A tale of adventure through Europe, Africa, and Asia in a Land Rover Series III
‘More tea?’ I asked, as we finished up our pancakes. Alec passed his mug for a refill, whilst checking over the day’s route ahead on the map.
‘Well, I guess we’ll just keep the compass bearing due south once we leave the tarred road’ commented Alec. ‘The map shows hardly any trail at all for the desert crossing. Today we must prepare for the long-haul journey. I’ll take the jerry cans and their carrying frames off the roof rack and fit them on the sides of the Land-Rover.’
‘Okay, I’ll do the washing and then restock the cupboards with more dried food from the roof box,’ I added.
After the chores were done we walked into Ghardaia, a pleasant town spread out in the valley with housing areas on three hills, each with its own minaret. In the market we were surprised to see a variety of fresh vegetables for sale in the desert location. After two hours roaming around Ghardaia we walked back to the campsite to collect the Land-Rover. We called in at the garage for fuel and the attendant filled the two petrol tanks and six jerry cans to the brim.
The tarmac road led us through the gravel desert with multihued sand dunes in the distance, from soft, dull beiges to bright, golden orange as the sun lit up and cast shadows across the landscape. We passed herds of sheep, goats, donkeys and camels. It was hard to see what they survived on, with such sparse vegetation.
Reaching El Golea, a palm grove oasis, we stopped to refuel again and top up our water supply while we had the chance. We continued on a few miles to be well away from any dwellings and found a great parking spot with a marvelous view of the oasis and two nearby lakes. A vivid crimson sunset was painted in the sky.
We always parked facing our most direct route away in case any emergency situation should arise, such as unwelcome, threatening locals. Not that we’d had any cause to be concerned, as the people were generally very friendly and left us in peace. However, whilst travelling in a strange land we thought it wise to take such precautions. We had read that overlanders were advised to park near to dwellings, but we preferred to be well apart. That way we could be alert to any unusual sounds and take action if necessary. We also cherished the quietness after a full day’s drive with the noise of the Land-Rover engine thundering in our ears.
By seven the next morning, exactly one month since leaving England, we drove away from our campsite along a good surfaced road. For hours we went across completely flat, featureless gravel plains – although the land in fact rose 1,000 feet over the 200 miles as we headed into a strong wind, making slow progress. We became hypnotized by the sameness and thought it would never end.
Suddenly we reached the ridge of a 300 feet high escarpment where a panoramic, rugged canyon opened out before us with high, rocky cliffs, cowboy country-type buttes and sand dunes. To top it all we found Ian and Barbara, the New Zealand couple we’d met at the Ghardaia campsite, had already arrived and put the kettle on. I photographed the scene before us, had a cuppa and drank in the majestic vista.
We continued on a further forty miles before we parked up for the night on the sand dunes, two miles north of In Salah: the last outpost before we would tackle the desert for real.
In the morning Alec changed the engine oil and did a final pre-desert-crossing check of the Land-Rover. We drove the short distance to the red clay town of In Salah and went on walkabout. There we bumped into an English couple who had driven north from Zambia. Ian and Barbara happened to come by too, so the four of us genned up on what to expect on the route ahead. We made plans with Ian and Barbara to travel together for the first part of the desert crossing.
Next we stopped at the police station to register that we were driving south to Tamanrasset. Supposedly they’d send out a search party, if we didn’t arrive and report at the destination police station, after the expected period of time it took to travel across the desert.
It was vital to take the maximum amount of fuel on board, so Alec took down the extra six metal jerry cans from behind the box on the roof rack. Once filled, they were stored in the back of the Land-Rover to be used to top up the main fuel tanks as soon as possible. In total we had seventy-five gallons of fuel and twenty gallons of water for the desert crossing. We felt well prepared for the challenge and excited to see how our Land-Rover would perform off road, using all its cross-country capabilities.
At noon we left In Salah, with Ian and Barbara in convoy, as the Imam’s call to prayer hailed from the mosque. Alec drove, while I kept busy making notes of the changing scenery and landmarks. 146 miles later the tarmac road stopped and the Land-Rover plunged straight into the desert.
‘Unbelievable!’ I cried. ‘You’d have thought there would be some indication of where to go. There’s no markers, no cairns, no stakes, just dozens of wheel tracks going every which way through the sand.’
Alec hesitated for a moment, wondering which track to choose, as none was more defined than another. ‘Hang on, I’ll follow that local Land-Rover bombing along. He should know where he’s going.’ Alec headed off in a southeasterly direction, following the cloud of dust chucked up by the stranger’s vehicle. Ian and Barbara followed closely in their Dormobile and we added to the many tracks going the same way.
Twenty-five miles on, we were stuck in soft sand, but with a united push our vehicle was soon out. Not long after we called a halt and parked up for the night, just where we were, hoping there would be no nighttime travelers careering across the sand. Celebrating our arrival in the desert, Barbara served us each a slice of delicious Christmas cake and a mug of hot chocolate.
