Ski Atlas to Africa
- ski mountaineering the High Atlas Mountains, Morocco -
24 February – 4 March 2009
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Bruno Bagnérès (Vancouver, Canada)
Mountain Tourists:
Henry Gibb (Boulder, Colorado, USA), Francis Lamer (Vancouver, Canada), James Fagedes (Salt Lake City, Utah, USA), Christine Hasegawa (Salt Lake City, Utah, USA), Scott Kellar & Caroline Gutmann (Bend, Oregon, USA), John Evered (Portland, Oregon, USA), Tore Hagen (Oslo, Norway), Bjørn Lytskjold (Oslo, Norway)
Tuesday 24 February 2009
Minarets may be useful for non-Muslims as well. - Allah akbar, Allah akbar, Good is great. The monotone mullah voice is our alarm echoing through the pit dark hotel room. An ordinary morning in for the Marrakech masses, an exotic, exiting morning for us: This is our Day Different, meant for our African Snow Hunt. We have seen hazy silhouettes to the east. Is it the Atlas? Are they real? Will there be snow enough for nine days skiing? The mullah outside is quiet now, we are up and busy.
Hotel Foucauld has seen its best days, both rooms and service, but the dining room for sure has a كتاب ألف ليلة وليلة – One Thousand and One Nights – touch. The decorated tile walls, Arabic arcs and ceiling details match a mosque, while strict monsieur patron and his crew serve fresh croissants, baguettes and plenty of strong coffee. I know it will be a long day this one, but no danger for an empty stomach start at this place. Transportation is also taken care of. Outside Ahmed Aït Hammou, our local tour organizer, has lined up a mini bus and his car for us, the 10 happy travellers. At about 06:15 we are all ready, with brushed teeth and fresh hiking gear. Our backpack, boot and ski pile blocks the sidewalk, but no worries, the street life is still in a dark and quiet morning mood. Time to load the cars! Skis and plastic boots don’t fit in here downtown Marrakech anyhow. Better hit the road now, find the snow and ice and mountains…
The locals are late raisers, so traffic out of town is slow and lazy. After some junctions and corners our white main vessel steers steady on a SSE course towards a hazy, rocky horizon… Open Atlas, open up! For some kilometres the land and road is flat as flying carpet, then a slow and magic climb starts into a mountainous country. Spring colours in February and blue sky. Ahead we see them clearly now: Snow covered jagged peaks. The mountains get closer, the road gets narrower. One and a half hour’s drive, a sharp right turn and we get rid of the asphalt.
The dirt road zigzags steep up, narrower around every new bend. Soon it will simply vanish. A very good development, for us. Our ride stops a few hundred meters from Matate (1800m), a village sitting on a high and dry hill slope. From now on we will rely on transportation used since mankind was mankind. Our feet. Being a rather soft bunch of city dwellers we look very much forward to the specially trained feet & backs that are booked to assist us into the mountains: The Berber guys Abdu, Ibrahim, plus two colleagues – and their amazing mules. Amazingly strong these animals, both body and mind. I try actively to get in contact with the one carrying my stuff, but this is no playful poodle. It acts as being out here totally alone, steady as the surrounding rocks. - Carry 90 kg, says Ibrahim and climb on to the mule back. Man + 90 kg looks more like what they handle. The mules will carry our food and ski gear to the snowline. From there the Berber men will transport the food, while we will be helpful with the ski stuff…
The trail we follow is excellent, built to handle centuries of man and mule traffic. We cross some patches of snow hiding below some juniper trees, but the terrain is dry and stony. Soon we strip down to our lightest clothes. This is like a Norwegian summer, if you forget the surroundings, they are very, very far from what Scandinavia may offer, both landscape and buildings. The village houses we pass are all built the same way, taking colour from the landscape. The square, flat roofed houses are mud washed, dug into the slops or built on top of rock walls. The villages sit on ridges or rock outcrops. I guess it is to avoid landslides and floods and not occupying what may be used for grassland and field patches. These are very, very basic villages. No sound of music heard, no machines spotted. Only strong bodies keep the business going here. This no place to live for soft guys as us. We buy a Coke and crackers at tiny, rough shop and head on like real tourists…
Below a snow covered slope the mules are parked, grassing hay from self carried sacks. Behind them we hear laughter and talk: Abdu and his crew have prepared lunch for us; tea, chicken, salad and bread! A true Atlas oasis. For dessert we unload skis, strap on the skins and squeeze into our big boots and go for the white stuff. Snow of Africa, here we come! And it works; the poles sink deep in, wet snow makes the skis heavy – I’m the luckiest man on the planet, happy to have a simple way to define joy.
