Journal of Herbert Edward Pretyman written during his expedition to the Kittar Mountains, between Kenneh (on the Nile) and the Red Sea, 1891

In Short

This journal documents a young British officer’s 1891 expedition into the Eastern Desert of Egypt. Seeking solitude and sport in the remote Kittar Mountains, he traverses rugged ravines and arid plateaus, documenting local wildlife, Roman ruins, and the harsh realities of desert travel. Though it begins as a lighthearted account of a hunting holiday, the text is framed by the profound grief of a father, as the author died shortly after his return. It remains a poignant, firsthand glimpse into a lost era of colonial exploration and personal transition.

The Story

The narrative begins in the bustling, wet streets of Cairo, where a young lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards prepares for his journey. Driven by a desire to explore nearly untrodden territory, he assembles his supplies with the help of local contacts, navigating the bureaucratic hurdles of the Egyptian administration. Accompanied by a small team, including fellow officers and local guides, he sets off by rail and camel toward Kenneh, on the banks of the Nile.

The heart of the experience lies in the journey through the Eastern Desert, a landscape defined by dramatic temperature swings, from freezing nights to scorching midday heat. As the party penetrates the Kittar Mountains, the author finds himself captivated by the stillness of the desert, the challenge of hunting ibex in nearly inaccessible ravines, and the remnants of ancient Roman outposts. He describes his daily rhythms with precision: the struggle to secure water, the improvised ovens built in the sand, and the persistent, often humorous, friction between British expectations and the realities of desert life.

As the expedition progresses, the author’s tone shifts from the restless energy of a traveler to the observant focus of a naturalist. He discovers waterfalls, catalogues rare birds, and navigates the delicate social dynamics of his Bedouin camel drivers. When supplies run low, he experiences the tension of waiting for relief, ultimately relying on the rugged resourcefulness of his team to sustain their camp. Throughout the text, the looming presence of the mountains serves as both a sanctuary and a test of endurance.

The journal concludes with the party’s return to the Nile, marking the successful completion of their trek. However, the book’s true emotional weight is provided by the surrounding material. The preface, written by his father, transforms the diary from a simple record of a sporting excursion into an elegy. The inclusion of memorial verses and the final, somber note of his funeral ground the adventurous tone of the diary in the tragedy of a life cut short at twenty-eight. The narrative arc is thus bookended by two different perspectives: the vibrant, forward-looking observations of the young explorer, and the heavy, reflective silence of those left to remember him.

How It Unfolds

The departure from civilization The journey begins with the logistical frustrations of Cairo, where the author balances the excitement of travel against the annoyance of noisy guides and muddy streets. He moves quickly from the city to the relative silence of the desert, trading urban chaos for the slow, rhythmic pace of a camel caravan.

The ascent into the mountains Entering the Kittar range, the group transitions into a routine of scouting for water and tracking game. The landscape shifts from desolate plains to deep, granite-walled ravines that offer a glimpse into the hidden geology of the region.

The test of endurance As food supplies dwindle and the weather turns bitingly cold, the expedition faces the necessity of self-reliance. The author’s interactions with the terrain become more intimate as he explores waterfalls and ancient ruins, testing his physical limits against the unforgiving environment.

The return to the Nile Having successfully mapped parts of his route and collected specimens, the author makes his way back to Kenneh. The journal ends with a sense of accomplishment, yet the quiet, somber tone of the final pages foreshadows the transition to the memorial sections that complete the volume.

The People

The author, Herbert Edward Pretyman, is a quintessential product of his time: a disciplined, curious young officer with a sharp eye for detail and a restless spirit. He is motivated by the "sport" of the hunt and a desire to see places few of his peers have visited. He approaches the desert with a mix of British pragmatism and genuine, childlike wonder, recording everything from the leg count of a centipede to the complex engineering of an ancient fort.

His companion, Powney, serves as a steady, practical foil throughout the journey. While the author is prone to long, poetic descriptions of the landscape, Powney is the reliable partner who shares the physical labor of tracking ibex and managing the camp. Their relationship is one of mutual respect and shared hardship, essential for their survival in the remote mountains.

The Bedouin guides, including the volatile camel sheikh Salaama, represent the cultural divide the author must bridge. They are the masters of the desert, holding the knowledge of where to find water and how to navigate the terrain. They are not merely employees but essential facilitators who bring their own customs, superstitions, and survival strategies, which the author observes with a blend of professional interest and the occasionally condescending detachment typical of his social class.

Finally, the author’s father, Frederic Pretyman, acts as the silent architect of the book. His presence is felt through the preface, where he assumes the role of curator. He does not edit the diary, preferring to let the voice of his son remain unaltered, thereby preserving the freshness of the experience while serving as the emotional bridge between the reader and the lost young man.

In Its Own Voice

"The desert was most dreary all to-day, nothing to relieve the monotony of the journey, and a camel goes so slowly, about two and a half miles an hour."

The author captures the tedious, hypnotic reality of traversing the vast, featureless stretches of the Eastern Desert.

"I made one of them hold one wire in his hand; the other I put into his drinking vessel and told him to drink."

The author recounts a lighthearted, slightly mischievous experiment using a magnetic machine to entertain his Bedouin companions.

"The well, which lies in a hollow at the foot of the mountains, is merely a hole scratched in the sand which contains about thirty gallons of dirty water, and is the worst we have so far seen."

This passage illustrates the grim reality of the water sources upon which the entire expedition’s survival depended.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the intersection between human ambition and the indifference of nature. It asks what drives a person to leave the comforts of home for the silence of an arid wilderness. While the author frames his expedition through the lens of sport and discovery, the text probes the deeper questions of resilience and the transience of individual experience. It examines how one defines "progress" in a land that has remained largely unchanged for millennia, juxtaposing the ephemeral nature of the author's own life against the enduring, ancient history of the Roman forts and mountain ravines. It is a meditation on the beauty of the unknown and the inevitable fragility of those who dare to seek it.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the genre of Victorian exploration will find this a fascinating, unvarnished look at a specific moment in history. It feels authentic, stripped of the polished artifice of later travel literature, offering a raw, granular view of desert life. You are reading a private diary, not a public manifesto, which grants the book an intimacy that is both charming and occasionally jarring.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the period attitudes embedded in the narrative. The author reflects the colonial mindset of his time, and his descriptions of local people and customs can be detached and at times patronizing. These perspectives are not modern, but they are historically revealing, providing a clear window into how British officers viewed their place in the world at the end of the 19th century.

The prose is straightforward and functional, occasionally punctuated by moments of intense, observational beauty. It is not a fast-paced thriller; rather, it is a meditative, slow-burn account of a young man’s final adventure. What stays with you is not the achievement of the expedition, but the startling contrast between the vibrant, curious voice on the page and the somber, finality of the memorial verses. It is a quiet, human document that lingers in the mind long after the final page is turned.