The next morning, with unknown hazards before us, our two vehicles set off from camp at seven. I recorded in our diary as much as I could of what we were seeing out of the window, taking compass readings as well, as we rocked and rolled along, driving over bone-shaking corrugated tracks when even your teeth felt as if they could fall out.
‘Whoa, looks like they’re in trouble,’ Alec said, when he saw in the rearview mirror that Ian and Barbara’s Dormobile was firmly stuck in the sand. He slowed down and returned to where they were. ‘Need a hand?’ Alec asked as we pulled alongside. ‘Too right, man. It’s stuck solid,’ Ian replied. ‘Stop revving the engine, you’re going nowhere. Your back wheels are just spinning,’ Alec cautioned.The belly of the Dormobile was nestled firmly on a wide ridge of sand. It looked like a beginner swimmer doing doggy paddle: a lot of flailing of limbs, but going nowhere. The van was stuck in a sea of sand and needed our help.
‘Okay, all hands on deck,’ Alec said as he took our shovel out of the back of the Land-Rover. Ian fetched his and they dug out the sand from underneath and in front of all four wheels of the Dormobile. Then they made a slope in front of the vehicle for it to climb up out of its trap. Barbara and I did our bit when the guys needed a breather.
‘That should do,’ said Alec. ‘Now where are your sand ladders?’
Barbara brought their two sand ladders from the back of their van. Ian climbed back into the driver’s seat and put the van into first gear. Alec firmly positioned the ladders in front of the two rear driving wheels.
‘Come over here, girls, and be ready to push,’ Alec directed. Barbara and I positioned ourselves at the back of their vehicle. We were poised to quickly retrieve the ladders, as the wheels would drive them down into the sand and we didn’t want to lose them. ‘Ready?’ asked Ian as he turned on the engine. ‘Go ahead,’ Alec shouted.
We three pushed hard. The wheels moved forwards, on and off the sand ladders, but immediately got stuck again in the gripping sand. Not enough momentum to keep going forward. ‘Oh heck, what the devil do we do now!’ exclaimed Ian as he jumped out of the van. ‘We’ll have to use our winch,’ Alec decided. ‘But first she’ll need digging out again.’
We fetched our water bottles and took a good swig of hot fluid. Nothing stayed cool in the desert. The temperature right then was 90˚F with no shade. We all wore the traditional Bedouin headdress to help protect our heads and necks from the sun’s unrelenting rays. Feeling shattered, but knowing we had to free the Dormobile without delay, we dug the sand away again, then repositioned the ladders at that time behind the rear wheels.
Alec climbed up onto the bonnet of the Land-Rover and stood on the spare wheel. He unlocked the lid of the wooden storage box and reached in for a long hemp rope. Then he jumped down and carried this across to the stricken vehicle. He attached the rope securely to the chassis, beneath its back doors. Alec walked back to our Land-Rover with the rest of the rope and wound the other end around the capstan winch. Meanwhile I got in the driver’s seat of our vehicle, ready to turn on the engine and press the accelerator when instructed. Ian was back at the wheel of his van and Barbara stood by watching the sand ladders, ready to retrieve them as soon as their vehicle was out of the way.
‘All set,’ Alec called.
Thumbs up from everyone.
‘Jan, turn the engine on, but don’t put it in gear. I’ll tell you when to press the accelerator.’ With the engine on, Alec pulled the lever on the winch and it engaged. He indicated to me to accelerate the engine slowly. The capstan turned, pulling on the rope, which became taut. We were all eyes on the van. Slowly, slowly it began to edge its way out of the sand’s grip. The power of the engine exerted itself through the rope and suddenly the Dormobile was free. ‘Hurray!’ we all cheered.
Back en route for only three miles when Ian and Barbara’s vehicle was stuck again. We turned back a second time, only to drive our Land-Rover into deep, soft sand. Fortunately, with digging and using the sand ladders, both vehicles moved onto firmer ground.
That evening we parked by a hill that glowed golden with the setting sun. Sand was everywhere in the Land-Rover and we looked and felt dirty. There was sand in our hair, eyes, ears and noses, under our fingernails and between our toes. Alec and I had as good a wash as we could, using a small bowl of water, soap and a flannel.
Ian and Barbara, who had parked the other side of the hill, popped around after dinner. We drank Ovaltine and mulled over the day’s antics before retiring for a well-earned sleep, having driven 272 miles across the first section of the Sahara. We felt satisfied with our achievement, but not complacent – for who knew what the following day would bring?
About Strangers Like Angels:
Travel alongside Alec and Jan Forman, during their 1977 overland adventure across 40,000 miles, through 29 countries, in Europe, Africa, and Asia. Navigating with only a map and compass they drove their Land Rover Series III with a passion to explore more of the world, engage with others, and embrace global cultures. Get the full story by reading their book, Strangers Like Angels: With a Devil or Two to Boot, available for purchase on their website: www.strangerslikeangels.com
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