Desert Mountains and Ancient Wonders: Hiking the Landscapes of Jericho

When my grandson Jack heard I was planning a solo hiking trip to Jericho at 65, his eyes widened with that particular look of teenage concern. 'Grandpa, isn't that in a... complicated area?' he asked. Smart lad—he's been paying attention to my history lessons.

Jericho sits in the Palestinian territories, about 30km northeast of Jerusalem and 10km north of the Dead Sea. Its position in the Jordan Valley means you're dealing with some of the most extreme temperatures in the region. In spring, when I visited, daytime temperatures were already reaching 30°C (86°F), while dropping significantly at night.

Before setting off, I spent considerable time researching the political situation and permit requirements. Unlike my spontaneous backpacking days in the 70s, travel here requires careful planning. I arranged my trip through a Palestinian tour company that handled logistics for the more sensitive areas, while giving me freedom to hike independently in others.

For preparation, I relied heavily on my hiking GPS which proved invaluable when trail markers disappeared in the desert landscape. I also invested in a comprehensive guidebook to the region's archaeology—something my museum colleagues back in Anchorage had specifically recommended.

My daughter insisted I carry a satellite messenger given the remote nature of some hikes and the spotty mobile coverage. At first I balked at the expense, but having emergency communication capability provided peace of mind for both of us, especially when I ventured into the more isolated mountain paths.

Did you know that Mount Temptation, rising sharply from Jericho's ancient ruins, is believed to be where Jesus was tempted by the devil during his 40-day fast? Whether you're religious or not, there's something extraordinary about hiking a path so deeply embedded in human spiritual history.

I began my ascent at dawn, when temperatures were manageable and the light was perfect for photography. The trail starts near the Tell es-Sultan archaeological site (Old Jericho) and climbs steeply along an ancient path. Don't let anyone tell you it's an easy walk—this is a challenging hike that had this old history teacher stopping frequently to catch his breath (and, conveniently, to explain the historical significance of various viewpoints to imaginary students—old habits die hard).

About halfway up sits the remarkable Monastery of the Temptation (Deir al-Quruntul), literally built into the mountainside. Founded in the 6th century and rebuilt during the Crusader period, it clings to the cliff face like a swallow's nest. The Greek Orthodox monks who maintain it welcomed me with surprising warmth, offering sweet black tea and a moment of respite from the climb.

The view from the summit is nothing short of biblical—the vast Jordan Valley, the Dead Sea glimmering in the distance, and the ancient oasis of Jericho spread below like a living archaeological map. I sat there for nearly an hour, my compact binoculars bringing distant features into sharp focus as I traced the routes of ancient traders, invaders, and pilgrims who had passed through this landscape for millennia.

On the descent, I took the cable car option (yes, there's actually a cable car!) to save my knees and gain a different perspective of this remarkable mountain. The contrast between the ancient monastery and modern infrastructure is jarring but somehow fitting in this land of endless layers.

My third day took me south toward the Dead Sea mountains, where the landscape becomes increasingly surreal. The trail network here connects several important biblical sites, including what some believe to be the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls were hidden—though the more famous Qumran caves lie further south.

I joined a small guided group for this section, led by Mahmoud, a Palestinian archaeologist whose knowledge of the region's complex history rivaled my own (and in many areas, surpassed it—always a delight for a lifelong learner like myself). Our small band included two German geologists, a Canadian biblical scholar, and myself—the retired Australian history teacher with a thousand questions.

"These mountains have been a refuge for thousands of years," Mahmoud explained as we navigated a narrow gorge between towering limestone cliffs. "Prophets, rebels, monks, and nomads—all found sanctuary in these caves and hidden valleys."

The hiking here is technical in places, with some scrambling required and exposure to significant drops. I was grateful for my trekking poles which provided crucial stability on the loose scree slopes. Despite being the oldest in our group by at least fifteen years, I kept pace reasonably well—though I credit decades of bushwalking in Australia's Blue Mountains for that endurance.