Skis have to come on and off a bit the first half an hour, but beyond summer farm Azib Tamsoult (2250m) the real winter starts. Now we head for a narrow canyon and our first cabin, Lepiney, or Refuge de la Tazarhart. The canyon is not very inviting, it looks closed and refusing. Without any real reluctance though, we are accepted. Hesitatingly it prepares a narrow ramp on the side wall where we may skin up, next to frozen Cascades d’Ihoulidene. We smile, breathe heavily and carefully continue our slow climb. Excepted we are. The Atlas opens up, dressed in snow white and rocky black. A huge and fascinating landscape, both familiar and different in a stunning mix. Skiing the Atlas is a very good idea.
From Azib Tamsoult to Lepiney the map says 2-3 km. The map is flat as a pancake, the real stuff is not, in addition the snow is wet and we have to break the track. When we finally reach the Lepiney Cabin (3000m) we don’t have much more to give. Not before the young hut warden serves us numerous shots of hot, sweet, sweet tea. Dinner will for sure be late today; our Berber Boys have a nightmare walk down there, heavy food loaded packs, no skis and soft snow is a terrible mix. Luckily we have brought some stuff as well: Aquavit, smokes salmon and crisp bread, a real treat and blessing to soar and hungry bodies. And by far the best extra load to fit in a backpack.
Tiny Lepiney Cabin is a rough stone house sitting on a small ridge. February indoor temperature is similar to outdoor. The main room has one big table, two benches, a broken wood stove, a working gas stove, 6 mattresses on a shelf over the table and 14 on the attic. Skis are parked in the small entry.
The night is coming now, but still no Berbers. Bruno collects some head lamps, then the warden heads out to meet the guys. Half an hour later they arrive totally flat, with soaking wet feet. Dry tourist shoes and woollen socks change hands, eh... feet, the Berbers’ personal equipment is close to zero. Soon dinner is boiling. If Abdu and his fellows had not insisted on lightening the wood stove we would have enjoyed it with cold feet only, now we enjoy it with cold feet and smoke running eyes...
Wednesday 25 February 2009
Bruno is French. French guide means French reveille time. At six o’clock alarms buzz inside our giant-butterfly-cocoon-like-sleeping-bags. I definitely don’t feel light any butterfly - the long lasting yesterday and smoky evening has done something to my body. But, I like our cocoon look. This must be Africa. This must be the undiscovered Giant Atlas Butterflies.
- Oh baby, it’s cold outside. That’s how the song goes. Up here at Lepiney Cabin – or Refuge de la Tazarhart – it is even colder inside. Freezing cold. We line up shoulder to shoulder around the steel coated table and keep warm thanks to down jackets and deep tea & coffee dives.
Bruno’s plan for the day is to climb Tazarhart, a majestic flat topped mountain to the south. The mild yesterday and cold night have made the snow hard as concrete around the cabin. The ‘mandatory’ ski crampons prove to be as important luggage as the aquavit. Slowly and steady we move up the sunny east facing slope, towards a nice big open pass. This suits me very fine, I was never a climber. This one is not too steep and the views are big and open under the Berber blue sky. Despite being an ex-topographer and map maker I have not paid much attention to details on the map we use. Maybe it would not have helped a lot anyhow, looking at it now I realize it has few such. Few details. In this context details mean narrow, steep couloirs. The mountains around here are full of such. And here comes our first one! Bruno has for sure prepared more then well back home studying photos in his French Atlas Ski Guide. After countless days on city asphalt the couloir seems to be way too steep. My fixed point now is Bruno the Guide, who crawls into this rocky, hanging half pipe while chatting and smiling like sitting at his local café in Grenoble. Can’t say my shoulders are back in normal position, but for sure they come some lower. Bruno’s smiling medicine helps, I feel close to comfortable. The good snow makes it easy to find steps, at least for us coming behind Bruno. This guy is worth every dirham. - Better continue with skis on the back from here, smiles Bruno. I am working my way up below Bruno as skier - correction: climber - number two. Below I can only tell the rest from each other by the colour of their hats. Step by step, a bit to the left, a bit to the right, and up, up, up – and we make it. Just like that. The huge flat mountain top feels like a slightly tilting dance floor, much more like the well (too) rounded mountains so typical for where I ski most: South East Norway. Our dance is breathtaking – not for any audience for sure – but for us. The air is thin up here close to 4000 m. We move slow as astronauts towards our flat twin top destination: Tazarhart, 3980 meter.
