If the rope snaps right now, I’m dead. It’s as simple as that. This is the thought that I’ve been trying to block out of my head for the last 15 minutes but as I pause to catch my breath after what seems like an eternity of panting, I’m finally forced to confront the reality of my situation.
I’m dangling mid-air on the end of a cord, almost 100m off the ground. But not perched by some picturesque cliff, you understand. Instead, I’m buried deep inside the bowels of the Eastern Hajar Mountains in Oman.
Having abseiled down several limestone rock faces into a vast underground chamber the size of a 30-storey office block, where very few Westerners (and even fewer Omanis) have gone before, my only way out is to shimmy up a rope that’s dangling down from the pinprick of light far above. Hopefully, it’s securely bolted into the rock at the top.
There is a reason for this apparent madness. All my life, I’ve been afraid of heights. I get sweaty palms just climbing a stepladder to change a light bulb in my flat. So in a bid to conquer my fear once and for all, I’ve decided to throw myself in at the deep end.
Right now there’s no bigger or better place to go climbing than Oman. Of late there’s been a lot of talk about how our planet has nowhere new left to explore, and yet here is a country where ‘undiscovered’ cave systems are only just appearing on the map. OK, so locals may have known about them for years, but most of them are far too sensible to go ferreting about in black holes. For climbers, though, this place is one big adventure playground.
Throughout the country there are clusters of sinkholes, which belie the huge networks of natural tunnels that lie beneath. Many of them, including the Hoti Cave, close to the capital, Muscat, contain subterranean lakes where weird and wonderful wildlife dwells, such as the pink-coloured ‘blindfish’.
Others, such as Majlis al Jinn, are renowned for their sheer size. Those who are brave (or bonkers) enough to venture in there on the end of a rope will suddenly find themselves suspended in a space the size of seven aircraft hangars. It’s so huge that it could house the Great Pyramid of Giza.
Unfortunately Majlis al Jinn was out of bounds during my visit, the government having decided to close the site while it works out a plan for opening it up to day-trippers. Instead, my guide, Justin Halls, took me to a nearby cave called Seventh Hole – more scenic inside but (sadly) no less intimidating for yours truly.
‘As a novice climber, you would never get to tackle anything like this in the UK – or even Europe,’ Justin informed me in Muscat on my first day, while kitting me out with helmet and harnesses. ‘The terrain out here is massive and totally unique.’
Seventh Hole and its neighbours are accessed by bolting a rope to the rock and dropping it into the abyss. You then abseil down it and haul yourself back up. Although this requires considerable upper body strength, the taskis not quite as Herculean as it sounds. Joined to your harness are two clips – a jumar and a croll – each of which has little metal teeth that bite into the rope to stop you slipping back down. The jumar is attached to a pair of foot straps and, as you slide it up the rope, you then simply stand up in the straps, and the croll, which is joined to your chest, automatically moves with you. Keep doing this for 45 minutes and you’ll work your way up the rope, finally emerging into the fresh air, completely cured of vertigo. At least, that was the plan.
