Taka Mountains Adventure: Rock Climbing and Hiking in Kassala, Sudan

Let me be upfront: reaching Kassala isn't simple, but the journey itself becomes part of the adventure. After flying into Khartoum, I joined three friends from my climbing club for the 400-mile eastward journey. We hired a reliable 4x4 with a local driver—essential for navigating Sudan's variable road conditions.

The drive takes approximately 8-10 hours, crossing diverse landscapes from the Nile Valley to semi-desert plains. While public buses exist, they're unpredictable and uncomfortable for the long haul. If you're traveling with climbing gear (as we were), arranging private transportation is non-negotiable.

One unexpected highlight was stopping at roadside stalls where we sampled incredible traditional fermented foods—a professional curiosity of mine. The rob (fermented milk) and kisra (fermented bread) became our road trip staples, providing both sustenance and a microbial connection to this ancient land.

I tracked our journey using my trusty GPS device, which proved invaluable not just for navigation but for marking potential climbing routes we spotted from the road. Its satellite messaging capabilities gave us peace of mind in areas with zero cell coverage.

As we approached Kassala in the late afternoon, the Taka Mountains emerged dramatically from the landscape—enormous granite domes and spires catching the golden light. No photo can capture that first glimpse, but it immediately validated every hour of the dusty journey.

Kassala isn't exactly flush with luxury accommodations, which is part of its charm and why it remains budget-friendly for adventurers. We split our week between two distinct experiences: first at the modest but clean Hipton Hotel in town, then three nights camping at the base of the mountains.

The Hipton (about $30/night for a double) offers basic rooms with surprisingly reliable air conditioning—a blessing after climbing in 85°F winter temperatures. The real value comes from the owner, Mr. Osman, whose connections helped us arrange everything from guides to fresh market food. Pro tip: request a room on the upper floor for mountain views and better ventilation.

For the camping portion, we worked with local guide Ibrahim through Kassala Outdoor Club, a small collective of climbers and hikers who know the Taka Mountains intimately. For about $15/day per person, they provided transportation to remote climbing sites, cooking equipment, and invaluable knowledge about routes and water sources.

Camping beneath these granite giants was the highlight of our trip. The stars were unlike anything I've experienced—even in remote charging stations along the Pacific coast. We slept in my ultralight backpacking tent, which handled the occasional desert winds beautifully while keeping scorpions and other curious desert dwellers at bay.

While camping, Ibrahim's team introduced us to traditional Beja cooking methods, including underground pit cooking that produced the most tender lamb I've ever tasted, accompanied by fermented sorghum porridge that reminded me of my workshops back home—proof that fermentation truly is the universal language of food preservation.

The Taka Mountains offer some of the most underrated climbing in Africa—think Yosemite-quality granite without the crowds or permits. These formations reach heights of up to 2,000 feet, with everything from technical multi-pitch routes to approachable bouldering problems.

Working with Ibrahim and local climber Mahmoud, we focused on three main areas: Jebel Kassala (the most accessible), Jebel Toteil (intermediate, with stunning views), and the remote Jebel Asotriba (challenging, requiring a full day approach). Each area has its own personality and climbing style.

Jebel Kassala offers excellent crack climbing on coarse granite with solid holds. We started with a 5.9 route called 'Beja Way' that follows a natural chimney system up about 400 feet. The rock quality surprised me—minimal loose material and fantastic friction even in warm conditions.

For more experienced climbers, Jebel Toteil presents technical face climbing with sparse protection. My climbing partner Dani led an intense 5.11b route named 'Camel Rider' that required delicate balance and complete trust in tiny crimps. I followed, grateful for my climbing shoes with their precise edging capability—absolutely essential on these technical granite faces.

The climbing here remains largely undocumented, which means two things: you'll need solid traditional climbing skills (bring a double rack of cams up to #3), and you'll experience the rare thrill of potentially establishing new routes. We named our contribution 'Electric Ferment'—a nod to my strange career path from EV stations to food fermentation workshops.

Most importantly, climbing here requires cultural sensitivity. Some formations hold religious significance to local Beja people. Always ask Ibrahim which areas are appropriate for climbing—this respect goes a long way in maintaining positive relationships between foreign climbers and the community.

Not every day in the Taka Mountains should be spent clinging to vertical faces. The hiking here offers equally rewarding experiences, particularly in winter (November-February) when temperatures hover around a manageable 75-85°F.

Our favorite trek was the full-day circuit around Jebel Kassala, which begins in dense acacia groves before ascending to a natural rock arch that frames the distant Ethiopian border. The trail isn't marked in any conventional sense—another reason having Ibrahim with us proved invaluable. He navigated using subtle cairns and landscape features invisible to our untrained eyes.

For sunrise enthusiasts (and in the desert, that should be everyone), the two-hour pre-dawn hike to Toteil's eastern ridge rewards you with a spectacle of light across the plains toward Eritrea. I captured this with my compact camera, which handled the challenging light conditions beautifully without weighing down my pack.

The most challenging hike takes you through the 'Valley of Whispers'—a narrow passage between towering rock walls where the wind creates an eerie, almost musical sound. The route requires scrambling over boulder fields and navigating a dry riverbed that transforms into a raging torrent during the brief rainy season.

What makes hiking here special isn't just the landscapes but the encounters. We passed Beja shepherds moving goat herds between sparse grazing areas, using techniques unchanged for centuries. One elderly shepherd invited us to share tea brewed with desert herbs that had a remarkable fermented quality—another reminder of how preservation techniques evolve similarly across cultures.

Water management is critical here. We each carried 3 liters minimum, supplemented by Ibrahim's knowledge of natural springs. I treated all water with purification tablets—even spring water—as medical facilities are limited in Kassala.

Between our mountain adventures, Kassala's vibrant markets and communities offered a different kind of exploration. The central souq is a sensory overload in the best possible way—spice mountains, textile rainbows, and the constant melody of commerce conducted in multiple languages.

As someone obsessed with fermentation, I was drawn to the food sections where women sold homemade kisra (fermented sorghum flatbread) and abreh (a fermented drink made from sorghum and spices). I spent one afternoon learning techniques from a vendor named Fatima, whose family has been fermenting the same starter culture for generations.

Kassala sits at a cultural crossroads where Sudanese, Eritrean and Ethiopian influences blend visibly in the architecture, food, and faces of its people. The Khatmiyya Mosque, with its distinctive Ottoman-influenced design, anchors the old town and welcomes respectful visitors outside prayer times (modest dress essential).

One unexpected highlight was connecting with a small women's cooperative that produces traditional Beja textiles. Their intricate patterns tell stories of mountain landscapes and ancient migration routes. I purchased a handwoven scarf that protected me from both sun and sand during our climbs—practical gear with cultural significance and direct economic support for local artisans.

During our stay, we were fortunate to witness a Beja wedding celebration where traditional sword dances and call-and-response singing continued late into the night. These moments of cultural exchange—far from any tourist infrastructure—represent travel at its most meaningful.

Ibrahim arranged for us to share a meal with his family, where we learned to eat communal-style from large platters using only our right hands (a skill that takes practice!). His mother's fermented goat cheese mixed with chili paste became my new food obsession—I've been unsuccessfully trying to recreate it since returning home.