- A big step for me, a small step for mankind. We agree that 3980 m may as well mean 4000 m. Ten Big Smiles, and even bigger views. The best African Panorama we ever had. Which does not say a lot; none of us has seen much of Africa before. To the west the huge hazy plains around Marrakech disappears towards the Atlantic Ocean. To the south the Atlas Range tops the view, peak following peak. Like an unfolded map. Towards east reign the highest Atlas peaks. The Atlas spine, to stick to the library phrases? This is a good place to be an Atlas bookworm… Fat canned Safi sardines, creamy cheese, Mortadella halal sausage, bread, juicy oranges and mixed nuts make a good lunch up there. Fingers get both oily, stick and icy. Pure luxury to be this far away from behave-well-restaurants for a boy like me.
Bruno has a natural and steep suggestion for how to get down from Tazarhart. Caroline and I are not that convinced. This couloir looks far too steep and very narrow. In addition it is spiced up by a small & icy rock down there. Strange enough our track up suddenly seems like a pleasant alternative. The rest of the group are very positive to Bruno’s choice, and without really knowing how both Caroline and I are already on our way down the new couloir. Bruno has suddenly a rope handy and secured for the rocky part, so the pulse slows down towards normal. This is fine, this is good, this is safe, this is the best way after all. Coming a bit lower the couloir widens out. The snow is perfect. Smile and laughter echo as we, the New Tazarhart Barbarians, tag the fresh powder with the finest lines. OK, not me. My telemark technique was never extraordinary brave or good. Like so many times before I ski down my way. Not graceful, but still smiling. Safely at the bottom the snow and slope call for one more try. We leave our packs, put the skins on and do some extra laps.
Lower down the valley bottom is at first wide and gentle, surrounded by high and wild 4000 meter peaks; Afella, Clochetons Central, Biiguinnoussene (repeat after me: Biiguinnoussene). According to the map it will be like this all the way down to home sweet cabin. Not so in the real world: A frozen waterfall nearly blocks a narrow and steep passage. But, we are all braver now and motivated for the waiting Berber dinner. No signs of hesitation spotted as we “dive” down. Around the next bend the sharp profile of tiny Refuge de la Tazarhart welcomes us, with Abdu and his guys waiting outside in the sun. Before skis are off they hand over glasses with Berber Whiskey: Hot, sweet mint tea. The men look excellent today, dry and refreshed. We head for a quick siesta before repeating yesterdays starter success, this time salmon, crisp bread and cognac. Works just as fine. Dinner is soon served, then the Berber Bunch starts their wood stove game again: Making a fire (well, mainly smoke) by removing the ‘pothole covers’ on top of the stove lightening the fire there...
Thursday 26 February 2009
The night is filled by tons of strange dreams, and real fear. It is storming severely outside there in the dark night. The thick/sturdy stone walls will stand forever, no worries. My concern is focused on the attic floor we sleep on and the worn roof construction that have started an aggressive bewitched dance in the dark. In addition I feel invisible hands wipe my face like light, cold brushes. The fabulous spring weather from yesterday is definitely chased away, deep into Sahara…This is a real high mountain winter storm, with a lot of temper. Allah is not pleased with my evening prayers. Promise, I’ll start tomorrow…
Of course the cabin handles this night more then well, but we are all more or less awake when the alarm clock symphony indicates a new day. Our rough and simple sleeping room looks like a snow cave. The roof handled the storm, but it is not snow proof. The cold ghost hands at night were snowdrift dancing over us. Scot’s snow dump is the deepest, a perfect setting for good powder snow ski dreams. Time to shovel away the ghosts now - and pack. Downstairs Abdu and his crew already have the breakfast on the table.
Do you like the idea of visiting Africa, but dislike sneering lions, aggressive rhinoceros, poisonous snakes or malaria mosquito? Then this is your Africa! The world outside is good, old fashion winter! White, snowy and windy. If you thought there were no more white spots left to discover on the map, try again. Here it is, the perfect Atlas whiteout. Bruno’s ski plan aiming for the cols and peaks has sailed away. The only choices now are either to stay or ski back down. Since we like to be on the move and see more of exotic Morocco, we decide to ski down. In addition we are soon out of food. The Berber Guys put on our crampons. We stick to skis and goggles. Bruno noses out our old frozen ski track, I set the GPS on back track. Headwind and sticky snowflakes create a perfect white out as we slide down, slow and safe. At least lion safe.
