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What’s the use of a fine house if you haven’t got a tolerable planet to put it on?

- Henry David Thoreau

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Adventure Travel

Jan 21, 2017

The Treasures of Oman

This may be a desert, but we've spent nearly every day in water.

WRITTEN BY

Apoorva Prasad

Oman may be a surprising choice for adventures. But its tropical seas, jebels and wadis are perfect outdoor playgrounds for everything from rock climbing and canyoning to sailing and scuba diving.

The entrance to the canyon is a narrow slot in the rock walls, with a boulder blocking the view. We scramble in and out of the sunlight, up the boulder, and look over the other side. A dark, narrow green pool of water lies perhaps thirty feet below. The pool is bookended by a partly submerged rock towards one side of the canyon wall, and a massive chockstone stuck between the walls obstructs our view ahead. A ridge of solidified conglomerate arches outwards from the boulder we’re on, before disappearing out of sight.

This is the entrance to the Left-Hand Fork of the Snake Canyon.

Rob Gardner, mad adventurer, hauls his slightly portly and grey haired self over to the lip of the boulder. He counts himself down and launches into the air, aiming for that precise spot in the water between the rock, the wall and the chockstone. The jump is far enough for the airtime to last a few seconds… He executes a perfect landing, arms tucked in, splashing in and going under, before bobbing to the surface.

It’s my turn.

I am nearly two decades his junior, but I hesitate. It takes me nearly a minute of self-cajoling to make the same leap—and as I land in the water, the force blows a contact lens out of my eye. I surface, turn on my back and manage to grab it as it slips out…. Holding the lens, I swim backwards one-handed towards the gravelly ‘shore’ deeper inside the canyon. Behind me, the last member of our group makes the same jump; while Justin, the guide and two others, a great deal saner than us, have rappelled in directly. It is the start of a six hour adventure—and quite contrary to my description above, it is a completely safe, beginner level canyoning trip run by Rob’s UK-certified company, Muscat Dive & Adventure Centre. Helmets and flotation vests are mandatory.

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Wadi Bani Awf or “Snake Canyon” is one of the best canyoning adventures in Oman. The Left Fork leads into a six-hour adventure filled with jumps into deep green pools, swims through caves and rappels over glimmering water and smooth polished rock. Photo © Meesha Holley/The Outdoor Journal

A rectangular swathe of land on the coast of the Arabian Sea, bordering the vast Rub-Al-Khali on its west and Yemen to the south, Oman’s tropical waters are pristine and filled with marine wildlife; and wadi canyons cut deep rifts within the Jebel mountains in its northwest. Southern Oman’s Dhofar region even has a tropical rainforest. From canyoning to snorkeling, dune-hiking to camping to sailing, Oman is the antithesis of the overbuilt city-states to its north.

There’s a lot of wilderness for exploring when there are only three million inhabitants in 300,000 square kilometers. And Snake Canyon, or Wadi Bani Awf, is one well-known adventure. From higher up on the dirt road, driving to the entrance, we saw it. A deep, narrow, black crack in the rocky brown desert, surrounded by mountains. Like god had sliced into Earth’s rough hide with a knife.

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Snake Canyon is a classified as a beginner-level adventure with the Muscat Dive & Adventure Centre. Photo © Meesha Holley/The Outdoor Journal

After the entrance jump, the first rappel is down a slot between the canyon wall and flash-flood-crafted cascade. A second rappel leads to a water-carved slide down into a long pool. Rappel, jump, splash, swim, boulder, repeat for nearly six hours, over a distance of 3.5km. We move between halls of wonders. The sun is hidden by the vast walls, and we’re deep within the earth. A medium leap a few meters into the dark unknown — splash — a deep-water filled grotto with a beam of sunlight rippling down and reflecting onto the walls. This is a scene straight out of The Goonies. Where’s the pirate treasure, I wonder? It’s this orange dragonfly, or these small fish, darting between my feet in shallow pools as we wade or swim through, or this young brown Wadi Racer that Justin catches and holds up, the eponymous cliff snakes of the canyon. At one point, I began to shiver mildly – the constant jumping in and swim- ming across of pools of deep water inside the gorge left me somewhat cold. That was remarkable considering that out there, at our entrance and exit points, it was over 40°C.

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A long rappel in Snake Canyon leads to a natural slip-and-slide in the rock, and lands you in a large pool. Photo © Meesha Holley/The Outdoor Journal

As we eventually drive back from the canyon at the end of the day, Rob wants his tea. “I want a tomato and cheese sandwich and a cuppa tea. Two cups, actually!” Rob said, in his Liverpool accent, as we joke about the ‘mad dogs and Englishmen’ stereotype. “I came as a desalination engineer, after five years in Bahrain. Then some friends asked me to help them set up a diving trip. Then the word got around. Finally my wife at the time told me, you can’t do both. So I quit my job and started the adventure stuff full time.”

