These Trails Built Oman. Now They’re Vanishing.

There are parts of Oman where the land still remembers how people once moved through it. Before asphalt, before four-wheel drives, before destinations were pinned on digital maps, there were trails that were narrow, patient lines etched into mountainsides by hooves, bare feet and time. They connected villages to one another, the interior to the coast, families to trade and survival. Many of those paths still exist. Fewer people remember why.
It was this quiet disappearance that drew Hamdoon al Hashmi, founder of Navigator Expedition, into the Western Al Hajar Mountains late last year. Over nine days, he and a small team retraced a 125-kilometre route once used by villagers and traders not as a challenge to be conquered, but as a record to be preserved. “As modernisation moves quickly, these trails are slowly fading from memory,” Hamdoon shared. “I wanted to walk one before it disappeared entirely.” Unlike Oman’s better-known mountain routes like the Balcony Walk on Jabal Shams or the curated trails of Al Jabal Al Akhdhar, this path remains largely unmarked and uncommercialised. It begins in Hadash, a village now known among climbers for its sheer limestone walls, and threads its way through Aqbat Hadash, Al Suwgra, Al Rus, Birkat Al Sharaf and Murabadh.

To walk it is to move not only across geography, but across eras. Terraced farms appear without warning. Stone huts sit abandoned yet intact. Villages emerge where hospitality remains instinctive rather than staged.

From there, it cuts across remote shelters above Al Hamra, climbs to the summit of Jabal Shams, the country’s highest peak, before descending towards Hail Al Shas and ending in Misfat Al Abriyeen “You see how people once lived with the land, not against it,” Hamdoon said. “Nothing feels accidental.”
This was not a spontaneous undertaking. Planning began more than a year earlier, involving detailed route mapping, satellite navigation, radio coordination and emergency protocols. Several sections of the trail remain inaccessible by vehicle even today, requiring the team to rely on donkeys to transport water and supplies to high-altitude checkpoints, the same method used by earlier generations.
Two fellow adventurers joined Hamdoon: Ibrahim bin Said bin Abdullah al Abri, an experienced long-distance trekker, and Mohammed bin Khalid bin Saif al Rawahi, a coach specialising in outdoor skills development. They set off from Hadash Guesthouse in the early morning, the surrounding mud houses carrying the quiet dignity of age.

The mountains imposed their rhythm quickly. The ascent towards Aqbat Hadash was steep and unrelenting, demanding both physical endurance and mental discipline. Cold nights followed long days. Horizons stretched endlessly. “You adapt,” Hamdoon said. “The mountains don’t rush you, but they don’t adjust for you either.” Midway through the expedition, the fragility of such journeys became clear. At around 2 am, Mohammed was struck by severe kidney pain. The emergency plan was activated, and he was evacuated to a hospital in Al Jabal Al Akhdhar. He rejoined the team the following day, recovered but resolute. The episode served as a reminder that preparation matters as much as ambition and that endurance is often mental before it is physical.
If hardship defined the terrain, generosity defined the people. In one mountain village, a family slaughtered a goat and invited to share a meal with the trekkers. Around the fire, stories were exchanged not only of the trail, but of how life in Oman has changed, and what has been gained alongside what has been lost. “Hospitality here isn’t a performance,” Hamdoon reflected. “It’s instinct. You are a guest, and that is enough.”

The landscapes themselves resist easy description. Juniper trees stand twisted like sculpture. Golden grass clings to cliffs, giving sections of the Western Al Hajar Mountains an almost savannah-like appearance. Hidden settlements such as Al Maawil Cave reveal dwellings carved directly into rocks, reminders of how mountain life once demanded ingenuity and restraint. “Standing there,” Hamdoon said, “I kept asking myself why we travel abroad for trekking when this exists here.”
That question carries broader implications. Globally, adventure tourism continues to expand, driven by travellers seeking experiences rooted in nature, culture and challenge rather than luxury alone. Oman, with its varied terrain and living heritage, is well placed to benefit, provided development is approached with care.
Hamdoon believes this Western Hajar route could one day stand alongside iconic international treks, bringing economic opportunity to mountain communities while safeguarding their traditions. But he is cautious. “Development has to be responsible,” he said. “Once a trail is reshaped too much, you lose what made it meaningful in the first place.”

The purpose of the expedition was not to promote a product or launch a destination, but to document a route before it is altered by modern projects. The Western Al Hajar Mountains hold more than dramatic views. They hold memory, of movement, trade, resilience and community.
As Oman continues to modernise, the question is not whether progress will happen, but whether it will leave room for the paths that shaped the country long before highways did. These trails are not relics. They are living records of how people once understood their land.
For Hamdoon, the trek marked both the fulfilment of a long-held ambition and the beginning of a larger mission: to tell stories that outlast social media cycles, and to remind Omanis that some of the country’s most valuable routes are the ones nearly forgotten.
In the Western Al Hajar Mountains, the mountains are still waiting. The question is whether we are willing to walk them and remember why they mattered.