Snow conditions are good down to the ‘summer farm’ Azib Tamsoult at 2250m. As we come lower the clouds lift and the wind calms down. From now on it is a nice mix of trail walk and skiing between sturdy juniper trees, each has its own personality, sculptured by strong winds and burning sun. Our goal for the day is local tour operator Ahmed’s place above Imlil. At the pass named Tizi Mzik (2489 m) we are welcomed by our Mule Men. Enthusiastic Ibrahim is laughing and jumping, happy to see that we have escaped the snow storm. Lunch time. Bread, sardines, cheese and juicy, juicy oranges. A Berber family is heading through the pass and stop for a chat with our guys. We share some fruit and biscuits. The mother smiles and opens up here scarf: Inside is her tiny, little baby, not more then a couple of months old. They continue towards Imlil in soft and low rubber shoes. – Jalla, jalla! Go, let’s go!
The mules are waiting lower down, near Azib Mzikene, ready to load on skis and poles. –Jirra, jirra! Ibrahim learns us, his well used phrase to keep the mules going. The trail zigzag down the valley side, soon we are down through the first village. We have to hold our cameras low, having learned that the Berbers do not like photographers. It is hard for a photo happy bunch like us. The village style and life are full of details that we want to capture on the memory cards, but keep our fancy equipment down and sniff in the setting as good as we can. We are not the first strangers through the narrow walks. – Bon bon? Stilo? are standard kid phrases. - Candy? Pen?
Imlil is called “Chamonix of the Atlas Mountains”. Not my first association! Chamonix has to snob down a lot before being worth the comparison. While Chamonix looks like other quick growing European places Imlil is a very basic small Moroccan village. It has a few guest houses and restaurants, but the main impression is rough houses, a twisting & bumpy main street, tiny small shops, a hammam, a school and not much more.
High above Imlil, at Aït Souka, Ahmed’s newly renovated guest house is sitting. Ahmed Aït Hammou, our local tour organizer. His small village still has no road connection, so the mules are ideal transporters to Ahmed’s ‘castle’. We are welcomed with his big smile, open arms, mint tea and biscuits. Immediately we spot that a British group in the sitting room, already are deep into their afternoon conversation, do not drink tea. They drink beer! Real beer! Our hopes evaporate quickly, despite the rather cold showers. Not for sale in this house, not in this village, not in Imlil. The Brits have brought their stuff all the way from Marrakech. But – the dinner is splendid! Thank you Ahmed, for keeping our bodies strong and healthy.
Friday 27 February 2009
The morning greets us with drizzle and low clouds. Very good then to have Never Stopping Mountain Guide Bruno – and to be with such a positive bunch of skiers. Pack and eat and go, be cheerful! Omar, one of Ahmed’s local guides, is ready to take us to the hearth of the High Atlas, to the Neltner Cabin – Refuge de la Toubkal - at 3200 m. Ibrahim and Abdu have loaded the mules with our boots and supplies, and strapped skis on top. They have to follow the road though Imlil, while Omar takes us for a canal trip! Not quite like those in Venezia, but romantic in its own way. We walk through walnut trees forest, huge trees with barren, branches sculptured arms tickling the fog. The canal is part of the irrigation system, stealing river water to keep the nuts grow. The canal is narrow, terrain is steep. Don’t fall in and get wet, don’ fall out and get hurt. The good thing is that the hiking phrase “keep the contour line” is piece of cake; the canal is levelled the natural and best way: The Water Technique Way. Fog and drizzle make the villages we walk through look as rough as it probably is. Grey sky, clay washed houses, muddy road. We are joined by children heading for a new day at school. They send us small smiles & “bon jour” before they speed off with bouncing school packs…
It is a long walk to reach the snow line today, still we are pleased. The fog slowly lifts up and uncover the big, wild valley we walk, skirted by alpine winter peaks. The trail is excellent; this is the main gate for most parties that head for the Atlas summits. A holy boulder - whitewashed and pimped with flags – and we, the mountain minded tourists – make business possible up here at Sidi Chammharouch (2350 m) where the snow landscape begins. Tea houses, and carpets for sale. – Please madam, I get your skis, you get my flying carpet! Like everywhere in Morocco there is always someone very keen to make an offer you can’t let go. We stick to skis, even though this carpet idea... Instead we buy some cups of hot tea. – Berber Whiskey, very good. One more Mister? 5 dirham only. John & Francis go for Berber Blue head-scarves as well, cleverly tied and secured by the seller. Good scarves for sure, but to redo the Berber knot technique will be a real challenge. Francis looks fantastic with his new headgear. When removing his bedew glasses he is the perfect Sean Connery double, in a Lawrence of Arabia setting. After this we name him 006, our classic mountain friend must not be confused with soft 007.