Fifty-five years old, with a son in the military and a daughter in nursing school, Rob’s gray hair and a bulging middle doesn’t do justice to his willingness to jump off cliffs with a war cry relating to his manhood. But it takes a certain type to move abroad, stay and set up an adventure company in a desert country. Their standards remain world-class, and Rob employs guides who have all the certifications possible for high ropes work. They need it. With mountains in the north, rising up to the highest point in Oman, Jebel Shams, (“Mountain of the Sun”) at over 3000m, to deep canyons, pools and the coast. The altitude rise is enough that when we went to Jebel Akhdar (“Green Mountain”), the site of the 1960s ‘Oman Campaign’, the temperature went from 37°C at the base to 24°C up at the top, where we found the spectacularly placed Alila hotel.

Oman has this great mix of luxury and adventure, which can range from mild to extreme. Some of the world’s best climbers and base jumpers have scoped it out, and Red Bull even had a cliff diving competition at the popular Wadi Shab (we did a milder jump from below the high point). Right now, Oman is hot, and in a good way—from rock climbing with FA potential to surfing spots, to via ferrata courses, schools, and of course, what started it all for Rob — diving. Right next to the shore, the sea becomes a bright hot metal grey under the harsh sun. Oman has a history of being a great trading nation, its expert sailors taking out the country’s native frankincense and bringing in spice. We took a small lesson with Oman Sail, which was set up to train the next generation of Omanis and teaches hundreds of students. But for diving, we needed to get a little further out.

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Divers signal the presence of a turtle on the reef at the “Aquarium” dive site, near the Daymaniyat islands. Photo © Meesha Holley/The Outdoor Journal

The Damaniyat Islands are one of Oman’s best dive spots, and a protected marine reserve. Carl and Faye are two British expats (yes, there’s a pattern) and dive instructors who recently moved here from Sri Lanka, to manage a locally owned PADI dive operation, Omanta Scuba Dive Academy. They run day trips for divers of all levels as well as snorkelers. The instructors also carry out weekly dive courses, from the entry level Open Water Diver course all the way to Divemaster and specialty level training. The blond couple look exactly like what they are, a young glamorous couple living the best life in world, traveling, diving, teaching and working in conservation. However, despite the protected status of these waters, illegal fishing does happen, and the couple also find themselves removing illegal nets and cleaning up the area.

It’s a 45 minute high-speed boat ride to the central Damaniyat Island, about 18 km off shore. Suddenly we’re in an aquamarine bay, with exposed rocky coral-like rock rising into a low island with two small beaches. One group dives while another snorkels. We find a green sea turtle, and follow it for a little while, while a moray eel pokes a head out of its hole. The life on this reef is stunning and bountiful. We move to the middle of the ocean above an 18m deep reef to look for larger fish. Schools of batfish follow us around, while we try to not chase the two green turtles. The visibility is incredible, almost like an aquarium (as the site is literally named). I snorkel, and free-dive down nearly to the reef. We spend half a day in the water, before it’s turnaround time.

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On descent we are greeted by large schools of sh enticing us into the world below. Photo © Meesha Holley/The Outdoor Journal

Oman is a cave of wonders, and inside there is the lapis lazuli of the ocean, a cat’s eye of the sun sparkling into deep, green canyon waters and the sapphire blue of the sky after a day filled with adventures. These are all the treasures we could possibly want.

Feature Image: The “Aquarium”, an open water dive and snorkel site in the protected marine reserve of the Daymaniyat Islands has incredible visibility. Over a reef at an average depth of 20m in the open ocean, it’s considered one of the best sites to view larger animals – from turtles to mantas and more. Photo © Meesha Holley/The Outdoor Journal

This Destination story was part of The Outdoor Journal Spring 2016 edition of the print magazine. 

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Features

Feb 20, 2019

The Death Zone

World champion free-diver Pierre Frolla sinks without air to depths unreachable by most scuba divers. One day he nearly didn't make it back to the surface.

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WRITTEN BY

Pierre Frolla

This story originally featured in print, in the fall 2015 issue of The Outdoor Journal

Deep down under the sea, so far away from where you live, I have been through the last seconds of my life.

In 2005 or 2006 (oddly I don’t remember), I had the worst accident of my freediving career. After being world champion in variable weight apnea with a dive at 123 metres, where I used a weighted sled for descent and returned to the surface by pulling myself along a line and using my fins, I was training to go deeper.

“No matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.”

In my sport, risks are quite important. Imagine you’re running a 400-m race. You start way too fast, and after a few hundred meters you’re out of breath and you just can’t go anymore. What do you do? You just stop, walk a bit and slowly catch your breath again. When you’re free diving, no matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.

