hillside. It belonged to French Crusaders
until it was besieged by Mamluk slave
soldiers in 1271. Starting higher, we clamber
down to the ruins; the occasional misplaced
boot sending wafts of wild sage up into the
air. From here, the valley is a sea of broccoli-
bulb treetops. “Nature is mixed with the fate
of humanity. Hundreds of years ago, there
were no trees left on these hillsides,” says
Shai, scanning his finger along the slopes
furred with perennial oaks. “It had all been
used for timber and firewood.”
The afternoon sun warms the mammoth
stones of the old fort, where daisies sprout
amid the cracks. One of the stones bears a
crudely graffitied Crusader cross, and past
and present collide once more. Shai points
across the ravine. “Back in 1965, a hunter
killed Israel’s last Anatolian leopard on that
hill over there. His grandchild still wears
the creature’s teeth as a necklace.” I jump
as, right on cue, the primal wails of jackals
resound from the valley below.
By the time we arrive at Hefer Ranch in
the village of Aberim, night has drawn a dark
veil and the creeping cold causes us to wrap
our coats tighter around us. Ranch owner,
Eyal Hefer, feels none of it. His broad back
is clothed only in a thin oilskin gilet. With
a sun-cracked smile, he pumps my hand as
firmly as if it were a water piston. He leads
me into the goat shed. Pinned to the barn
door are old family photos; among them,
one of his now grown-up-daughter when she
was a baby, lying in her hay-lined playpen
surrounded by quizzical goats. Eyal hands
me a bucket. “You can milk that one,” he
instructs, pointing to a feisty white female.
She stamps her hooves huffily and I hastily
push the pail into Daniel’s hands.
Eyal and his wife Edna offer walkers 22
fixed tents beneath shady trees, communal
showers and his three horses — Amigo,
Luna and Nesh — for riding. But it’s the
honesty-box system for wine and their
moreish homemade cheeses that keeps
guests coming back. Eyal invites me into
their house to sample them. Fridge magnets
from around the world cover every inch of
the kitchen. Dogs and cats fill the floor, fluffy
as rugs. With hands wrapped around mugs of
herb-infused tea, we talk until late.
Morning brings buffeting winds atop
Mount Zvul. Below us, the hillocks and
ravines of the Galilee valleys unfurl like a
creased green carpet. Waiting for us is Tareq
Shanan, director of the Amud Stream Nature
Reserve, who gives us the all-clear to walk
this section of the waterlogged trail. Tareq
lives in Hurfeish, a Druze town that crowns
this hilltop through which the Yam le Yam
passes. A small Arabic-speaking minority
(with communities in Syria and Lebanon too),
the Druze fled persecution from mainstream
Muslims in Egypt around 1,000 years ago.
They believe in a combination of Islamic
monotheism, Greek philosophy and elements
of Hinduism, including reincarnation.The afternoon
sun warms the
mammoth stones of
the old fort, where
daisies sprout amid
the cracks. One of
the stones bears a
crudely graffitied
Crusader cross, and
past and present
collide once moreCLOCKWISE FROM TOP: Edna and Eyal
Hefer milk their goats at Hefer Ranch, an
agricultural farm in the village of Abirim;
hikers sit on a bridge above a small
waterfall along Amud Stream, which pours
into the Sekhvi Pools in Upper Amud
Stream Nature Reserve; a newborn horse
and its mother at Hefer Ranch88 nationalgeographic.co.uk/travel
ISRAEL