The snowline has not been so far down for 30 years someone claims. The Atlas snow has a touch of Sahara red, the strong winds yesterday have moved tons of dust and snow. Mules don’t function in snow, so manpower Abdu & crew have to take over from Sidi Chammharouch. Skis and skins on for us, while they push their way on foot. Big loads with bread, spread, carrots, potatoes and couscous. There’s no food at the cabin during the winter. No helicopter drops here, neither men nor meals. Luckily it is a well beaten path in the snow, this valley has constant traffic. For us, the ski nerds, it is a nice climb to Refuge de la Toubkal, the Neltner Cabin. The ascent angle is gentle and the headwind keeps the heaviest sweat away.
Refuge de la Toubkal looks like a fortress, square and stony. 3207 m says the blue plate in Arabic figures. Suddenly I realize that my Arabic is not that bad, I know 10 signs! The cabin was build by the French back in the 1950-60s, houses about 80 and is run by Club Alpin Français de Casablanca (www.caf-maroc.com). All rooms are clean and well kept, but also this one is freezing February cold. The guardian – le patron – and his small staff show us our room at 1st floor, and our 6x6 double-decker bunk bed. The cabin keeps mattresses and pillows, we roll out our winter sleeping bags. Downstairs our Berber Boys are ready to serve us tea and Henry Biscuits. While we go for an after tea nap, they start preparing dinner. It is definitely no freeze-dried food in this kitchen, they go for the real stuff. Tonight’s menu is pasta and vegetable sauce. After we head for the packed main room filled up by French, Swiss, British, Italians and us, the Canadian-US-French-Norwegian mix and Moroccans. Time for card play, maps, diary notes – and then tooth brush under the big African sky. Cold, snow-covered Africa. This talk about snakes and hippos must be a long overdue joke...
Saturday 28 February 2009
Our Tiptop Summit Peak Day. Bruno gets us out of bed while most others snore on. Bread & tea are already on the table, cloud cover is on the move and wind speed is close to zero. Jebel Toubkal, Queen of all Atlas Mountains, we want so much to pay you a visit. Will you welcome Christine ‘Powder Princess’ and her friends? We promise to make a decent track and behave when climbing your long flank. We’ll respect your top cornice and steep drops. We’ll focus on simple mountain joy and your wide panoramas.
Our skins are precious today. Let zebras, tigers and leopards keep theirs on, we are more than happy with our sticky factory products. Six pairs of Dynafits, one Fritschi and two Rottefella bindings fix colourful boots to fancy skis. Bruno is already dancing his powerful way up the first slope. We follow slowly, breath deeply, take in the enormous landscape step by step – glace by glace. Toubkal welcomes our steps on her white silk frock. She still keeps her head veiled, but we feel her friendly attitude. – Come, come! Move on. Jalla, jalla. Thousands of mountaineers have climbed here before, but today we are the privileged first time climbers. Snow is the answer, wiping out old track overnight. Virgin powder snow from cabin to top.
The climb is long, close to 1000 m difference in height, but not difficult. The only steep part is a passage up under the top ridge, but the layer of fresh snow makes it OK even here. Jebel Toubkal smiles and removes he veil under a Berber Blue sky. To the south the rugged faces of West Toubkal and the Tifnoute Massif guard our steps, to the east new peaks enter the scene. In the far back we conjure up camel caravans heading into the never ending Sahara… A mirage? That’s OK with us, we are all in the mirage mood now. The pyramid-shaped top cairn is tagged down in all tag-languages. We right our names in the snow and share oranges and biscuits. So pleased and proud to be a part of this new universe. 4167 meters above sea level. Hugs, smiles and photos. Let us admit it: We are a proud bunch. A proud, happy, spoiled and soft bunch who feel that we deserve this. It’s a long way to Tipperary. It is even longer to Vancouver, Salt Lake City, Portland, Boulder and Oslo, but we have made it all the way.
The AT-skiers start their graceful dance down. Tore and I, on our telemarks, do it our own way. The fresh snow gets some marks from stunts and somersaults and one ski pole snaps off, caught between some rocks. Still we keep our promise all the way down the Queen of Atlas and make our snow embroidery as neat as we manage…
Refuge de la Toubkal again. I stay and fix my broken pole, the others have more energy to burn, more lust for ski climbs and powder descents. Some quick snacks and then they head out again for a new trip. All the way up to a 3900 m high col next to Akioud.
