Soon the road began a steep climb into the ranges. The Land Rover came into its own on these boulder-strewn, precipitous roads, although the temperature gauge climbed alarmingly as we switchbacked to the top of the range. Huge, contorted folds of bare rock were exposed like a geological map, no vegetation veiling the outcrops. And just what did those goats find to eat?

This was the land of the Shihuh - a dwindling tribe of incredibly hardy mountaineers, its men naked to the waist and speaking an archaic language unrelated to the Arabic of the coastal towns. Most had now been lured down to the coastal settlements by the Omani government's new schools, electricity, running water and clinics. Their hamlets, terraced fields and stone towers stood empty and untended beneath the unyielding sun.

When we met a lone Shihuh wanderer, he refrained from threatening us with his distinctive traditional small axe - reputedly the terror of the lowland townspeople - but gestured politely for some water. The aridity of these mountains was emphasized by the stone-walled, terraced fields, climbing 1000 metres straight up from the gorges and all the more remarkable for their utter barrenness. One sheer cliff face, reached only by a trail which was treacherous even in our rugged leather boots, held caves painstakingly walled in beneath an underhanging ledge. From fear of whom or what was this impregnable fortress constructed?

For ourselves, the greatest hazards lay in sunstroke, mechanical breakdown, or the giant black-and-yellow hornets which droned endlessly above our heads.