Breakfastng with Berbers

Jebel Bou Naceur 3340m, P1642m, Mid Atlas, Morocco - photo 'Chafikazul'

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David Jamieson returns to hospitable Morocco for its lesser-known Ultras

Deana and I were last in Morocco almost twenty years ago. It was a great opportunity to introduce our two young boys to Muslim culture, experience the sandy charms of the Sahara Desert and, at the same time, get some serious bagging done … summiting Mount Toubkal (4167m, P3755m) at a young age - seemingly setting them both up for a future life amongst the mountains. With my hoped for trip to the Kilda stacs (Scotland) deferred for yet another year, it was time for a rapidly reorganised return. This time to try out a few Ultras beyond the well-beaten Toubkal track.

Once back amongst the madness of Marrakech, I could see that some things had changed dramatically, others not at all. There were now many more motorbikes than donkeys cruising the maze-like medieval streets, mobile phones were ubiquitous amongst young and old alike, and the famous souk was a much lighter and airier affair than the dark and delightfully dingy one I remember getting lost in years ago. Yet, haggling for touristic keepsakes and feasting on tasty tagines has remained an ever-present … as has the tannoyed calls to prayer interrupting those somnolent near-dawn dreams. However, our shortish holiday window drew us quickly back to the temptingly nearby Atlas peaks, seen from every riad terrace and rooftop restaurant. I had already hired the help of Mohammed to guide us up Jebel Igdet (3619m, P1613m), which was to prove a decision well worth the investment.

With Said our driver and his assistant, we travelled southwards over ever narrowing roads until reaching the steep sided Ouirgane Valley. To my shame, I had blithely forgotten about the massive earthquake that hit this region only fourteen months before, killing almost three thousand people and seriously injuring over five thousand more. The road we had once cruised along in more carefree times was now strewn with fallen rocks and domestic debris, whilst the many ancient Berber villages that once proudly dotted the hillsides on either side were reduced to rubble, their inhabitants forced into tents and portacabins erected shanty-like for mile upon depressing mile. We stopped for lunch with Mohammed’s brother, sharing Berber hospitality at its best in the remains of his house. It was both sad and uplifting at the same time … his and his wife’s indomitable spirit admirably rising above the additional life challenges that unforgiving natural forces have now wrought upon them … ‘Mashallah’ indeed. Once back on the road we headed for the vertiginous mountain village of Arg.  It was a slow, steady crawl between rockfall and ravine, where yet more food, mint tea and huge smiles awaited our arrival.

An early start the next day was delayed by a forecast of lessening winds and increasing sunshine … which turned out to be highly inaccurate. From Arg we followed a mule path above impossibly steep terraces growing radishes, apples and walnuts … a Moroccan Waldorf salad? Then we followed goat trails up muddy scree and onto a snowy summit ridge. It was misty and windy, but with the promise of sunshine and relative calm, we decided to continue … big mistake! As we gained altitude, the wind speed actually accelerated and the cloud thickened. Even though sandblasted by snow and Saharan dust, we eventually made it to the top, too snow-blown to even take a triumphal photograph.

Getting back down was even more challenging. Due to whiteout conditions and the fact that our ascent footprints were already re-covered with snow, we could not readily determine the descent ridge, and so hung around waiting for occasional windows of visibility. Finally, increasingly cold, wet and hungry, we saw Arg way-way below to the northeast. We set out into the headwind and a long, slow, faltering trudge through the deepening snow brought us back to its safety.