Sunday 1 March 2009
To us Bruno means a lot of different things. Like strong skier and early mountain mornings. The clock says some minutes past six, and we are already deep into our Atlas breakfast. The weather is as made for touring. So are we, despite some dead wood in our thighs. After all we have made five long days so far. First wish for today is Ras, a proud peak further south and up our valley, 4083 m high. Above the cabin the snow is a bit crusty, so it is easy to pick our own tracks. Higher up, below the pass named Tizi n’Ouagane (3735 m) we find again the powder snow. Africa has an Arctic touch this morning; crisp, refreshing and guaranteed snake free. The only cobra-like we spot is our ski track zigzagging towards us from behind. Tizi n’Ouagane is made for contemplating – or taking more photos; after all we are only simple minded skiers. Further south the valley below us widens out and presents a hazy, hilly and snow free landscape. No snow: Not on our list this time! Our map isn’t big enough to find out what is what, but names are not that important at moments like this. Ras has plenty of snow, Ras is on our list. However, the short steep couloir showing up now was not on my list. Very good that I booked on to this guided trip. Right now he is guiding very well, Bruno, forcing his way up through deep and steep snow.
Last stretch to the top is smooth and open, with grand views. We are acclimatized now. In short this means that we know that we have to ski slowly. Air is thin, we a bit fatter. Ras – which means avalanche in Norwegian, and therefore is totally irrelevant – is popular this nice day. A crampon duet is already leaving for neighbour peak Timesquida (4089 m), below us another group ski the acclimatized way towards us. Still Ras is a peaceful place under the enormous Morocco sky, perfect for sardines & oranges. Bruno eagerly points out yesterdays Toubkal track and our first peak Tazarhart – and then where he wants us to ski down from here. It all looks steep, at especially the last one. Slowly we all trust and believe that the steep, steep couloir is the perfect choice. I’ve seen and hear about half pipes. The first part of this couloir is narrower then a pipe, more like half a drinking straw. Once more the good snow makes me feel semi-OK. Just forget about the impressing jump turns the AT-equipped do. It is a pleasure to see how the good guys dance down the deep delicious dammed steep snow. My telemarks are made for Telemark, a rolling and gentle terrain back home in Norway. This is not Norway. No way. This is the unfolded Atlas, this couloir must be close to one of the map folds. An old idea pops up in my brain, the forbidden idea: When I get home, what then if I simply changed my telemarks to…
Gathering at the bottom. While those addicted to contemplating (read: enough is enough) pose with noses towards the sun, the eager immediately puts skins on and head for the neighbour col. A Chinese saying goes like this: Kunsten å være lykkelig består i at man gjør sine gleder enkle. Oops, here we go with this Norwegian again, let’s try in proper English: The art to stay happy is to make your pleasures simple. Suits well for us. Snow makes us happy, sun tanning or skinning up again. Sitting here, looking up on our long narrow ravine, then the map, we realize it has no name. It needs a name, and being in Africa it has to be a name related to the continent. The Giraffe Neck! Giraffe Neck it must be, at least in our maps.
Back at Refuge de la Toubkal Abdu & his crew have cooked a huge healthy lunch; rice, potato, green pepper, cucumber, tomato. Well, we wouldn’t mind some lamb or chicken, but we manage to act vegetarians one more meal. After all we will head for Imlil and Ahmed’s house now. The afternoon starts with a long valley surf down to mules and the whitewashes holy stone. Wouldn’t mind to spend some more days up here in this valley, so beautiful and so many possibilities. My long ski surf downwards has a blue undertone, watching how the huge peaks shrink in the rear view mirror. The lower we get the more African the skiing gets, soft snow and red sand effectively keep speed down. We are no good customers down at the teahouse this time. Just below the snow line we spot mules and muleteers waiting, so we keep our pace. Still we manage to be gentlemen and give way to the three city dressed women heading for the holy stone and inconceivable miracles. High heels are fashion in Morocco too, but obviously not the best choice up here today…
We are so happy to see the mules again, however they totally ignore us! Fancy ski gear is packed and strapped on the animals, Ibrahim shouts his jirra, jirra!, while we enjoy the trek in running shoes. Fog is coming in and the landscape gets the harsh and barren look. The four Berber women we meet look like walking bushes, they have collected fire wood high up in the hillsides. They capture the rest of our nuts & energy bars, and let us test their loads. Yes, we are a soft bunch! We would have collapsed one by one following these tuff ladies.
Bruno is the perfect mountain guide, but needs some upgrading of his “lower valley guiding”. In the fog Christine and Jamie are suddenly lost and gone, after all there are at least two roads through the first village. Happy gathering after minutes apart spoiled my chance for the Real Good Atlas Short Story. After all we are a long, long way from home, and don’t forget about the Abominable Atlas Snowman.
