front of the cars only a few steps and everyone gasps. We’re on the edge of a sheer drop, a gaping maw that takes our breath away – and there’s no barrier or sign to indicate it’s there for the occasional pickup truck typically speeding across the desert at night. “How deep is it?” I ask one of the youths, who speaks a little English.
“Two hundred meters straight down,” he says. We take him at his word, as we can see absolutely nothing.
Now we take pictures – not of the canyon, of course, but of each other clowning around, perched on the tip of a flat wedge of rock sticking out over the edge. Naturally, because all photos of the expedition are top secret, you’ll just have to imagine the scene. After much joking, laughing and speculating about what this canyon must look like in the daylight, we leave.
Now the challenge is to find Ali and our car without a) getting hopelessly stuck in the sand or b) blowing several tires on the sharp-edged rocks which keep appearing out of nowhere. Half an hour later, my GPS shows that we are still three kilometers from our car and racing off in the wrong direction. My companions have come to the same conclusion and we are getting nervous … but we hesitate to inform Abdullah of this as he is a Bedu and we are foreign city-slickers.
Then, at that precise moment, occurs another of those seemingly miraculous events which I thought could only happen in Mexico. A set of car lights suddenly appear in the distance, straight ahead of us. A great cheer goes up. It’s our driver, Ali, tooling around in the dark, three kilometers from where he should be waiting for us! He has broken every rule of desert survival and navigation by leaving the appointed spot. But here he is and all is well. Abdullah doesn’t seem the least surprised and there are smiles and backslapping all around. Our adventure comes to a happy end and yet another legend of desert lore is born.