The basis of my sport is quite simple. Going beyond 100 meters is mythic. Only a few hardcore specialists, including the “no limit” guys can go beyond that. Athletes use a weighted sled to dive down and an inflatable bag to return to the surface. This means that the free diver reduces his energy loss to the max, and that’s exactly why he is able to go so deep. The world record is held by Austrian Herbert Nitsch: 249.5 metres on June 6, 2012, in Santorini, Greece. The problem is that at those depths, water pressure is unbelievable! At 100 m, for example, the pressure is about 11 kg per square centimeter of your skin. Consequently, the volume of air inside the human body is pressured and reduced too. Take an empty but sealed plastic bottle: If you get to this kind of depth, it’ll greatly deform. That plastic bottle is a metaphor for your body. This also means that if water manages to seep somewhere inside you through your mouth or nose, it will do so with such force that it’ll destroy everything in its path. Drowning is inevitable, and no Apneist can be saved in such case, even if experienced help quickly intervenes.

At great depths, nitrogen becomes narcotic and leads to what is called nitrogen narcosis. This kind of intoxication from staying in great depths for too long is the same as when you drink too much. In other words, you lose total control of your body and mind, and you become unaware of potential dangers. Acting like that underwater can kill you, as the slightest mistake will have incredible consequences. In my personal training, I mix apnea in variable weight and other constant weight dives, where I dive only with the force of my arms and legs.

Today, my team and I decide to put the weight to 118 m. I know I can go down 115 m, but we want to push a little, as it’s part of training. Once down, I’ll have no choice but to go back on my own. I also know there will be a small parachute and an oxygen tank hooked to the sled, but neither will be for me. The bottle empties very slowly and inflates the balloon. Both serve only to return equipment back to the surface. It’s easier for us to work like that rather than starting a counterweight system.

If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water?

I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material.

I begin my descent. I pass my midterm diver. Very soon, it gets dark. I do not have glasses because they would serve me for nothing in this environment. So I stand, with my eyes closed. I’m relaxed and sinking slowly in the water like I’m used to. I feel the pressure now, but I also suddenly feel the sledge slowing. Then it stops, softly. Usually it stops dead. When I realize that something is wrong, I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material. It is almost as if moving sands are closing in on me at 112 meters below the surface. It is actually a mixture of clay and silt, a mound a few meters higher than the sonar onboard the boat. It wasn’t identified even though it stood in the stack axis of the descent of my sledge. It’s nobody’s fault; sonar is not so precise.

In no time, I understand what’s happening to me. I’m stuck. I cannot get my feet outside the box, and I know there’s no exit door. I simply do not have enough oxygen to both work my way out of this with strength and go up as I have expected, swimming, with my hands and fins. If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stopped, stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water? I’m dying; that’s it. Today is the day. In 15 seconds, I will have consumed all the remaining air I was keeping for my ascent. I am also a few seconds away from being caught by nitrogen narcosis. I will go crazy right before dying.

“Did I become a vegetable?”

Suddenly, I have an idea. The parachute. Yes! I trigger the opening of the small air valve, which then rushes into the parachute. It’s working but it’s slow and long. So I wait, very still, with my eyes closed. I have no other choice. I try to relax. Everything at 112 m is multiplied by 10. One consumed oxygen molecule at the surface is equal to 10 or 12 molecules consumed at that kind of depth. One second is equivalent to 10 seconds. Time and life are both very cruel at the bottom of an ocean. I am now barely conscious. Finally, I remember feeling the chute tearing me away from my trap like a champagne cork. The ascent back to the surface, back to life, is way too long. When I reach the surface, I have strangely not entirely lost consciousness, but my body no longer responds to my brain. Did I become a vegetable? My team, frightened, retrieves and saves me. If I had not been so well-trained, I would not have survived this scary adventure. Instead of the planned 2 minutes and 40 seconds that I went down under water for, I stayed 3 minutes and 50 seconds. In the boat, I gradually recover and quickly regain all my abilities.

Pierre Frolla reascending to the surface, following the guideline with the sled and parachute attached to it.

A few years later, I’m on a movie set doing 60-m free diving over and over all day long, and an air bubble is created in my brain on one of these repetitive dives. But instead of being redirected into my lungs, it remains stuck in my head. When ascending, inevitably, this tiny compressed air bubble suddenly decompresses and its size gets multiplied by six. I immediately lose consciousness. Later, I wake up in a hyperbaric chamber. I stay there for eight and a half hours. But when I wake up in that box, I cannot feel my body. I’m unable to move. For hours, I do not know if I will stay quadriplegic or not. This awakening in the box is one of my worst-ever memories of free diving. I do not understand what is happening to me. It takes me 30 minutes to remember that I was free diving and to deduce that I certainly had a bad accident.

Apnea is an extreme sport. I’ll remember it always. Yesterday I dived to 113 meters. I’ll do it again tomorrow.

Photos by Franck Seguin

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