Ahmed’s house means warm welcome, showers, Coke & Fanta & then a huge meal. After the orange dessert we relax at the open fireplace, play cards and update diaries. Then to bed after a long, long day. Bruno and I share the “Harem Room”, alone…
Monday 2 March 2009
This is our abnormal day: Late start and no skiing! Our home for the next two nights is Tacheddirt, about 10-12 km east of Imlil. Since cars are out and mules are in, we decide to walk. Besides we never got a real car ride proposal, besides we are simple guys that like simple actions, like walking. While ski gear rattles on mule back, we follow paths and roads towards the Tizi n’Tamatert (2279). Above Imlil we cross trough countless manmade terraces, crucial for vegetable fields and grass land, or keeping soil for apple and walnut trees. The tiny villages are built on rocks above the arable land, farmland is more important than blooming gardens. Higher up the pine and juniper forest takes over. Some Berber women overtake us, they are heading high to collect wood – happy to bring a strong mule to do the tough carry-job. The young and bubbling girl in their team knows that we mean business. For some coins Caroline gets “the real mule experience”, we get some more photos and the girl and her mum a good laugh as well.
In the pass Coke & Fanta is available in a tiny shed. Morocco is a place where little comes for free. Every dirham is earned the hard way. We – the spoiled ones – buy some bottles and continue our adventure into thick fog, along a new road that soon will connect Imlil to Morocco’s only ski resort, Okaïmedene. Machine monsters shovel mud, boulders, soil and snow into the mist.
As we climb the road up towards out destination the fog opens up and gives way for a fantastic mountain panorama. Tacheddirt (2350 m) is rough mountain village sitting at the foot of big, snow covered mountains. Nothing around here looks like anything back home. Rocky paths make the road network. No shops, no post office, no nothing… The only way to get here – until a few years ago – was mule back or by foot. Or you might be born here. A rough & true outpost. We are told that the tiny school house came only 4 years ago. Our mountain residence, Tacheddirt Gîte, is more like a small fortress with decorated ceilings and wood carved casements, shower, modern WC and a huge terrace with gorgeous mountain view…
After a siesta Bruno, Tore and I go for a walk around the village. The fog is coming in again, creating a spooky atmosphere. Up the valley road women and girls herd home sheep and cows. Descending from the foggy heaven a shepherd “slides” down with his goats. On the grassless gravel field next to the houses mules roam around. We are stopped by a local man. – Please, come drink tea in my house. We have no money and we know tea service means money. The neighbour’s goats gather around us when I do my fatal mistake: Try to take a secret photo. Because of the dusk the flash is triggered, because of the flash the man is triggered. – Mister, pay for photo, no photo here. Give me dirham! Thanks Bruno for once more getting me safely back to a mountain cabin.
Tuesday 3 March 2009
Ski day, mountain day, early up day. Light day packs and a strong hope to climb impressing Iguenouane (3877 m). It is still dark when we leave our Tacheddirt Gîte, it is still dusk when we get skins and skis on where the snow world begins. The weather is mediocre, mediocre plus. The wind is weak today, but the clouds are a bit too pushy. Our ski team is bigger today; Taid (related to tour organizer Ahmed,) Mohammed (local hero from Tacheddirt) and his three friends join us. Or more correctly, we join them; this is Mohammed’s backyard. He is an extremely strong skier and knows every snow drift and mountain feature on this mountain. Unfortunately the weather goes to mediocre minus. As all outlines disappear in the haze and fog, Mohammed is our dream boy. – This week I skied Iguenouane three times, he smiles. – Please go, my backpack is very heavy, please feel. What is he carrying? – Coke, many Coke bottles! The climb is the longest we’ve had in the Atlas, roughly 1500 m up. Despite his heavy load Mohammed is always in the front. The wind is catching up, snowflakes come dancing, visibility is close to nothing - still the peak is our destination. Mohammed & friends plus Bruno have fired their turbo engine, and disappear in the white. For some moments the rest of us are confused about both direction and motivation, but after some forth and back we all gather happily, cold and relieved on the whiteout top. The sigh is just unreal: Mohammed has dug out a Snow Bar and lined up 12 bottles of Coke and Fanta, proud and smiling. This is his business, Coke Bar 3877. – Coke, Fanta! 25 dirham. Maybe not the first choice in the cold weather, but we have to support his enterprise. Both for his energy and the excellent guiding.
