We’re in the mysterious sinkhole country of the Dead Sea. Dr. Guy Golan, a geologist and adventure guide, parks the jeep at the end of a steep dirt road leading from the parking lot near an IDF checkpoint on Route 90 at the Masokei Dargot junction. He quickly loads an aluminum ladder and a small coffee kit before we embark on a challenging hike through a wild area featuring sinkholes, treacherous mud, and sharp salt crystals that scrape the skin. It's recommended to wear thick-soled shoes here because those brave enough to come in flip-flops or picnic shoes will likely return home with cuts and bruises.
At the upper part of the trail, there’s a dilapidated, torn fence separating the area within the Green Line to the south from Area C, extending toward Jericho. "This fence was originally set up to mark the border between regions, but as you can see, it has long lost its purpose," says Guy. "Years of wear and the weather have caused collapses at many points, and today it’s completely open—both for us and for them."
Hiking in the captivating sinkhole land is always a thrilling experience. The sea is a deep blue, the lunar coastline is etched with streams of water, sparkling salt blocks, and giant sinkholes of all sorts. Following the site’s rise in popularity in recent years, the large sinkhole near Route 90 has become a favorite viewpoint for nature enthusiasts, and two large groups of cheerful retirees greet us as we pass.
We continue north along the shore, and that's where the real action begins. Near a narrow, deep wadi with slippery mud banks, Uriya Cohen, an adventure guide who joined us for assistance, quickly sets up the aluminum ladder, and we cross the obstacle with relative ease. At the next large wadi we need to cross, there’s a long log acting as an improvised bridge, requiring a basic circus skills level to avoid falling into the water. We successfully navigate the challenge and reach the green sinkhole.
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Although Guy promised me a pink sinkhole, it turns out it’s a rare biological process that requires patience. The green sinkhole is not red because it’s still in its early stages. "This green sinkhole is fascinating," says Guy.
"It’s in a very early stage of development. It will eventually turn pink once salt infiltrates it. A new sinkhole initially fills with fresh water, allowing green algae to develop, giving it its primary color. As salt water seeps in and the salinity rises, the algae undergo a fascinating biological process, releasing a red pigment called beta-carotene, which is also responsible for the color of salmon or flamingos. This causes the water to gradually change color, from green to pink, and ultimately to a deep red."
"This process doesn’t happen uniformly," Guy continues. "Some sinkholes change color quickly, while others remain in the immature stage, like this green one. Everything depends on salinity, temperature, and environmental conditions. It’s a natural dynamic that shows how unique nature is here—the Dead Sea is an open laboratory for chemical and biological processes."
The next stunning sinkhole we encounter is known as the "Salt Disc Sinkhole," due to the unique appearance of delicate salt discs that resemble glowing marine creatures, seemingly crafted by a skilled artist. Dr. Golan marvels at the beauty of this ephemeral phenomenon.
"What we’re seeing here is an extraordinary process where the salt concentrations in the water are so high that they form precise, round layers on the surface. This happens only when the conditions are perfect—extremely high salinity, stable temperatures, and a gentle breeze that helps create the shapes. The salt discs are not only beautiful but also represent the magic of the Dead Sea, where nature itself becomes the artist. This area is full of salt layers that harden over time, and as the water evaporates, the salt concentrations rise, creating such stunning structures."
From here, the path to the pink sinkhole is short but very muddy and slippery. We change into swimsuits and leave our bags behind. After several enjoyable meters of walking through a streambed and deep, sticky mud, we finally reach the much-anticipated sinkhole. But reality surprises us—it turns out the pink sinkhole isn’t really pink but more of a brownish color with hints of red along the edges.
"Assaf, I know we promised pink, but the color has faded since the last time I was here," Guy laughs. "That’s the beauty of the Dead Sea. Everything here is dynamic and constantly changing. The water could be pink one day, and the next, due to a slight change in salinity or temperature, the color fades. This is nature in its prime."
I hate to return for extra shots, and I feel a headache coming on. Luckily, Guy, experienced with the chameleon-like sinkholes, offers a solution. "Let’s get in the water," he suggests. "As our bodies stir the water, we’ll see how the red color intensifies."
Indeed, after a few gentle movements in the warm water, the red hues began to stand out more, and the brown sinkhole transformed into a bright pink one—at least, that's what the excited photographers and onlookers claimed. From my narrow view in the water, it was a soft pink, but the warm, oily mud I enjoyed soaking in during the middle of winter was blissful, and the trek and hike were worth it, regardless of the sinkhole’s color.
Warning: The walking tour in the sinkhole area is dangerous. The trail is unmarked and includes unstable ground, sinking mud, obstacles, and sinkholes. Always go with an experienced guide who is familiar with the area and holds valid insurance. Swimming in the pink sinkhole is unsupervised, and bathers do so at their own risk. For security reasons, staying at the beach after sunset is prohibited.