We paused for lunch in the shade of an overhanging cliff, where Mahmoud pointed out faint Byzantine-era graffiti etched into the rock face—Greek letters and crude crosses left by pilgrims perhaps 1,500 years ago. It's these small, human connections across time that move me most as a historian.

"Someone sat exactly where you're sitting, Gary," Mahmoud smiled, "eating their lunch and sheltering from the sun, over a millennium ago."

That evening, as we watched the sunset transform the mountains into a palette of burnt orange and deep purple, I couldn't help but think of my classroom back in Sydney, and how inadequately my words and slideshows had captured the profound sense of time and continuity these landscapes evoke.

No visit to Jericho would be complete without exploring Tell es-Sultan, the archaeological site of ancient Jericho and arguably the oldest continuously inhabited settlement on Earth. While not a mountain hike in the traditional sense, exploring this ancient tell (archaeological mound) offers its own form of time travel.

I dedicated a full day to this site, arriving when it opened to avoid both crowds and heat. As a museum volunteer with a background in history education, I'd arranged special access through professional contacts, allowing me to explore areas typically closed to the general public.

The most striking feature is the Neolithic tower dating back to 8000 BCE—standing beside stonework built when humans were just beginning to form settled communities is a profound experience. The defensive walls, famously 'brought down by trumpets' in biblical accounts, have their own fascinating archaeological story that my guide Ahmed was eager to share.

"The earthquake theory makes more sense scientifically," he explained with a wink, "but it doesn't make for such a good story, does it?"

I spent hours wandering the excavated streets, houses, and fortifications spanning millennia of human habitation. My archaeology guidebook proved invaluable for understanding the complex stratigraphy of the site—each layer representing a different era of Jericho's long history.

What struck me most was how the surrounding landscape has shaped human activity here for thousands of years. The nearby spring (Ein es-Sultan) has provided reliable water in this desert region since time immemorial, making Jericho an oasis of green in the otherwise harsh environment.

As the afternoon heat intensified, I found shade beneath a date palm and sketched the ancient ruins in my journal—a habit I've maintained through decades of travel. My grandson Jack collects these sketches, and I could already imagine his face lighting up at the thought of his grandfather drawing the actual walls of Jericho.

The hike through Wadi Qelt to St. George's Monastery (Mar Jaris) represents everything I love about travel—challenging terrain, breathtaking natural beauty, and layers of human history intertwined with the landscape. This deep limestone gorge cuts through the Judean Desert, creating a natural path between Jerusalem and Jericho that has been used by travelers for millennia.

I began the hike at the western end near the settlement of Kfar Adumim, planning to walk the full 8km to the monastery and then continue to Jericho. The trail follows an ancient Roman aqueduct in places, with sections still remarkably intact after two thousand years.

"You know, my grandfather helped maintain these water systems during the British Mandate period," shared Yusef, my guide for this section. "He always said the Romans knew what they were doing—his job was mainly just clearing debris."

The gorge deepens dramatically as you proceed, with cliffs rising hundreds of meters on either side. Desert birds of prey soared on thermals high above, while hyrax (rock badgers) scurried among the boulders—delightful creatures that look like oversized guinea pigs but are actually distant relatives of elephants! Did you know that? It's one of those fascinating evolutionary quirks I love sharing with my grandson.

The highlight of this trek is undoubtedly St. George's Monastery, a 5th-century complex built into the cliff face that appears like a mirage as you round a bend in the wadi. The stark white and orange buildings against the tawny cliff create a scene so picturesque it seems almost staged.

The monastery itself welcomes respectful visitors. The Greek Orthodox monks maintain a tradition of hospitality dating back centuries, though women visitors should bring a scarf to cover their heads. Inside, the small chapel contains beautiful icons and a peaceful atmosphere that invites contemplation regardless of one's faith tradition.

The final stretch to Jericho follows the wadi as it widens and eventually opens to the Jordan Valley. I completed this 15km journey just as the afternoon light was turning golden, casting long shadows across the ancient landscape and illuminating Jericho's palm trees in the distance. My tired legs carried me the final kilometers with the satisfaction that comes from connecting with a landscape in the most fundamental way—on foot, one step at a time.