Many complains might be noted down about the view, but such is high mountain skiing – home and here. The snow did not feel too good when climbing up, luckily it is surprisingly good for skiing down. Once more Mohammed is our moving beacon in the fog enabling us to have a dream ride all the way down from the mountain with the lizard like name.
Lunch at the gîte. The snow falls heavier now, no grand views, no weather for mountaineering. The house is cold, we go for a long siesta in our huge sleeping bags. The afternoon is slow, cold and quiet. Bruno and Tore go for a run down the road. Others go for short snow walks. Dinner is the evening highlight before we have some hours with card play and talk. The atmosphere has a touch of blue: Is it the weather, or is it because this is the last real mountain night together? Tomorrow we are heading back to Imlil or Marrakech.
Wednesday 4 March 2009
We are up early, checking if weather is good enough for a final mountain tour. It is not, absolutely not! Close to 50 cm of snow covers Tacheddirt and has stopped all activities. The place looks like a white ghost town. No sheep-herding today, no work on the fields, no nothing. Dead quiet and white. The first phase of the White Death, sister to Black Death? Luckily it is “only” tons of clean powder snow. The road back to Imlil is definitely not recommended in these conditions, being rather avalanche exposed. This means that our mule taxis are stuck in Imlil. If we want to go home today we have to find another way out. The exotic solution is the old road winding its way north and down the valley. It is a long, long detour, but a safe one. The African winter is not over yet. –The snowiest winter in 30 years. Still we have to prepare for going home now. Goggles, gloves and gear on, here we go again! The deep snow reduce our speed close to zero as we push our way down the old road, still we nearly miss it in the sharpest curves. No doubt, this is one more white spot on the map in our Atlas. Along the road small Berber villages appear out of the dense snow showers. The houses cling on top of each other, snow loaded and dead quiet. We slide on, noiseless in the snow flour world, constantly changing who is in front breaking the track, being the trac(k)tor. Three of our Berber guys are also followed us, making sure that we do not get lost: Abdu, Taid and Omar. Abdu without skis!
Sunbeams, change in the weather! The clouds lift up and away over an intensely white valley. When we pass by the next village everybody is out – or to be more precise – is on the roofs, shovelling snow. The flat dirt roofs are not very water resistant so the snow has to be removed before it melts. Women & men, old & young – everyone participate in the melt race with spades and brooms. Even the mosque tower top is wiped clean. When we are spotted they wave and shout greetings. - Salaam 'Alaykum. Bonjour. Some boys run to the road in their rubber boots, fascinated by us, the moon men sliding by. The bravest steps on to the skies and gets a ride. We thank the heavy snowfall that stopped us from climbing another mountain and sent us down this fantastic, fascinating valley instead.
It gets more and more obvious that our Atlas Ski Tour soon is over. The snow gets softer and wetter, along the road the first trees show up, then big snow patched cactus plants. We undress as much as possible – still trying to look decent – the sun tries to melt us as well. The skis cry below us now, hurt by the rocky road. Melt water coloured red by sediments make our ski tracks look blood soaked. Then it is full stop for the skis. No more snow. Ski game over. Everything comes to an end...
We are allowed to end our winter trip in a good way. Still we are in our ski boots, still we feel our skis gnawing our shoulders. Ahead we have some kilometres trekking before we reach the asphalt. In the shabby village Imsker (1420 m), where melt water has made the only street into mud, Abdu suddenly opens a door to a lunch time paradise: Mint tea is handed out, soon the table is a chaos of bread, the well known Safi sardines, olives, cheese, Mortadella halal sausage and juicy oranges...
The main road and a van are waiting for us behind a low pass, down a steep gravel path, through a pine forest and across a crabby suspension bridge. The last evening in the Atlas is celebrated in Ahmed’s guest house, with showers, cleaner clothes, smoked salmon and aquavit starter – and then a fantastic, huge lamb meat meal. We eat, eat as if we were ten worn-out High Atlas Mountain Skier.
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Our very last night together in Morocco is celebrated with a meal next evening, at the best restaurant in Marrakech. To have a witness that may tell you how pleased we all are we have invited the best man we know. He will pass on our story when we are not able to do so any longer. Reed is his name.
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About French Guides
- Sorry, but my French is not good enough to understand your English! (Norwegian tourist to her English speaking French guide)
About the Abominable Atlas Snowman
Not as famous as Nepal’s Yeti, but still unpredictable and scary. The Atlas breed is not an apelike creature leaving footprints in the snow, it is more a hungry bread- like monster attracted by young women, leaving crumbles on the table. Last verified observations of the Abominable Atlas Snowman took place Lepiney cabin, Tuesday 24 Feb 2009, 21:35 local time…
